The Magical Bat Year V
by karanne
Summary: The fifth year of Mattie Wayne's magical education at Hogwarts.
1. 1 15 September 2002

The Magical Bat 5:

#include stdDisclaimer.h: Batman, Catwoman, Alfred, Babs, Dick, Lucius Fox, and the others, are DC Comic's toys, as are John Stewart and the rest of the Lantern crew. Hogwarts, Albus, Minerva, the Weasleys and the others in the Potterverse belong to the fabulous JK Rowling. The Morton family is used with the permission of GITM. I'm just playing with their toys, and they'll be put back later. Everyone else, they're mine. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2009 Kara Anne Kalel karanne AT gmail DOT com. All rights reserved. No money is made, and no infringement is implied or intended.

This is a sequel to my stories:

The Bat & the Cat, redux, The Magical Bat (I), Magical Bat: Road Trip (1.5), Magical Bat II, Magical Bat: Training Trip (2.5), Magical Bat III, Magical Bat: Business Trip (3.5), Magical Bat IV, and Magical Bat: Bad Trip (4.5).

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****For disclaimers, please see above.****  
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****Chapter 1: 1 ~ 15 September 2002 ****  
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****Sunday, September 1, 2002: 00:00:00 (GMT)****  
****Terran orbit, GEO docks, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**,: ****  
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Eleanor watched her ship's computer terminal tick over, and glanced across the table at Karen, who whispered, "We're committed now." They heard a final 'clank' and watched out the port as the steel structure of the dock started to slowly recede. "We certainly are," she replied.

_To: May Branstone (school)  
From: Eleanor Branstone  
Date: 1 September, 2002  
Subject: New beginnings  
_

_Hello!_

_I'm sending this to you as it is midnight, and our ship, the Manhattan, has just undocked from the port. A final 'clank' and we can see the steel beams of the structure slowly recede. The clarity and view is of course 'tack sharp' as there's no intervening atmosphere. _

_I'm off on my grand adventure, as you are just starting yours. By the time you read this, you will have been Sorted, and whilst I retain hopes of Hufflepuff, please know that I will be pleased and proud of you no matter what House you are Sorted into. That being said, the teachers are there to assist you and help you learn (yes, even Professor Snape!). I would suggest that you form a study group with your year-mates (yes, even from different Houses), as you are all there to learn, and what subjects you find easy and difficult, another will have a different experience. _

_You also have another resource in your Housemates. Believe me when I say that what you find impossible to do as a Firstie will be easy by Third and automatic by Fifth. Every one of them (yes, even the lordly Seventh-years) was a Firstie at one point, just as all those frightening teachers scowling at you from the Head Table. Every single one of them was Sorted; every single one of them had difficulties mastering particular subjects. _

_Another resource you have is those self-same teachers. They expect you to approach others first for academic assistance, but will be willing to help you. Think of them as a 'Mum' or 'Dad' also, if you have emotional or personal problems. Also, Mrs. Potter ('Ginny') is an informal 'House Mum' if you feel nervous or embarrassed talking to a bloke, or for that matter someone else. Remember that Professors Flitwick and Snape, whilst they are men, have also dealt with hundreds of young women like you over the years, I doubt there is a problem they haven't heard. _

_Lastly, you have me. You can always send me an email, although if my ship is FTL I won't receive it until we orbit a planet. Once we're at Windfall, I will be out and about, so it might be a day or three before I see it and reply. They do want me to say that you need to use plain text (as I am), and do not include attachments. This is for bandwidth reasons, the interstellar 'pipe' is fairly small, and we don't want to stop it up! smile Interstellar plumbers are frightfully expensive! _

_Should you need to send me parcel post, you can do that through DHL (and I would reply the same way). Please be aware that transit times will be on the order of two weeks each way, so you might wish to send me a quick email that you sent a package on such-and-such a day, so I will be expecting it. Also, Windfall uses a different clock and calendar because of its orbit, nine months of five-day weeks, and each day is thirty hours long. (The hours are still sixty minutes of sixty seconds, though!) _

_The ship has turned, and as our cabin is on the starboard side (C deck, number 5), we have a beautiful view of the moon and the orbiting L1 station. I've snapped a piccy, so I'll be sending it to you as I can. _

_I have a favour to ask of you: I realized what I was missing when I packed: a spare wand. Now, of course I cannot visit his shop to do anything about it, so I will ask you to send an owl to Mr. Ollivander in Diagon Alley, he should remember what my wand is (he remembers everyone's!) and find out what he recommends. Send me an email with the details; I understand Gringotts will be setting up both a planetary bank and branches at each of the sites, so I should be able to send you (or Mr. Ollivander) a bank draft in either Galleons or Euros. (I'm being paid in Euros.) Should you have difficulties, please write me. _

_The moon is dwindling rather quickly astern, so I'll close this letter for now.  
Eleanor_

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****Sunday, September 1, 2002: 08:54 (GMT)  
Terran space, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**, Dining room:****  
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"Your attention please," speakers said, and people looked up. "For your information, we have passed the orbit of Pluto and are now leaving the Terran solar system." There was a round of applause, under that Karen could hear "…nk you."

"Well, we're all officially astronauts, it seems," she said as the speakers clicked off. She drained her coffee cup, "I'm off to an infrastructure group meeting; it's the first one we've had face-to-face."

"Sounds exciting," one of Karen's table-mates said.

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it," she replied. "All sorts of things regarding ports and airstrips and radios and networks, fascinating stuff, really."

"If you say so," they replied as Karen left the table.

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_Karen Meyers  
Site 17  
Communications/Networks _

Karen put down the Sharpie® on the table and peeled off the backing of the 'Hello!' name badge, and went to socialize.

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"Greetings, neighbor!" Karen turned; a young, swarthy Mexican fellow was standing next to her. "I am Felipe, your upstream neighbor. My responsibility is also communications, however, my colleague responsible for power has some things to discuss."

"Then we need to introduce them," she replied.

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"Not that big a building," Jose, the Mexican engineer said. "A few hundred square meters to accommodate the inverters and rectifiers, and the capacity of flow batteries can be increased by adding additional tankage; especially with such a variable power source as wind power." He waggled a finger, "I am jealous, senor, of your hydro power."

"There is no reason we cannot cooperate," George replied. "I am also interested in your development of ocean and tidal power, and we can certainly link our sites." He took a sip of his beer; then motioned to Karen and Felipe. "When we run a high-voltage DC line between sites, a fiber optic cable is required for communications, I don't see why you can't use some of the dark fiber in the trench."

"You would not do towers? They are less expensive," Jose asked.

"They are also ugly and can be easily damaged in a major storm," George replied. "We have proof that the planet experiences hurricanes, and while trenching is more expensive, we will not have the major equipment available to service or replace towers, whereas the local boatbuilders should be able to build what we need."

"They also prefer multi-hull craft and pontoons," a fellow added. "Greetings, I am your Polish counterpart, Wojciech Fujimoto. My father was Japanese, you see." Hands were shaken, and he continued, "While I am not a marine engineer, I don't see a reason why we, or the system Governor, can't commission the appropriate boats and barges."

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"… lot of work," Karen said later, and Felipe nodded, along with Stanislaw, her Polish counterpart. "I can see myself being volunteered into screwing lights onto piers and decking."

"We will have the rescued girls," Stanislaw said. "On the assumption that we each get one, I suggest that after … how long?"

"Six months? No, a year is eight." Felipe suggested, and the other two nodded. "That will allow them to get their feet wet, to realize not everyone in the galaxy will try to exploit them. I suggest we offer them the chance to work with another one of us." He smiled (he had a great smile), adding, "We will do things differently, and I think we can ensure that our newest little sisters will not be mistreated."

"My own brothers and sisters were jealous," Stanislaw commented. "However, I think that's the best way to approach them, as sisters, not employees."

"Allow them to cry on your shoulder," Karen said, taking a sip of her beer. She gestured, "What about your relatives? My brother is a radio engineer in Florida. Felipe?"

"Three brothers, two sisters, both still in school," he replied, taking a sip of his own beer. He eyed it and said, "I understand that each site is set up as both a small town, a government, and in business." He finished the stein, "What about your two sites, and do you have a name yet?"

"Our site is located along the northern shores of a chain of lakes," Stanislaw said. "Regarding a name, we have decided on 'Polonia', which means 'Poles outside Poland'. Economically, we have fishermen, we have several divers, and to get around the problem of the 'wabbits' we can build our pole houses."

"We can probably hire the divers, if we install the heavy power cables and such," Felipe said. "However, we are having a greater difficulty on the economic problem." He pulled out his map of their site 16; beer and vodka glasses were shoved aside.

"There is no reason you cannot expand to the mainland," Stanislaw said. "You have thousands of hectares to use, you are not limited to just those barrier islands." His finger drew on a point on the map, "you have a natural harbor here, not just for ocean-going fishing boats, but for inland riverboats. Put some tidal generation here, in this inlet, and bridge it."

"There is no moon, so any tides would be minimal," Karen objected. "I think offshore wind power would do better. They can also bridge between each of those islands, like the Florida Keys, or have a regular ferry service."

"Docks would be less expensive," Stanislaw agreed. "You can build a floating dock with a few 200 liter drums and wooden decking. As far as products…" he rubbed his chin, "Aside from fishing, fish farming comes to mind, as well as raising algae. You would need to install a greenhouse, both to protect the tanks and you're located more to the north than we are. Winter will be coming."

"Algae?"

"Certainly," Stanislaw replied. "Aside from food, they can be processed into biofuels like kerosene for aircraft and cooking, and diesel for vehicles and boats; also, they are the basis of certain types of plastics. Furthermore, there is no reason why you cannot build boats and barges yourself." He tapped one of the islands on the map. "Look at how serrated the land is, you have natural dry docks here. River craft do not have a deep draft, nor do barges. A three meter draft for the docks, so people can get under the boats to weld and service them." He put a piece of paper over the map and did a quick tracing. "I am not the best artist, but you could easily modify these fingers of land into piers, and have traveling cranes over them." He sketched, "Bring the rails for those cranes back to here, do modular assembly here. All you need is concrete for the walls and piers, lock gates and pumps." He continued to sketch, "Warehouses, design and fabrication over here. Aluminum is plentiful and cheap, there are vast forests, the wood simply needs seasoning, and since the wabbits can't swim, your people can use houseboats."

"That's actually a good idea for new sites," Karen said. "Pontoon houseboats to live aboard while they're installing and building. All the comforts of home, set up just the way they like, and there's no reason you can't have a service contract to supply food and fuels." She tapped the map, "Even a water cleaning and desalinization plant on a pontoon boat, maybe with a honey wagon…"

"'Honey wagon'?" Stanislaw asked.

"To clean out portable toilets and septic tanks," Karen blushed.

"No, that is actually an excellent idea," Felipe said. "A traveling service pier, with water, fuel, and sewer…" He rubbed his chin, "We would need a separate barge to rotate in and out… set up a contract with existing sites, perhaps, so the barge would not need to travel all the way home. In Spanish, 'suministros del buque' or 'ship's supply'." He nodded, "I thank you. There is no reason why we cannot add engines and such to this barge, even the local's favored paddlewheels. We will be having a site meeting later, I will bring these suggestions up."

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****Sunday, September 1, 2002: 10:44 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Charing Cross station, platform 9 ****3/4****:****  
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"Uncle Eddie!"

Edward Nigma turned and saw his niece waving at him. He waved back, and they moved toward each other, along with young Miss Branstone, whom he had agreed to watch out for.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, excited. She noticed the two shy young ladies, and offered her hand, "Hello, I'm Mattie Wayne. How do you know this roguish fellow?"

"This is my daughter Emma, and her friend and fellow first year, May Branstone," he replied. "Roguish?" he added.

She grinned, "In the nicest possible way, Uncle Eddie. Mom sends her love; she was working a deal and couldn't come herself." Glancing at the station clock, "I wish I had known you were in town, we could have had lunch and caught up. Let's get you onto the train. I'm sorry, but Uncle Eddie, you have to be a wizard to pass the barrier."

"I see." He moved off to the side, crouching down to speak to his daughter and her friend. "I will say my farewells now. Should you have difficulties, please don't hesitate to call or email me, or speak to Martha, and she will assist you. He gathered both girls into a slightly awkward hug, "Emma, Mum will be at school, but please call me from the Hogsmeade station, no matter the hour. May, do you have a mobile?" She shook her head, and he said, "Use Emma's, I will call your Mum, you know she wanted to be here today, but couldn't get off work. I will call her while Martha and her friends get you onto the train." He hugged them again, a little less awkwardly; then stood, waiting while Mattie finished her own conversation.

"Okay, let's get you onto the train," she said. "Watch Tomas, it looks strange, but it does work." Her brother smiled at them, got behind his luggage trolley, then ran straight at the solid brick wall, passing through. "See?" Sprink smiled at them, then did her own run, followed by Charlie, Arthur, Little Bill and Julie.

"Right-o," May said, took a couple deep breaths, then made her own run. Edward walked over to examine the wall; then took a step back. "Amazing… How …"

"Some sort of quantum field is my guess, but it works, Uncle Eddie. Or it's just magic. Emma?"

She gave her father one last quick hug, then backed off, centered herself, and ran, vanishing through the wall a foot or so from him. He shook his head; then took a few steps back, raising a hand as his niece followed his daughter and her friend. Walking a few meters away, he dialed his own mobile as he watched other students pass through the barrier. "Hello, Ms. Branstone, please. This is Edward Nigma."

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"They have finally organized the train into something more logical," Mattie told her cousin. "Before, you had to search the entire train to find an empty compartment, now the first car is for prefects and faculty, the second car is for the First years, third is for Second years and so forth. I'm a fifth year, so I'll be down in the sixth car." She flicked her wand, "Leave your trolleys, this is a featherweight spell, it reduces weight but not mass or momentum, so you can carry them." Emma nodded, while May looked blank. "They're combining wizarding and muggle education, so I think Professor Sinestra has physics." She looked in a compartment, "Here's one that's got some room. Don't forget to have someone in your house take the featherweight off your trunks."

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"Hullo," a boy said as he stood. "Firsties? I'm Everard Gilette, no relation."

"May Branstone," she replied, guiding her trunk in. There was no room available in the overheads, so she stacked hers in the centre of the compartment, followed by Emma. "This is Emma, her mum teaches."

"Oh? What course?" a young girl with long straight black hair asked, adding, "I'm Simone LeStrange, however I have to claim relations," she said unhappily.

"Astronomy and Physics," Emma said, taking a seat next to May. "It still has me confused. When is she Mum, and when is she Professor?"

"I would think on weekends, and after class, she's Mum, and during classes, she's Professor," Everard said. "What relations?" she asked Simone.

"My Aunt and Uncle were supporters of the Dark Lord, although…" the train started with a lurch, and they swayed in their seats. "… although my Auntie Bella was Imperio'd into doing so." There was a chuffing sound as the train gathered speed, and she continued, "I'll probably be Sorted into Slytherin. Does anyone know how the Sorting is done? My relatives wouldn't say."

"Neither would my sister," May said. "She's a Hufflepuff, and …"

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The door to the compartment slid open, and Bill Morton looked up with the others. "Hey, Bill," Mattie Wayne said. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Comparing our summers. When can we go off-planet?"

"Let us get things built up, first. I had a proposal for you."

"Won't Arthur be mad?"

"Ha, ha," she replied. "I'm glad you kept up your running, I didn't get a chance to. No, instead of the Boston Marathon, I was thinking of the Marine Corps Marathon in DC in April. It would be my first full marathon, and it would give us longer to train. Also, Boston requires a qualifying marathon first. However, it means getting up earlier and running an average of sixty or seventy klicks a week."

"Yeah, I'd have to build up to that. I'm doing ten klicks now, a full marathon is what, forty or so?"

"Forty two and change. It's an open marathon, so there's going to be something like twenty or thirty thousand runners, and times of a couple hours. You know there's a PE requirement now?"

"Yeah, I don't know if that would qualify," he replied.

"Dunno. The London half-marathon I ran last year I collected donations for, you might want to think on that. Anyway, we'll find out more later at the welcoming feast."

"Yeah, see you then."

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"Right-o," May told the students in her compartment. "My sister said that once the snack-lady goes by, it's time to change into our uniforms. Blokes, if you'd wait outside, then we'll trade."

"Seems reasonable," Everard said, trying to catch a chocolate frog. Emma snatched it, then handed it to him. He started to nibble as he queued to go outside.

Simone suggested, "Keep the card inside, they're collectible," as she stood, removing her blazer and folding it neatly.

"Who's Harry Potter?" Everard asked, looking at the card.

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"This is Shadow," Ginny said, as the black panther prowled down the aisle of the train. Some of the girls standing outside their compartments shrieked as he sniffed at them, standing to look Simone in the eye. She hesitantly reached out to stroke his head, and he gave off a rumbling purr, his green eyes closing in delight. He 'whuffed' as Ginny swatted his shoulder, lashed his tail, then moved on to inspect May and Emma, who fondled an ear, and got a tongue-lick in reply.

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****Sunday, September 1, 2002: 17:13 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogsmeade railroad station:****  
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"Firs' years over here! All firs' years, over here!" an enormous bearded man called, waving a lantern.

"Oh, my!" May said, seeing the castle lit up against the night sky. The reflection rippled in the lake, along with torches lighting a footpath down to the lake. She took a few piccies, saying, "My sister suggested I have a camera handy."

"Right, now," Hagrid said. "I'm P'fessor Hagrid, I'm Keeper o' th' Keys an' Magical Creatures p'fessor. We're going tae cross to the castle now, so follow me. If ye' fall in, dan' worry, the squid in tha' lake will fish ya out, na trouble. E'ryone ready?" He chivvied the firsties down the footpath to the wooden dock, doing a headcount, and called "Four to a boat, ye' don't need ta row. Forty two a' ye, so two wi' me, now!"

Emma and May got in the boat with Everard and Simone, who Professor Hagrid had recognized. As the boats moved slowly across the lake, the castle loomed even more. The boats drifted into a cavern under the lake, and a cloud of bats took off, to the shrieks of students. A minute later, the boat bumped up against the dock, and people started to clamber out. The boat moved off by itself as people stood in a nervous group on the dock.

"Righ'." Hagrid did a quick head count, then said, "We'll be goin' up to the Great Hall now. 'Tis where you're sorted into y' houses. F'llo me, now."

The Firsties followed him up a series of staircases until he stopped. "Righ'. One more flight, an' ye'll be met. I'll see ye'll later now. G'luck tae all o' ye at Hogwarts." He vanished, moving surprisingly quietly for such a large man. They looked around, then May shrugged, and went up the last flight of stairs, where a woman in sky-blue robes waited.

She looked them over sternly; then said, "Good Evening. I am Deputy Headmistress Callista Vector. In a few minutes, you will proceed into the Great Hall, where you will be Sorted into your Houses. Those Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin; they are your family while you are here at Hogwarts. Good grades and behavior will gain you and your house points, while misbehavior and rule breaking shall cost points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will win the House Cup." She looked them over once again, "You have a minute to straighten up. I suggest you use it," and she vanished in turn.

Emma checked her appearance; then looked over Simone, who returned the favor. Other Firsties were slicking back their hair, or straightening their clothes, when Professor Vector reappeared. She inspected the Firsties with a frown; conjured a handkerchief for one boy, telling him, "Your cheek," then said, "Follow me," turned, and opened the doors.

May followed Professor Vector with the others, hearing people wonder about the ceiling, showing the almost-new moon and the stars, with the red dot visible on the moon. One tried to jump and reach a floating candle, but quieted at a glance from Professor Vector. There were four House tables with hundreds of black-clad students, all watching them in silence. The Firsties stopped at a gesture, huddling nervously together as Professor Vector advanced to stand next to a stool, where an ancient, patched and filthy hat was placed.

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Aurora Sinestra watched as her daughter entered, clumped together as the Firsties always were. She smiled and gave a tiny wave as her daughter saw her and waved nervously. She drew a breath as Alastair finished his annual song, and Callista told the Firsties, "When I call your name, please have a seat, and the Hat will Sort you into your House." There was the usual betting, and she called, "Abbott, Alan!"

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"So what do you think," Severus asked as 'Branstone, May' surprisingly went to Slytherin. He continued, "I think your daughter will be an excellent Hufflepuff. She's too shy for anything else."

"I agree, but I don't care. I'll love her anyway, and you, Severus, will treat her fairly, even if she goes into Gryffindor," Aurora said, giving him a moderate glare. "I have a pensieve and I'm willing to use it!"

Severus sipped his wine, "Peace, you know why I treat the Gryffindors the way I do. I do not anticipate having to do that with Emma, she seems most studious. I think she might go Ravenclaw," as 'Gilette, Everard' was called.

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"LeStrange, Simone!" and she pulled back her hair, took a deep breath, and marched between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. She nodded to Professor Vector, boosted herself onto the stool, and waited while the Hat was lowered onto her head.

"_Good evening, Simone. My name is Alastair, and I'll be your Sorting Hat tonight_." He continued after a second, "_I do apologize, a bit of muggle humour. I'm not surprised a pureblood like yourself, especially one with such a long line of Slytherins would be unaware of it_."

"_I know I come from a long line of dark wizards, it's something I've encountered all my life_," she replied after a minute. "_I hate it_!"

"_Just because your ancestors were dark, or Slytherin, does not automatically assume you will be_," he replied. "_The family and clan lines do not automatically equate to a certain house. I have placed Blacks into Gryffindor and Weasleys into Slytherin. The most recent Dark Lord drew his followers from every house, and I can assure you that Slytherins are well acquainted with the stain he left on their house. Hmm_," he mused. "_If I put you where I believe you belong, it will engender some hardship and conflict with your family. You will still face some …_"

"_I don't care! I want to cleanse my family name_!"

"_As you wish_," he said. "**GRYFFINDOR**!"

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"Well, that was a surprise," Pomona said, passing galleons to Ginny.

"Just a few more," she replied as the gambling continued, and the next Firstie was called.

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"Sinestra, Emma!" and she nervously walked up to sit on the stool, the old hat placed on her head. There was a sense of brief confusion; she heard in her head a noise, "_Excuse me? Can you hear me_?"

She remembered that the others hadn't spoken, so she thought, "_Yes? Who are you_?"

"_Oh, good. I do apologize; you're the first one of your species that I've talked to. I wasn't sure I had everything right. There are slight differences between your mind and your mum's_."

"_Oh. Well, I wasn't born on this planet_," she replied. "_Mum bought me and rescued me_," she added.

"_Yes… I see_," he said, and she felt a minor tickle in her brain. "_My apologies again, my name is Alastair, I'm what's known as the Sorting Hat. We talk a bit, and then I decide which House will be best for you. Now, if you have … no, no siblings, no brothers or sisters here, you're the first one. Well, let me give a quick overview of each House. Going alphabetically, Gryffindor are the warriors, the ones to go defend something. Usually hot blooded, the type that … no, not that."_ He shouted, "**Not Gryffindor**!" then resumed. "_Moving on, we have Hufflepuff. These are the loyal, steadfast type. You are aware that we are the object of frantic betting, here_."

"_Yes, I saw. Can I be with my friend May_?"

"_Not if that's the best reason you can give me_," he replied. "_She went to Slytherin, they're the politicians, the ones that work from the shadows, the manipulators. My conversation with her, just like all the conversations I've had with everyone … yes, even those intimidating professors you saw behind me, they all sat where you're sitting, and they all were just as nervous. All those conversations are just as privileged, just as confidential as this one. No, I don't think you'd be a good fit for Slytherin, even though that's where your Mum went_." He shouted, "**Not Slytherin**!" and continued, "_Now, there's no reason you can't remain good friends with May. She's a good person, I should know, I've talked to her, I've Sorted her." He was silent a moment, "We've two of the four eliminated. Ravenclaw are the scholars, the type that are obsessed with gaining knowledge. While you're studious enough, you don't live and breathe to gain knowledge. No, you've more common sense than that. Considering everything, I think you'd be best in_… **HUFFLEPUFF**!"

Professor Vector lifted Alastair off her head, and she headed for the cheering table to her right.

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May saw the Headmistress stand, and tap her goblet twice. The Great Hall quieted, and she said, "I can hear stomachs growling from here, so I have one thing to say." She clapped her hands twice; "Enjoy." Food appeared on the table, and someone muttered "Finally!" as she reached for the potatoes.

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The Headmistress stood again; tapping her wineglass. The noise died down, and she said, "I have only a few announcements. As you may know, this past year we were observed and scored by OFSTED, the schools directorate. As part of this, owl post is … redirected to Professor Hagrid, who will also be picking up muggle post in town. He will distribute the post to your House prefects, who will deliver it to you." She waited out the complaints, "This only affects incoming post, outgoing post you may still use personal or school owls."

"Why did they do this?" someone called.

"They believed it was unsanitary to have wild animals in such close association with food. Feathers, dung, dirt, and so forth." She made a small gesture, "I am sorry, I did tell them that we had been operating like that for well over a thousand years, but that tradition, as well as the moving staircases, are no more; they regarded it as a safety concern. Moving on, we will therefore be incorporating muggle classes into the schedule, this means that fifth years will sit both their OWLs and the GCSE exams, the seventh years the NEWTs and their A-levels."

She waited out the expected and resultant groans. "Because of this, we will be implementing a position known as an 'Instructor' for certain select students. They will not be prefects, however they will be able to give and take away points as well as assign detentions for their respective classes." She waited again for the comments, taking a sip of water; then tapped her wineglass. "If you please. This will allow them to stretch a bit, we believe these students are qualified to teach these classes, you will therefore show them the respect due to other faculty."

Taking another sip of water, she continued, "You should have received a list of electives; everyone will also take Physical Education classes. Those of you who already have an exercise regime, like our runners, may incorporate that or use it as an alternate. However, you _will_ exercise at least two hours a week." She asked, "Miss Wayne, will you be repeating the London half-marathon this year?"

"I don't know, ma'am," she said, standing. "I wasn't able to run over the summer, I had … other concerns."

"Such as overthrowing another government," someone stage-whispered from Gryffindor, and she smiled. "Yes," she confirmed, and people started to whisper. "In any case, I hope to be back in shape by October, but I was also thinking of taking some people across the pond to Washington for the April Marine Corps Marathon. That's a full marathon, forty two kilometers, which means running sixty to seventy kilometers a week."

"Put me down for both," Professor Lupin said. "I feel the need to stretch myself."

"Please remain standing, Miss Wayne," the Headmistress said. "Mr. Arthur Morton, would you also stand?" Arthur did so, glancing at Mattie, who shook her head slightly. "Miss Wayne will be teaching an elective known as 'Intro to Business', as she is … extremely competent in that subject. Mr. Morton, on the other hand, will be teaching Second year Mathematics on Tuesday mornings, he is one of the three best mathematicians in this school. I will expect you both to attend the regular Wednesday morning staff meetings. Thank you, please be seated."

As they sat, Minerva continued, "I have also made arrangements for a golf team to compete against other schools in the Inverness region, although you will need to surrender your wands to me during matches." She smiled tightly, "The muggles seem to think we would cheat with them. Those of you who practice wandless and unspoken magic, I will require your word, although I do not think it necessary." She took a sip of water, "Due to the increasing number of muggle-born and raised students, we will be implementing football teams in each House, each will require at least three females play at all times. Finally, the Hufflepuff gymnasium has been refurbished." There was some clapping at that.

"Lastly, Mr. Filch, our caretaker, asked me to remind you that magic is not allowed in the corridors. He also informs me that the entire catalog from Weasley Wizard Wheezes have been added to the forbidden items list. That list now compromises seventy two feet and three inches, and is available for your perusal at Mr. Filch's office." People chuckled, and she added, "I must remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is indeed forbidden if you do not wish to die a most horrible death." She waited for the murmurs to die away, then said, "Tomorrow is the first day of classes, so off to bed with you."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Simone followed the others up the shifting staircases to the seventh floor, and the base of Gryffindor tower. Stopping in front of a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress, the prefect said to the winded firsties, "You'll get used to this climb, its good exercise. Passwords change every month, and are not to be shared with other houses. If you have a friend visit from another house, they must be escorted. You'll get the new passwords from a prefect, Ginny, or Professor Harry. This month's is _citadel_."

The portrait swung open, revealing a circular hole in the stone wall. Simone clambered through, where the prefect continued, "This is the Gryffindor common room. Girl's dormitories are up the stairs to the left, boys to the right. The girls' staircase is charmed so boys can't get up it. Your trunks and things have been taken up by the house elves. Breakfast is served from six to seven thirty in the Great Hall, lunch from twelve to one, and dinner from five thirty to seven." He glanced at the other prefects, adding with a shrug, "That's about it. Classes start tomorrow at quarter to eight. G'night, everyone."

"That's it? No rituals, no sacrifices, no blood?" Simone asked.

"Dark Arts are for Slytherins," a fourth-year said.

"Speaking of the Slythies, one last thing for the Firsties," Amanda added. "Unofficial school motto: _Don't fuck with Wayne_."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Welcome to the Eagle's Nest!" Professor Flitwick said, "I do hope you'll be happy here! Well, now. We do pride ourselves in having the highest grade average of all the four houses, so if you have difficulties, please don't hesitate to ask a Housemate for help. Better you know, after all."

He smiled, "For the ladies, during that, err, special time of the month, please don't hesitate to see me or a nurse for a potion or charm. If you plan to, err, spend time with that special someone; please make sure your contraceptive charms are current." He bounced happily, "Welcome, welcome to Hogwarts!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

May followed, moving forward at the wave of one of the Prefects. She said, "Oi, my name is Sprink, just that, thank you very much. This bloke here is a statue of Salazar Slytherin, the founder of our house. The password changes every month, you can get it from Professor Snape or a prefect like me, this month's is _aconite_. Firsties in front, please," she asked as the statue rotated away, and people entered, taking places to watch the initiation.

Sprink waited as they sorted themselves out, then said, "This is our common room, where you can study and socialize; the door opposite the fireplace will lead to the Slytherin private library and to our potions laboratory, the left hand stairway leads down to the girl's dorms; the right to the boy's. Sound goes quick up and down the stairs, please use a bloody silencing spell if you snore, have sex or make other noise. Should you invite a guest from another house, they are not to learn the common room password, and they must be escorted. You will set a dorm password with your room-mates." She glanced aside, "Professor Snape has a few words."

"Thank you, Miss Tonks," the tall Potions Master said from where he stood on the fireplace hearthstones. He swept the nervous firsties with a stern gaze; then nodded, "Miss Wayne, please see me after the initiation. Before we enroll you as members of the Serpent's Den, there are several things I must emphasize. First, we present a united front to the other houses. Even if you disagree with another Slytherin, you will always support them in public. Everything that occurs in this house _**STAYS**_ in this house. Only in an emergency should you reveal a house secret; that includes special talents of your housemates." He paused; a burning log broke with a pop, then he continued, "Our library and potions laboratory is here for your use. Library books are charmed to become illegible if taken outside the House, they will incinerate if touched by someone from another house. These represent a private storehouse of knowledge that is unavailable to the other houses. If you are having difficulties in your studies, ask another member of the house for tutoring. I do not expect a member of this house to receive a detention for misbehavior, if you do, you will receive a second, _doubled_ one from _**me**_."

He smiled, and May gulped. "If you are pulling pranks on members of another house, consult with older members of the house first. Lastly, ladies; if you need a pass for the nurse because of your… monthly visitor, do not hesitate to ask me. However, if you are using it to skive off classes, _I will know_. For both ladies and gentlemen, I will be most _**unhappy**_ to learn of an accidental pregnancy. I would suggest you take appropriate precautions, potions are available from both myself and the nurse." He smiled thinly, adding, "Are there any questions?"

Professor Snape turned, and muttered an incantation. A section of wall moved out, and a listing of names appeared. He said, "This is a listing of members of Slytherin House since our founding. If you become trapped in the castle, touch your wand to the castle's stone, and use the incantation _succubi serpentis_ and your name if female, _intestis serpentis_ and name if male. You will be delivered here to the common room; any other persons you wish to save must be in physical contact with you. This is, naturally, only to be used in mortal danger."

He looked at his new charges; saying, "Miss Willis, you're first." He tapped his wand on the listing of names, and asked, "Are there any objections?" No one said anything, and Professor Snape offered the firstie a knife as he said, "Miss Willis, tap the list with your wand, and state your full name. Then cut your finger, and smear some of your blood across your name."

The firstie stepped forward, and tapped the list. It stopped, and she said, "Bianca Louise Willis," then she slit her finger. She massaged her finger to get a good flow, finally touching it to all three words. Mattie and Sprink applauded with the others as her name blurred; then rotated with the others as Sprink motioned her over, muttering a charm over her finger as Mattie turned to watch the other's initiation.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mattie tapped her wand on the Professor's door, which opened for her. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, a few things to discuss with you before classes start tomorrow." He handed over several sheets of paper and a book, "Your textbook, schedule, syllabus, class roster and suggested lesson plans." He tented his fingers, "Your class is Wednesday second period, you'll have third through fifth years and whatever sixth and seventh years show up." He sat back in his chair, "You do have a rather full plate; in addition you and Mr. Morton have 'royalty lessons' Friday first period, the Queen's suggestion, by the way." He quirked an eyebrow, "Your majesty."

She groaned, "I never wanted to be Queen."

"It seems to be underway, however, rest assured that we shall always be available to properly deflate your ego."

"Thank you _ever_ so much, sir."

"Of course, milady," he said with a small smirk. "How go your plants?"

"A bit of a snag, sir. Sprink and I have notes, we also have a species of fish, but Her Majesty's Customs has quarantined them." She shrugged, "Objectively, I can't blame them, off-planet species and all."

"Yes, write up your notes, I should have considered that myself before giving the assignment." He sighed, "I confess to curiosity. When might we, the general public, travel to these other-worldly shores?"

"Most of these are struggling colonies at the moment, sir. Tourism is down the road, they have to be able to feed and defend themselves. By the way, I'd like to credit Sprink for getting two of those planets, one of which is a trading center. She's not a bad negotiator."

"One reason why she was named a prefect, I wondered why she wasn't wearing her pin. We sent it with her marks, and mentioned it in an email."

"I'm still working through my email, sir. Could be why I didn't know of this appointment." She tapped her small stack of papers, "I worked through some on the train, but GNER doesn't have a power point in the compartments, and my battery finally died."

"And it is of course difficult to send an owl across interstellar distances," he agreed. "Another thing, Poppy is concerned about the amount of rest you're getting. You cannot continue on coffee and a few hours of meditation. She will settle for at least six hours of sleep, however that means giving up at least one activity."

"Arthur did try to keep me resting, and I had already planned to give up Quidditch, although I hate to say it," she agreed. "In Arthur's report to the Queen, he makes the same point, my fatigue is affecting my judgment. He thinks I should give up Arrowhead, which I'm very reluctant to do. I'd prefer to fold the Solar Guard into the Empire as a system defense force, although that would depend on how the cards fall with China, the UN and the Security Council." She covered a yawn, "Forgive me, sir."

He waved it off, "You make my point."

"I never disagreed with it. I guess I'll have to be a fan of the House team and the Bats. How are they doing?"

"Mr. Slater is the fifth-leading Beater in the league, the Bats overall are in sixth place," and he smiled slightly. "Had you anything else for me?"

"Just an advisory, Arthur will be taking Legilimency and Occlumency lessons, probably with Professor Dumbledore, and I've suggested that Sprink and Charlie take the lessons as well. Anyone that goes out-system."

He regarded her, then nodded, and waved his wand at the door. "Thank you. Now off to bed with you, Miss Wayne."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Professor Sprout, a minute?" Arthur asked, knocking on his Head of House's doorframe.

"Please, come in, Mr. Morton," she said, waving him to a seat and flicking her wand at the door. It warded itself, and she pushed a platter of freshly baked goodies in his direction. "I assume you've come for the paperwork on your class."

"Ma'am, I didn't know a thing about this until the Headmistress mentioned it. It was a surprise to both myself and Mattie."

"We did send you an email about it, as well as an owl with your marks. She was correct, you and Miss Bundy are the two best student mathematicians." She pushed the plate toward him, "However, Miss Bundy tends to 'zone out', while I have observed you assisting the other students, older as well as younger with mathematics. I dare say you could easily sit an advanced A-level in maths." She sneaked a bit of fudge, a house elf appeared with two large glasses of milk.

He eyed a butter cookie. "Ma'am, we're both way behind on our email. Furthermore, I am not, repeat not, a qualified instructor. After all the rigmarole you went through with the school inspectors last year, this does not compute."

"Officially, Professor Vector would be teaching the class and you would merely be assisting her. In practice, it would be your class. We will provide you with lesson plans and a syllabus." She tapped a file folder on her desk.

He snorted, frustrated, "Ma'am, I do not have anywhere _near_ the patience to teach an entire class of students."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Morton. I have observed you, I think you do, and one goal of this is to see if you can develop the patience." She took a bite of her fudge brownie, "I'm going to pay for my own skill as a baker; I need to start exercising. Mr. Morton, you tend to be a bit … quick to anger, which is a liability, given your position. I would not have suggested this if I thought there was the smallest possibility you might hurt a student, therefore you need to learn control and how to channel this anger. Tell me, have you and Miss Wayne fought recently?"

The butter cookie was calling to him. He took a gulp of milk instead. "You could start just walking, ma'am. Up to Hogsmeade and around the town and back, that would help your endurance." He took a deep breath, "Yes, we argued on the flight back, she wants me to take Occlumancy and Legilmancy from Professor Dumbledore. I just think this is a gamble with an entire class' mathematical abilities."

"Thank you for the suggestion, I'll ask Poppy about it." She nibbled her brownie, "Mr. Morton, I think that's a good idea Miss Wayne had, and as far as the class, I consider that motivation to do a good job. Come now, we're all having to stretch a bit these days, and I think you'd do a wonderful job." She pushed the plate a little further toward him.

"I'm not licensed." He gathered his resolve and stared down the plate of butter cookies.

"Finally a worthwhile objection," she said, continuing, "Minerva arranged with the University of Glasgow for an instructor to tutor you both, that will satisfy any Scottish licensing." She regarded him, "A fall back position, I believe it's called, in case the whole 'Terran Empire' plan comes apart." Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "One of the criticisms we received was a lack of optional courses, this allows us to take advantage of student's talents. Filius is discussing French instruction with Mr. Bourmont, a native of France." She took a swallow from her own glass of milk, and set it aside. "If I may be blunt, Mr. Morton, I have noticed that you are also rather quick to take offense, you need to 'chill out' more often. We believe this will help you to gain patience, to 'mellow out'. Just think of the class as your younger brothers and sisters."

"Bill would be in that class."

"Yes, your point?"

Arthur was silent, "I can't show favoritism." He caved in and broke a butter cookie in half as he thought. "What's this about the faculty meetings?"

"Six to seven Wednesday mornings, and I don't believe you would show any favoritism. Actually, I think you would be stricter with your housemates. You would have access to the shared faculty computer files as well. We do not think you will abuse the privileges."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, September 2, 2002: 05:27 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, dorms:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Emma reluctantly shut off the shower; it felt so _good_ in the mornings! Once again, she touched her neck, still in some disbelief that her collar had been removed; she still vividly remembered when it had been implanted in her neck. Now, there was only a tiny little depression where it had been. She almost looked like a freeborn! Shaking herself, she dried herself off, reminding herself not to forget the under-clothing today of all days! She was starting _school_!

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

May Branstone thought once again about re-reading her sister's letter, as well as her mum's. She shook it off as Ami Bones tugged at her, "C'mon, you'll have time tonight to write your rellies about your first day. Finish getting dressed, I need to inspect you before Professor Snape does!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Woah, there, firstie, let me look you over," Julie told a nervous Simone as she ran down the stairs toward the portrait hole.

"But I'll be late!"

"Classes don't start until 7:45, the Great Hall isn't even open for breakfast yet. Calm down," and she smiled, taking Simone's book bag and laptop off her shoulder. "They emailed a sample schedule out, if I recall, your first class is Herbology. You do not need to take every book with you, just your first and second classes. Leave your other books, if I remember right third class for you is free period; then fourth is Phys Ed, which you'll have to change for. Do you have your dragon-hide gloves? I don't see them in here."

"They were out in my size," the petite girl confessed.

"Then tell Professor Sprout, we've still got outgoing owl post. Order yours, until then you can borrow mine, I've got Herbology Friday first period." She adjusted the firstie's tie, "Figure fifteen minutes before or after lunch to come up here and change out your books for afternoon classes." She handed back the overstuffed book-bag, "Run up to your dorm, first and second period books and materials only. I'll go fetch my gloves for you."

The firstie scampered off, forgetting her laptop case. Julie sighed; picked it up as a fifth-year who had observed this all commented, "Purebloods…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hey, Bill!" Arthur called as his brother emerged from the second-year dorms. "Minute?"

"Yes, oh great and lordly 'Instructor Morton'?" Bill knelt, arms out and head down as he 'worshipped' his elder brother.

"Get up, or for my first bit of homework I'll assign seven-dimensional trig," he replied. Bill cringed properly, and Arthur nodded. "That's better. You know, I didn't ask for this, and I didn't know about it. I seem to be stuck with it, though, that means that I'm going to have to be tougher on you specifically and Hufflepuff in general."

"Damn, I thought I'd get a free ride on that course at least," Bill said.

"Language, Mr. Morton," his brother replied.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"They expect me to teach this dreck?" Mattie asked rhetorically, looking at the textbook for her class. "Gawd, it's even duller than Binn's class was." She got up, walking up to the High Table and dropping the book in front of the Headmistress. "Ma'am, who chose this textbook?"

"It is the recommended one for the course, Miss Wayne."

"It's dreck, it's boring, it's out of date, and it has a _half page_ on margin calls; nothing whatsoever on puts and calls. You want me to teach this to people and make it fun, so they'll learn something? More importantly, so they'll make some money? By the way, who's handling Hogwart's portfolio?"

"I am, Miss Wayne," Professor Vector said.

"Ma'am, we need to TALK. Can you make class? Second period Wednesday?"

Callista thought about it, "I have a class immediately preceding it. I might run late."

"Be that as it may, Miss Wayne, the students have to pass a Ministry of Education examination on it."

"I can stick to a syllabus, but this," she lifted and dropped the textbook, "Is Professor Binns class dull." The instructors winced. "I started with twenty-five million inheritance and Wayne Europe. Do I need to tell you where I'm ranked now?" She smiled, "I'll make you money, the students will pass the Ministry exam, and we'll have some fun. What kind of a budget do I have for the class? I want the students to get some subscriptions."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, September 3, 2002: 10:00 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2****nd**** year Mathematics:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning," Arthur said, and most of the class quieted down, except for two girls that ignored him and carried on their conversation. "I SAID, Good Morning." The two continued to ignore him, and he consulted the charmed parchment that showed student seating. "If Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe will pay attention…"

The two continued to gossip, "Very well. Please open your books to page five and quietly start reading. As long as Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe continue their conversation, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff will lose five points each per minute." He pulled out his pocket watch, "It is now 10:03." He waited as the girl's classmates turned to glare at them.

Eventually, one of them noticed, and she turned, "What?"

"Miss Whitloe, you have continued the conversation with Miss Canby far past the beginning of class. You have each lost your respective houses five points per minute," Arthur told them. He checked his pocket watch, "It is now… 10:14. Subtracting the start time at three minutes past, that's eleven minutes, at five points a minute. Fifty five points each from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor."

"But you're a Hufflepuff!"

"Are you suggesting I should show bias? That's another fifteen points from Hufflepuff." His brother Bill winced, then turned around and said, "Shut. Up."

"Mr. Morton, while I appreciate the effort, discipline is my job, not yours. Another outburst like that, and I will deduct more points. As it is, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff start the year with a deficit." He checked the notes Professor Vector had left him, "Now then, last year you did some Trig with Professor Sinestra regarding star movements, am I correct?" The class of second years glared at him, he waited a minute; then asked, "Mr. Morton, where did you end up the year?"

"We didn't have a formal math class, that was before the OFSTED thing. We had some assessment, and we didn't get too far into the trig, it confused a lot of people."

"O … kay. Thank you, Mr. Morton." Arthur looked over the class; then checked Callista's notes again. "Am I safe to assume that you can all do simple math? Multiply, divide, adding and subtracting? You would need to with Professor Snape. Fractions, converting from kilos to pounds to stone? Grams and tablespoons to ounces and milliliters? Density of various objects?"

"We hadn't gotten into density yet," Ami Bones said. "I think most people can do basic math, and do fractions, but we'd be out of practice. I know I didn't do much potions work over the summer."

"Thank you, Miss Bones, and you also, Mr. Morton. Two points each to Slytherin and Hufflepuff." He flicked to the end of the first chapter, "Jot down this homework, and I'll want to see the math, which means you can't use a calculator or charm. That also means longhand, on paper with a pencil. Page twenty-eight, all the questions for next week." The class groaned and he checked the book again. "We're going to refresh our memories, and see how many points each house as a whole can earn. Do the questions on page eight, please; does anyone need scratch paper?" He conjured some legal pads for the people with raised hands, passing them back and moving to the back of the classroom where the Headmistress stood. "How are things going?" she asked in a whisper.

"No formal math class last year, but they remember some fractions and conversions from potions. I'm going to have to review basic math before we can move on. I'm going to need paper and pencils for them, too."

"I'll get you some, any points?"

"Two girls wouldn't stop talking. Five points a minute each gives fifty five points from Gryffindor (she winced); seventy from Hufflepuff (she winced again), but they earned two back, along with Slytherin."

"Effective."

"I'm not looking forward to the common room tonight."

"We can discuss it tomorrow morning at the meeting. Good job, Mr. Morton."

"Thank you, ma'am." He moved back to the front of the classroom, "Any one problem giving people headaches? Does everyone have problem one?" He looked over the class, "Okay, it's a fraction problem. Let's think of a pie … "

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Thank you so VERY much for your house loyalty, MISTER MORTON!"

"Miss Whitloe, you are still in my class," Arthur told the second-year. "If you're trying to insult me, you'll have to do a lot better than that. I've been threatened by, and had professionals try to kill me." She took a step back in shock at his cold tone, "It is not a nice galaxy out there, Miss Whitloe. Playtime is over, we are both here to do a job, yours to learn, mine to teach. I'll do it the best I can, and I really don't care if you're offended. If you continue to disrupt my class, I'll continue to deduct points, and don't forget, I can also do detentions." He slowly smiled, and she took another step back. "Go to lunch, Miss Whitloe, and don't forget your PE class at 3:15." He turned to another student, his tone warming, "Miss Bones, what can I do for you?"

"Just to complement you on tearing a strip off her," she smiled.

"Thank you, Miss Bones, but as I told Mr. Morton, that's my job." He ushered her out the door, and turned to lock and ward it. He turned back, and smiled, "Whew. Back to ordinary student, thanks, Ami."

"No worries," she said, turning the imaginary key and throwing it away. "Slythies are good at keeping secrets."

"So I've noticed."

"So …" she asked, "I followed the news, I heard about the grenade thing across the pond…" She grinned at his raised eyebrow, "I may be a pureblood, but mum started out as an Auror, she follows the muggle news. So what happened?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, September 3, 2002: 08:25 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, Politburo meeting:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"… cannot stand for this insult!" the Foreign Minister declared, leaning forward on the conference table. "She characterizes us and our carefully considered policies as schoolyard bullies!"

"Have you brought this matter up with the Americans?" the Propaganda Minister asked. "Miss Wayne is an American citizen, they may rein her in."

"Yes," the Foreign Minister replied sourly. "They reply that she is guaranteed the right to speak her mind, such as it is, and they may not control her speech." He shook his head, "My man added that the charge'd'affairs he spoke with seemed to agree with her regarding the bandits in our rebellious province."

"I can have Army commandos …" the Defense Minister started to offer, only to be cut off.

Another made a small gesture, "My apologies, Comrade. While I am certain that the PLA would be most effective at killing her, we do not wish this. No, we wish her to change her mind, and with all gwai (foreigners), that can be most difficult. No, I would suggest that Comrade Li's skilled staff at the Information Ministry work at countering this misapprehension while we at the Ministry of Public Security work on penetrating her security. We have already done this to some extent; however, her counter-intelligence people are primarily Russian, and know how such things are done," he added, clasping his hands together to control the shakes, wishing for a cigarette. Such was not allowed here, due to the weak health of several of his comrades. "Please remember, Comrade, our reports are that she is actively field-testing antimatter warheads. Forty or more kilotons in a package the size of a pea, we could make much use of that."

"Indeed," Defense replied. "Get me that process!"

'_For your own industrial empire_,' the Minister thought. "Patience, comrade. We are working on this, and other things, regarding Miss Wayne. After all, she can hardly _not_ defend the Middle Kingdom and our own space enterprises, eh?"

The other members chuckled, as the Premier, rapped his knuckles on the table. "Very true, Comrades. Now, Zhou, as you seem to have the floor, what of Tibet?"

"The construction of the railroad proceeds apace, but we must change to less knowledgeable local workers," he replied. "At the higher altitudes, our workers are not adapted to the lower oxygen levels and have thus made poor decisions. A matter of biology, not Party discipline, comrades. However, the loyalty of those local workers to the Party is a matter of some dispute…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, September 3, 2002: 12:59:53 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Classroom 16 (potions):****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Simone slid into her seat, hearing the door slam shut as her arse hit the wood. She panted softly, she knew _of_ Severus Snape, having met him at the occasional wedding or funeral. She also knew from her new housemates that he did not look kindly on Gryffindors.

"Barely on time, Miss LeStrange," a voice whispered behind her, and the tall, menacing form of Professor Snape appeared. "I expect better performance in the future. Do not succumb to the sloth and incompetence of the rest of Gryffindor; I do not know why the Hat placed you where he did, but I still expect performance equal to your Slytherin blood from you. Is that understood, Miss LeStrange?"

"Y… yes, sir," she got out, and he purred "Well enough. You know the pureblood saying, 'Blood will out,' and while I do not hold with the rest of that twaddle, I expect Slytherin performance from you." He moved off, and Simone let her breath out as Professor Snape eyed the class, taking roll. He flipped the folder shut, eying the silent firsties, and said, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. I do not expect you at this early stage to understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses." He looked about the class, "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death," he said with a glower, "If you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, September 4, 2002: 05:58 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning, Mattie, Arthur," the Headmistress said as she saw them enter. Professor Flitwick waved at them, asking "Tea? Coffee?"

"In here, we go by first names," Pomona Sprout said, sipping her own tea. "Also, don't be afraid to snark back at Severus. Have you been getting the faculty emails?"

"Yes, and they were … interesting," Arthur said, pouring a cup of tea. He was a little surprised to see his blackberry tea on the tray.

"Politely phrased," Callista said. "We'll make a Slythie of you yet, Morton!"

Mattie dropped a legal pad and a fountain pen on the table. "Of course, I still have to work on his devious side." She put her own mug of coffee down, "Do you mind letting me see the school's investments? From what I see, things are under my projections, if you don't mind some advice and some more activity on your part."

"I'm planning on sitting in on your class," she replied. "You're what, sixth on the FT list?"

"A shade under fourth at the moment," she said, sipping her coffee. "Only a couple million between Sir Richard and myself. About 120th place worldwide. That's personal funds, of course." She shrugged, "As the phrase goes, 'A billion here, a billion there, soon we're talking real money!' Don't you love government?"

"Buncha useless ba'stards if'n ye' ask me," Hagrid said, coming in the door, and making a beeline for the teapot. He grabbed his large mug and filled it with tea, draining it in one swallow; then refilling it. "Taxin' this'n'tha', spendin' money the' don' have … " A house elf popped in with more tea, popping out with the drained teapots.

"We all have our complaints," Severus said, emerging from the shadows and moving to the teapot himself. "However, we get the government we selected, it is our duty to change it if it is not what we desire." He held the saucer in his right hand, delicately sniffing the tea, then taking a miniscule sip.

"Some of the plants we brought back from Windfall are teas, Professor," Arthur said. "Strong ones, too."

"That sounds very interesting," Pomona said. "When will we be able to see them?"

"They're in Customs quarantine right now," Mattie replied. "Being off-world, they're being very careful, they said _maybe_ six months. Maybe."

"A use for government," Severus said, taking a place at the table, while Hagrid moved to the battered couch next to Pomona, and Minerva rapped her knuckles on the table. "Let's get started, shall we?"

"I had a question about detentions for my class, how would I arrange it for two talkers?" Arthur asked.

"Second year? Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe, I would wager," Harry said. "I noticed we were down quite a few points already."

"No wager," Severus said. "You may send them to me, I always have a supply of cauldrons that need scrubbing." He took another delicate sip of tea, "Pray tell, Mr. Morton."

"I took a page from you, sir. At three past, I set the class to reading, and informed them there would be points off, five points for each minute per House. They surfaced for air at fourteen after, so fifty five points each." He shrugged, "Miss Whitloe called my ethics into question, she felt I should have let her go as a fellow Huffie, house loyalty and all, so another fifteen points. Then Mr. Morton earned two, as did Miss Bones for Slytherin."

"Excellent…" Pomona said. "The common rooms should help with that."

"Unfortunately, the Hufflepuff one seemed to think I should have been more loyal and ignored it." He shrugged again, "I said she challenged my class and my ethics and ignored it after that."

"Well handled," Callista said, then turned, "Miss… Mattie, what is your objection to the business text?"

"Several," she replied. "According to the author's biography, he has no real-world practical experience, it's all collegiate lecture. Secondly, I checked him out on the Web; he was born in 1907 in Paris, where he's spent most of his life, except for a few years in Lyon. That confirmed his lack of experience; it's all in schools. Third, it's poorly translated from French into what's known as 'Engrish'." The muggle-born professors chuckled, and she explained. "It's like saying 'Please to wet the bidet,' instead of 'Flush the loo, please,' it's sort of correct."

"Ah," Filius said, and Cho mentioned, "The Slinkhorn text," while Harry said, "The fantasies of Lockhart."

"I've still got my copies," Ginny said. "Come by if you want to, not exactly … ideal textbooks."

"Precisely, this bloke seems to have skipped over anything he doesn't like. I mentioned a half page on margin calls, which I can barely see, but nothing at all on options? Not one word, not even definitions on puts, calls, and strike prices? Nothing beyond exchange rates for currency trading? Futures? Derivitives? Symbols? I know this is a basic book, but at least add it into the definitions!" She took a sip of coffee, "And speaking of definitions, they're circular." She pulled out the syllabus, "This is the Ministry-approved syllabus, which will cover the exam. First section, 'Type of business', defined in the text as, and I quote: '_A type or method of business the firm does_.'"

"Ouch," Arthur said. "Even I see problems in that. I wonder if someone in the Ministry got their palm greased."

"It would not be the first time," Madame Pince said, taking the book and looking at it, then wincing herself.

"So, I have a plan…"

"Like any good Slytherin, with multiple options," Ginny said with a grin, taking a look at the book. "Ouch. This makes my eyes hurt."

"The objectives I see are to pass the Ministry exam, teach something while having fun, and make some money." She cracked her knuckles, "I'll keep the bloody book, give the approved definitions and answers; then give the real-life examples. They can return their copies if they want. I also want to get the students subscriptions to the _Financial Times_ and the _Wizarding Reporter_, and I have tracking software they can use, a spreadsheet."

"Why two newspapers?" Lara Croft asked.

"Muggle and wizarding financial news," she replied.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, September 4, 2002: 10:01 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Intro to Business class:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

There was music playing when Minerva got to Miss Wayne's class, she was dancing to a tune as a small white box sat between speakers. The song finished, and she drummed quickly on the desk, which held a row of small bricks covered with a cloth. She took a seat at the back next to Callista.

"Good morning and hello, everyone!" Miss Wayne said with a smile. "Our performance today was by a muggle band from Sweden known as ABBA, the song is known as 'Money Money Money', and they made quite a bit. I will warn you that everything that is said in this class may wind up on the test."

"What was that again?" Felicia asked.

"ABBA's 'money, money, money' song," Shaundra replied, making a quick note.

"Smart keed," Miss Wayne said, glancing around the room. "I'm looking for wizarding music relating to business, money, and investing, I'd appreciate suggestions. It looks to me like everyone that's supposed to be is here; at least I recognize everyone." She put the attendance aside, "Okay. First rule, there are no professors or students in here, just investors. Secondly, we're all here to learn, and hopefully I'll be able to show you how to make your own pile. Business is the greatest game in the universe," and she nodded at the back of the room, Mr. Griplink had entered. The goblin banker smiled at her, flicking her a note. She unfolded it; then nodded.

"Third, my good friend Mr. Griplink of Gringotts just passed me a note. Those people that are registered in this class have practice investing accounts set up for one thousand galleons each." She held up a hand, "The only difference between these accounts and an actual account is that you can't withdraw funds from them. Any gains or losses will be from your own activity. This is part of your final exam; your practical, which is your net gain or loss."

She leaned against the table; the bricks under the cloth 'clinked' a bit. "Losses. Yes, you will suffer losses. You don't win every hand in poker, that's part of the game. Speaking of losses, your textbook," and she held up hers. "Dreck. Crap. Return it, unless you've already started to scribble in it. If you have, I'll bet you're in Ravenclaw." She grinned as everyone laughed. "Seriously, this is the 'Professor Binns' of textbooks. Need I say more?" People chuckled.

"What of the syllabus?" Tomas asked, waving his.

"Ah, my brother. For being here; and my brother, I have a special honor for you. Together, we shall show them how to _INVEST_." She waved her copy of the syllabus, "As the ministry exam covers the points on the syllabus, we shall follow it, but it need not be _dull_, though." She took a sip of water; "The Ministry exam follows from this dreadful book, so I will therefore give you the Ministry-approved question, and their answer. I will then give you actual, real life _information_ you can use. Everyone ready?" She looked around the room, "Ministry question: '_What is a type of business_?' Official Ministry answer, and I quote directly from the text: '_A type or method of business a firm does_.' That's the official Ministry of Education question and answer. Everyone get that?"

She waited a minute as people finished jotting notes, "Now then. A business exists to move product, the trading and exchange of item A for item B. If I have six eggs I trade to Tomas for a liter of fresh milk, we have conducted business. Tomorrow, should he decide he wants seven eggs for his milk, we then negotiate."

She spread her hands, "That's the basis of business. The rest is definitions. What type of currency, what medium of trade stands for what? If I offer Tomas a loaf of bread for his milk, he must decide to accept or not. In this case, Tomas is in the dairy business, and the medium of exchange has changed from eggs to bread. That is known as 'barter' and is the oldest form of commerce, and it still goes on." She moved away from the table, "You see this every single day. Those of you who know me know my spell casting sucks." She grinned as people chuckled, "However, I'm decent with a cauldron, so if I trade help with a spell for help with a potion, we have bartered the exchange of information."

"Moving on," she said. "I've mentioned 'type of business'. One reason I don't like the text is that it uses the same phrase for two different concepts. The first 'type of business' (she finger-quoted) is one we've already mentioned, Tomas' dairy business. It would be better phrased as a '_line of business_', which is what we sell. Make a note of that, please." She waited a minute; "There are literally thousands of what are known as 'SIC' codes, which cover everything from aircraft parts to zoo equipment, and business sizes from single person to global businesses with millions of employees. Everyone clear on this?"

Felicia raised her hand, "What is an 'SIC code', please, and what about multiple product lines?"

"Excellent questions," Miss Wayne replied. "Four points for Gryffindor. First, I apologize, I should have defined it. An 'SIC code stands for 'Standard Industrial Classification', those codes are a way to search in lines of business. For instance, the 'Transport' line would be further broken down as rail, road, air, and water, and further subdivided into freight and passenger, and still further by local, regional, national, and international. Therefore Greywolf would be classified as airfreight and passenger, international. I don't think they've added in-system and interstellar yet. As far as multiple product lines, there are cases where a business will invest in a completely foreign line." She took a few steps, "Real-life example; Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron wanted to expand his business, but for various legal reasons he had to deal with the owners of two adjacent Hogsmeade properties, who happened to be the Weasley twins."

"Now, in this case, the Weasley's line of business is _joke shop_, while Tom's is _tavern_. However, if you know the Twins, you know that behind all that red hair, they're pretty sharp business people. I'm not the only person to invest with them, and when you sell them a joke, you're doing that, in a way. Anyway, they had identified an unfilled need. That's classic market research, identification of a business need, and a method of filling it." She took a few paces, "It doesn't matter what line of business you're in, there is always a need. The need they identified was for temporary lodging, when someone visits, they need a place to stay the night, the original definition of a public house. That's not too far from a tavern, so they invested with Tom, and have a partial interest in his public house. Therefore, while the Weasleys might have an _investment_ in Tom's pub, they're smart enough to leave running it to Tom. What do they know about running a pub? That's why I, as Arrowhead, invested in Greywolf. Arrowhead is an R & D company, while Greywolf's line of business is transport. That's also why Greywolf and DHL partnered, DHL has experience in local package delivery and sorting, while Greywolf does interstellar."

"Not just that," Sprink said. "We're also doing in-system."

"Which makes perfect sense," Mattie said. "Other logical businesses for them would be energy and communications. Who can name an illogical line of business for Greywolf? Shaundra?"

"Err… Zoo equipment?"

"Excellent; two points for Ravenclaw! While they might equip themselves to handle large livestock, that would be as a client of the zoo business, not an investor. See the differences?" She looked around. "It's the difference in _buying_ a cage versus _making_ the cage."

"Okay (she clapped her hands), we've covered the line of business, we're going to touch on the other 'type of business' (she finger-quoted). That would be what I would call the business' _structure_. There are essentially four different ways to set up a business, and you'll need to jot this down." She waited, "The first one is _sole proprietor_. You are the business; everything comes and goes out of your accounts. Profit, loss, taxes, everything connected with it, and this is the most common form of small business. A plumber is a good example. You have a leaky pipe, they find and fix it, and you write 'Joe's Plumbing' a check. Joe might have his wife at home to answer the phone while she's watching the kids, or he uses his cell phone exclusively. Whatever."

She paused for a minute. "Everyone got that? Moving on, the second type is a _partnership_. The Weasley twins started out like this; everything is split between the partners according to their contract. There are different styles of partnership, which I won't go into today." She waited again, "One other thing to note is that with a sole proprietor and a partnership, the business dies with the owner. Jot it down, the business dies with the owner."

She paced a bit, then took a sip of water; then pointed, "Callista. What is a line of business?"

The deputy headmistress was startled, then said as people turned to look, "What you sell."

"Excellent, two more for Slytherin. Minerva, what are three examples of lines of business?"

The headmistress looked a bit nettled, "A publican, a plumber, and a joke shop."

"Close enough, although it should actually be 'public house' or 'tavern'. A 'publican' is an employment code, like 'accountant'. Two points for Gryffindor. Moving on, the third of four business structures is the most common, the _corporation_. Once again, there are different types, public and private, small and large. The Weasleys would be a small, private corporation, while Greywolf would be a large, public one." She looked around the classroom, "Julie, Miss Morton that is, please name three public corporations."

"Um… GE, Boeing, and …"

"A British one? Come on, you can do it!"

"British Telecom? Aren't they government owned, though?"

"I didn't ask about ownership, but let's find out." Mattie pulled a bundle of newspapers to the table, popping a knife out to cut the cords. "I'm working on getting you lot subscriptions for two newspapers, the _Financial Times_ (she held up the paper) and the _Wizarding Reporter_. Let's see… BT plc… here we are. Publicly traded company, one of the largest in the world, up two and an eighth." She circled it, folding the paper. "A bit of trivia, it's known as the 'pink paper' because the salmon colored newsprint it's printed on is cheaper than white paper. Two points to Gryffindor, and another one for asking a good question." She handed the paper to Julie. "That gives you something to read at lunch. By the way, if any of you currently subscribe to the _Reporter_, as an investor myself, I thank you."

People chuckled, and she continued, "Last type of business structure is a non-profit, which is just what the name says. It's like a privately held corporation, and for tax and liability reasons run things like zoos and water parks. Everyone get all four? Questions on business structure or line of business?"

She looked around as people glanced around. "Excellent. Does everyone have his or her own laptop? Okay. I'm going to be emailing you each a copy of a spreadsheet file that you'll use to track your investments. Julie, let me borrow that paper back for a second." Holding it up, she said, "Each security has a symbol, a code of one to six letters that they use to track it. IBM's is, of course, IBM, while 3M is MMM. That's fairly simple, right? However, wizarding business generally doesn't do that, you'll have to make up your own code. I use WWW for the Weasleys, although the actual symbol is for a shoe company in the States." She passed the paper back. "Your ongoing homework is to pick up to ten stocks, enter them in your spreadsheet, and follow them. You're budgeted a thousand galleons, or five thousand quid to start. Please remember, you will have losses as well as gains, and you don't have to invest in a company because it's in the news. Now, as this is an exercise, we won't bother with the commission that brokers normally charge to perform a transaction. If you want to calculate it in, figure three percent. Next week, we'll go over the financial numbers, what's good and what's not. This is all publicly available information; muggle businesses will have it available on their web site, as will some wizarding businesses. If you have problems finding out about a company, send me an email."

She waited a minute, "People, these are not Quidditch standings. Everyone has different tactics, some conservative; some will be lucky throwing the dice. The idea here is to learn and have fun. One last thing I want you to write down," and she waited. "This phrase: '_Don't love something that can't love you back_'." She looked around the room. "Got that? It simply means that what we're doing here is investing. It's like having a Quidditch broom, if it breaks, yes, it's a financial loss, but there are lots of brooms out there. You buy a new one and move on. Now, I will confess that when I sold my stock in the Bats, I kept five percent, which has done … eh." (She waggled her hand in a so-so gesture.) "For me, it was a sentimental gesture, but it's about a tenth of a percent of my portfolio, so I can afford a little love." (Callista whistled, the school had bought those shares.)

Miss Wayne glanced at the clock, "Any questions?"

"What's under the cloth?"

She whisked it off, "I didn't get to them today. These are kilo bricks of gold, they weigh about the same as a liter bottle of water. These are also kilo bricks of tungsten; it's close to gold on the periodic table so they're about the same size. I want everyone to come up and get one of each paper, the muggle information is on the paper's web site, so tomorrow you'll need to check and see what your stocks did. Have a good afternoon, everyone, and let's make some money!" She touched her iPod, and some music started to play as the bell rang.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, September 5, 2002: 07:20 (GMT)  
In convoy, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**, Dining room:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Felipe!" Karen waved from her table, and the Mexican brought his plate from the buffet over. "Senora Meyers," he said politely, and seated himself at her gesture. "Have you decided on a name for your new community? We are unimaginative, and are simply using Nueva Mexico," he said as he added peppers to his eggs.

"We are using Brazos," one of her table mates replied. "Have you considered raising spices, such as… (he gestured) …those peppers?"

"_Si_," he replied. "We will be constructing greenhouses for the pepper bushes, they are more delicate, and cannot take cold." He took a bite, "I think you are correct, whoever assigned these sites wished us to stretch a bit, but also to cooperate and share knowledge between sites. Our university is located inland, in Mexico City, not near the coast, so our experience in fishing is limited."

"Same here," one of the newly named Brazans said. "While we had the river, it wasn't a major source of study. We primarily used that for irrigation studies for fields, we concentrated on larger animals like horses and cows, and fields of wheat and corn. Our climate is also going to be different, we'll have to cope with snow and ice on the rivers and lakes." He shrugged, "We'll help each other out."

"During what season will we arrive?" Felipe said.

"Let's see…" one of the fellows said, reaching into a pocket. He consulted a small chart, "Today's um… September fifth, which translates to the … ninth of Septus, which is a little more than half way through the summer season." He handed it over to Felipe. "Take it, I'll get another. The ship's computer has them, look for 'combined calendar'."

"Thank you," Felipe said. He studied it, "If I am reading this correctly, Windfall has a fairly short growing season, only four months."

"Not necessarily," someone else said. "We don't _think_ it will have as severe winters, but we do expect to see some snow, and you're a bit more northerly than we are. It does have a rainy season, or at least the southern areas have daily morning showers. Unfortunately, our sites aren't there, so we really don't know. We also don't know when hurricane season is." He gestured, "We're fortunate that we have the orbital radars, and weather forecasting with the satellites. We're told that hurricane shelters were planned, but we don't know if they're just deep cellars."

"It would be well to negotiate some sort of evacuation arrangement."

"Good idea," an older fellow said. "I'm Professor Franklin, and for my sins, I've been elected acting mayor of our town of Brazos. However, we're both coastal communities, so we may have to go further inland, to our Polish friends." He indicated a young woman, "This is Ms. Elizabeth Brandt, another one of our acting leadership. We'll have proper elections the first of the year for our town council; the acting council decided to sit out a term before running for election. If you'll be kind enough to introduce us to your own council, we can get some things organized."

"_Si_," Felipe said. "We are not yet that organized, but I will introduce you." He stood, "If you are ready, Senor Mayor?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Hernando Cortez sat back and regarded his new neighbors, the Texan… no, the _Brazans_ now. "Any hurricane we encounter will also have an effect on you," he replied.

"Yes, that's true," the just-as-new mayor replied. "However, those effects would be less than either a direct or glancing hit. I think if we both increase our reserves of food and water to accommodate our joint population for… three months?"

"A full year, preferably," Hernando said. He rubbed his face, "That will guard against crop failure. What about exchange of our technical people?"

"We can do video conferencing," Professor Franklin suggested.

Felipe shook his head, "The equipment installed on the satellites and that we carry in the freighter is not the FTL subspace. You are limited to the speed of light."

"Eh?"

Karen answered, "Whoever ordered the comm satellites didn't add the FTL subspace transceivers. In our equipment, we have the FTL subspace gear, but the satellites don't. Remember, I asked about getting the specs on things? Nobody had them from Arrowhead until after we boarded and it was too late; so therefore, we have to use the backup microwave radio transceivers to talk to our satellites. They're in a high, stationary orbit, so there's a speed-of-light lag of a few seconds." She shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "Another case of their 'left hand/right hand' problem. What we have is fine for things like email, but not for time-sensitive things like video conferencing."

"Can we do something with the satellites?"

"We'd have to modify or replace them," Karen answered. "We could also use the Elder's satellites, they're in a lower orbit, so there's less of a lag, but they're insecure, and yes, we have encryption." She paused, "We have a choice of a slower, higher satellite system that's secure, or a lower, faster insecure satellite system. However, we _do_ have communication between sites. It's not as fast as we'd like, and we (she waggled a finger between her colleagues) have to do some workarounds."

"How important is security?" _Senor_ Cortez asked.

"I do not want _my_ information going over an insecure system," Felipe replied. "Do not forget, this carries financial, medical and other personal information. No, _Senor_ Mayor, this will be as secure as we can make it. If we cannot modify the satellites, it is another reason to install an electric grid between sites."

Professor Franklin raised an eyebrow questioningly. "What does an electric grid have to do with communications?" he asked.

Karen replied, "Well, we've been talking, we technical people, just like you and the executive committee."

Felipe interjected, "It is useful, and there is not much else to do. Without the details, if we lay power cable between locations, it would include fiber optics for communications. While there is a capital cost, this can be recovered over time. Doing it that way would be less expensive in the long run. However, the cable can be heavy, so shipping from Earth would be expensive. It would probably be cheaper to build and license a factory to build cables."

Professor Franklin shook his head; "We don't have the tech base for that."

The engineers looked at him in silence. After a minute, Felipe replied dryly, "Thank you for your input, _Senor Mayor_. However, these are collections of spinning machines; fifteenth century technology."

Karen added, "The core is wrapped by one machine after another, we could build them, but they're small and cheap enough to import." She gestured with her pencil, "We're getting orbital metals; the survey of the original Landing site found a silicone plant, which the Chinese folks should be able to get back into shape; so we have most of the raw materials." She threw down her pencil, "I'm not in the _executive_ committee, so _I_ wouldn't know, but it certainly seems workable to me."

"How large an area would they need?" Hernando asked, to cover his fellow mayor's gaffe.

"That would be part of the bid. I took a trip to Sweden, and saw a cable plant." She blushed, "Yeah, I'm an engineer, it's interesting. Anyway, that was maybe twenty or thirty thousand square feet, plus outside storage, dock space, a few small cranes and such. However, they made a couple of dozen different types of cable, we wouldn't be." She counted on her fingers, "The combo cable I mentioned, both the land and underwater types. We would already be making fiber optic cable for that, so that as a separate product, as well as regular electrical and data cables."

"And the accessories for them," Felipe added. "Remember, _Senor_ Mayor, this basic plant can be expanded. Think about how much cabling is in a house or building, and multiply it out."

"Regarding the power cable, you don't do a single reel of five hundred kilometers, but multiple reels of five thousand meters and splice them," Karen reminded him. "There's also the shorter lengths and smaller gauges; people like electricians and techs like Felipe and I would use reels of a thousand feet or so. Just building the wooden or metal reels they go on would boost the economy."

"Hmm," Professor Franklin said. "I do some woodworking and brew beer as a hobby. I've talked to Mr. Rice about that, doing signs and such as well as going in on our pub." He played with Karen's pencil; then looked over at Hernando. "I agree, we need to discuss getting bids with the Governor when we arrive."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, September 6, 2002: 06:54 (GMT)  
In convoy, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**, Meeting room 5:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"_Guten Morgen, meine Damen und Herren_." (Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.) Gunter started by saying, before switching to English. "This is the DHL _Gruppe_ planning session, although I suppose we should call it the transport _gruppe_. We have representatives of each of the sites sitting in, as we have sat in on some of your meetings. We also welcome our safety people from Transport Canada. If everyone is ready, we shall begin. Computer, lights to 85 percent, _bitte_."

As the lights dimmed, Eleanor settled back to listen. She had talked with her cabin-mate Karen, had sat in on various planning meetings (primarily the non-technical ones), and this was something to do on the long trip. She just wished they had popcorn…

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, September 6, 2002: 07:43 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, "Royalty" class:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning," Beatrice said as Mattie, Arthur and the others entered classroom 17. Across the corridor, the fourth-years were entering the new Potions classroom. That door shut with a 'bang', and she controlled a startled jump, then smiled.

"One of the key points of being 'Royal', Harry said, "is that nothing surprises you. You must keep your cool at all times. I admit to being used to the castle, while Beatrice isn't."

"You must keep a smile ready-to-hand at all times," the strawberry blonde Royal added. "You are the Prince or Princess, nothing disturbs you, even if you're ready to scream inside." She looked at Julie, who was a bit round-eyed with awe. Reaching over, she snapped her fingers in front of her eyes, "I think it's time we dispelled a few myths. Yes, I am a princess, but I assure you, I put my shoes on just like you do. Hollywood plays up the myth, just like the blokes at Disney do."

Julie shook herself, "Sorry. No sitting around waiting for Prince Charming to show up on a white horse?"

Beatrice smothered a giggle, "No…" She coughed, "Nor do I wear floor length gowns and sing to the little birdies perched in my hand." She cleared her throat; "With your brother's association with Miss Wayne, you and your brothers and sisters are now the targets of not only paparazzi, but various rather strange people and psychopaths. As well, everything about you is now scrutinized and reported on in the tabloids."

"Everything," Harry said. "I went out clubbing over the summer, and one night picked a nice brown shirt to wear. It wasn't anything special, just a brown coloured shirt I happened to like, but the press called me a neo-nazi because I wore a brown shirt." He sighed, "I had to issue a press notice in the event I happened to have offended anyone."

"For wearing a simple brown shirt," Beatrice said. "I've worn frocks that gave me a 'baby bump' and had inquiries if I were pregnant, and speculation on the 'father'. You are constantly photographed, and you spend quite a bit of time visiting charities and other good works." She reached down to pick up a takeaway cup of tea, "If I'm hungry, I can't visit someplace like a chippie, standing in queue like anyone else, without causing a near riot. All because of who my parents are; if Father was a plumber or bricklayer, I would be totally unremarkable." She gave a small smile as one hand brushed back her hair. "Miss Morton, welcome to permanent celebrity. While it has its good points in that you can help people, one of the bad points is that you lose almost all privacy. Your friends are your most precious asset, the ones that treat you as 'Julie', not page one."

"And, as Professor Snape told me, they shall be around to properly deflate the ego," Mattie said with a grin. "Would you like to hear about our summer trip?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I wonder how much use this class will be," Arthur said later.

"We'll make the best of it," Beatrice replied. "Whilst I am sure that there are different customs on different planets, there are commonalities, I am certain."

"To some extent," Charlie agreed. "I would have each 'embassy' prepare a briefing for visitors for differences that might surprise or bite them somehow." He gestured at Arthur. "One method of settling court cases was a trial by combat."

"Interesting," Prince Harry said. "I thought that had died out. Please, do tell."

"That was on Windfall," Arthur started. "Females and the elderly must use a champion, and the male fighters must prove their…" he cleared his throat. "Their masculinity, by displaying … um …"

"He had to strip down and show his … package," Mattie said, clearing her throat.

"Woah!" Little Bill said, surprised. "You're the man!"

"Bill…" Arthur sighed, "Are you _finally_, FINALLY realizing why I don't tell Mom and Dad everything?"

Bill blinked, then said. "Yeah. Okay, I'm cool."

Clearing her throat again, Mattie continued, "Being female, I wasn't allowed to fight, and it had to be people that were there when the initial challenge was issued and accepted. The master of ceremonies can change the conditions of the fight, which is how Daala ended up in a collar – his champion…"

"Miika."

She nodded, "Miika, lost to Arthur." She looked at him; "I need to run you through a few Zogger sessions, dear." At a raised eyebrow from Beatrice, she clarified, "Holographic martial arts training."

"Interesting…" Harry said. "However, that wasn't the only planet you visited." He turned to Sprink, "Ms. Tonks, you submitted a report about a planet known as 'Frostbite Falls', you had an interesting experience or two."

"That's a bloody ice world," she began. "The population has a custom of…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, September 6, 2002: 08:57 (GMT)  
Terran system, Mars orbit, Deimos:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Edward Foo still didn't like antimatter much. Far too sensitive for his taste, it was like juggling nitro. Still, it had some interesting properties (although he still didn't know how Arrowhead made the stuff); he was doodling out some possible power reactor designs.

"Boom minus ten seconds," his partner Donald said. They had installed uprated shield generators, this design was totally Terran built. If they could approach the Gal-tech built units…

"… three … two … and boom," Donald said, melodramatically. The screens once again went white with the loss of signal (no TV camera made could survive total conversion to energy), and once again, the shield generator protected the camera behind the half-inch steel plate.

"Getting some gamma…" Edward said. "Not much, though. Yield of the package?"

"Those extra shield generators helped," Donald said. "Preliminary numbers are … twenty nine kilotons." He shook his head, "From something the size of a pea… we done good, Egg."

"Yes, we have, Donald," Edward agreed, for once not objecting to the nickname.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Friday, September 6, 2002: 09:48 (GMT)****  
****In Convoy, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**, Cabin C-05: ****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Eleanor sat back from her ship's computer terminal, and regarded the reply to her sister's letter, downloaded when they had reached Eridani III.

_To: May Branstone (school)  
From: Eleanor Branstone  
Date: 6 September, 2002  
Subject: New beginnings.02  
_

_Hello!_

_You will notice the slightly changed subject line I'm sending to you. A bit of advice from your big sister, now that you've been sorted into the Den, Professor Snape detests a long string of 'Re:' marks in the subject line. He regards it as laziness, and prefers a simple ascending digit, as I've inserted. Naturally, this is not something he will tell anyone, but I shall inform my little sister of. _

_Thank you in advance for the wand from Mr. Ollivander. I've asked the ship's purser to send you a draft for €15, which should cover the purchase and shipping. If this is inadequate, please let me know. _

_You've asked what I will be doing on Windfall. As the Governor's resident witch, part of my tasks is to measure the 'strength' of a planet's magical field as opposed to Earth's. This is measured in units known as 'thaum', and means it will be necessary for me to travel to various sites that we are placing, for more efficient and secure floo connections. _

_I am getting somewhat ahead of your current knowledge (in fact several years), but the Weasley Twins are not simple jokesters, but they have created (and patented, and licensed) a way not only to measure the magical strength of an area, but also to enhance it in a limited area (a few square meters). The Empire is of course vastly interested in this, and has funded quite a bit of R & D, as well as various exclusive production and distribution rights. Having someone of Miss Wayne's power, as well as the Goblins (in the form of Gringotts); as well as various Terran governments at their back has proved most useful to the Weasleys. I understand that several recent graduates have gone into their employ. _

_I am certain you have met Miss Wayne by now, as she is your Housemate. While I know she can prove intimidating, do not hesitate to ask her for assistance. Should you do so, she will want to know what you have done to resolve the problem, and will direct you to other resources if necessary. Only if those resources prove inadequate will she become directly involved. _

_Oh, this is such an exciting time! Who knew a few years ago that not only would we be setting off to colonize other planets circling other stars, but building starships in orbit, that we could holiday on space stations? This is truly the equal of the discovery of fire, or the wheel, and we are a part of it!_

Eleanor sat back away from her keyboard, regarding the letter, then saved it. The ship's Marines had on offer shooting classes, and as her duties required extensive travel, she had signed up for them. It would be several days before they would drop out of warp and she could post her letter. She glanced at the ship's clock, then closed her email program and locked her terminal. Entering the cabin's small loo, she decided to freshen up before class.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, September 6, 2002: 15:43 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Arrowhead R & D:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"That's interesting," a fellow's voice said from behind her. "What is it?"

"A defensive laser using grav lensing," Chantal said, turning from her keyboard to see a young man's thin face with pale blond hair and blue eyes. She blinked and looked again, she could see _through_ him, he was translucent and upside down …

She screamed.

"Well, really, there was no call for that," the ghost said, ruffled. "I simply asked a question…" She took another deep breath, and people started to arrive as the ghost backed away to the other side of her cubicle. Anne appeared, somewhat out of breath from her run; demanding, "What doth be the problem?"

"G… gh… ghost…" Chantal got out.

"Well, of course I'm a ghost. My father did kill me, the great sodding bastard," the ghost said, irritated, and Anne turned to him, "Draco, did'st thy think that a muggle might not ha' met a ghost before?"

"We're all over the bloody place, why wouldn't she have?" the ghost, whose name was apparently 'Draco' replied with a huff. Someone arrived with a cuppa for Chantal, wrapping her hands around it as she held it. "There's two specters associated with this building, and the Friar is downstairs enjoying himself while I try to learn something and get screamed at. It's just bloody wonderful, this shop of yours, and no one offers _me_ a bloody cup of tea," he complained.

"If we could figure out how to do it, we would," Miss Wayne said as she arrived. "Okay, everyone, back to work," she said, clapping her hands. The crowd dispersed, most toward the tearoom and their own cuppa. Miss Wayne turned, "Draco, I'll thank you not to frighten my people." She advanced, hand out, "You must be Chantal. Anne's told me quite a bit about you, I'm Mattie Wayne, and this is Draco Malfoy." Draco floated closer, holding out his hand (right side up this time), and Chantal hesitantly took it. Both dropped the grip as quickly as was polite, Chantal with a slightly queasy look on her face. "Draco's fiancé lives in London, so he hitched a ride down from Scotland to visit her," Miss Wayne said, taking one of Chantal's two guest chairs, Anne the other.

"Your fiancé … lives … in London," Chantal clarified. "She's not …"

"Dead? Merlin, no!" Draco said. "Blaise runs a potions shop about half a mile away," he said, with the slightly goofy expression only those deeply in love seemed to get. "The Friar is downstairs arguing with the religious nuts out on the street about the Bible, he's enjoying quoting verse with them." He shrugged in a 'takes all kinds' way.

"And there are two …"

"Resident ghosts, they're friendly enough; they won't hurt you," Miss Wayne said. "Clarisse died during the Blitz, Delbert during the Great Fire of the 1660's. We need to find their bones before we can give them a proper burial and they can move on."

Chantal was coming back on balance, she took a sip of tea; then studied Draco. She finally shook her head, "I must say, Anne, I thought I was the Queen of pranks, but running a real ghost in on me, IF it exists…"

"IF I exist; and calling me an 'IT'?" Draco asked, outraged. "What an insult!" He advanced toward her, Miss Wayne said, "Draco…" in a warning tone as Chantal scooted away in her wheelie chair. "Miss Rivers, I think you owe Draco an apology."

"It… he… certainly acts sentient," she said, scooting away from the pissed-off ghost.

"Sentient? I'll show you sentient…" he snapped back.

"Draco! Miss Rivers! Apologize to each other, now!" They glared at each other, then both mumbled "Sorry…" and Miss Wayne grunted. "Not the most sincere I've heard, but I'll take it. Draco, didn't you want to visit Blaise and cry on her shoulder about something?"

"Yes…" he said; then vanished as Chantal shivered. Anne pushed her teacup toward the taller blonde, who snatched it up and gulped it. After a few deep breaths, she came back on balance as Miss Wayne smiled at her, settling back with her own cup of coffee. "Not to be impertinent, but this is Friday afternoon. Are you two playing hooky from school?"

Anne looked confused, while Miss Wayne laughed, recognizing the reference. "It means being away from school without permission, and no, we have permission from our head of house, Professor Snape. I've been off-planet for a couple months, and Anne had some things she needed to talk to people about." Anne nodded and moved off, while Miss Wayne took a sip of coffee, then gestured at the bare cubicle walls with her mug. "You can decorate, people usually have things like their last job or their college, and of course family photos. Anne and I each have cubes on this floor, come by if you feel the need to talk to a fellow Yank, although there are several of us here. We raided NASA and JPL pretty heavily; I know there's one fellow here from Stanford. I expect to see some MIT stuff up here soon, to balance all the Cambridge types like your roomie Liz."

Chantal had definitely calmed down, she replied, "I sent a lot of that stuff back home, international air freight being what it is. I can have stuff shipped here?"

Miss Wayne nodded, "It will have to go through security first, they'll open it to check, then leave a note with the front desk bloke. When you check in with him in the morning, he'll tell you there's a package; the mailroom is down a short corridor. They're used to getting overseas packages, I have a collection of coffee mugs from various newspapers and broadcasters. Same thing for sending stuff out, the secretaries have the shipping forms and cost codes are online, just don't ship a jeep home on my nickel, please." Chantal grinned and muttered, "Darn!"

Miss Wayne replied with her own grin, "If you need to send something business-related off-planet, use the country code 'SP' for 'Space' on the DHL account. Personal, you'd pay the shipping, of course."

"So if I wanted to send something to my sister…"

"Windfall is where I spent my summer holiday," Miss Wayne said. "I'd address it to the person or business, then a street address or general delivery. Third line would prefix 'SP' instead of a state, then 'Windfall' instead of a city, then the postcode. We're trying to keep postal codes, email addresses and telephone codes in sync, and a uniform format, and having a government monopoly helps."

"I could call another planet?"

"Inside the Terran system, yes. Outside, email or letter post, and it can take a couple weeks or more to get there." She took a sip of coffee, "It would be cheaper to send your sister a letter, but take longer. Email, the bandwidth is limited, so we ask you use plain text instead of fancy fonts and graphics, and burn a CD instead of sending huge attachments. Supplies are downstairs in the mailroom." She took a last gulp from her mug, which Chantal noted was from the _Daily Planet_. "I need to get back to work. Anything else I need to know?"

"No, ma'am, and thanks," Chantal replied.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Blaise felt cold fingers on the back of her neck and turned, smiling, "Draco! Where have you been?"

"Miss Wayne brought the Friar and I down," he said as he appeared. "He's outside her office building, having a jolly time arguing scripture with the religious nuts picketing her. I poked around her shop; then came over here. Anything interesting happening?" He shifted slightly where he floated, "Hullo, Hermione. When is that thick boyfriend of yours going to get off the nut?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I've tried some subtle things, like leaving copies of '_Modern Bride_' out, but he just puts his feet on them when he's watching football on telly."

"Hermione …" Blaise sighed, "You're being too subtle. Ron Weasley is a stereotypical Gryffindor male …"

"Thick as two bricks…" Draco put in.

"… so its time to escalate, and get his attention …"

"Pain works well," Draco said. "May I? Oh, please, Blaise, with sugar, may I?"

"Draco…" Hermione said; then paused. "What were you thinking?"

He zoomed around, floating back with two brochures. "Wedding rings, one over each eye with one of those muggle stomplers …"

"Staplers…"

"Right, that's what I said," he replied. "Look, Hermione, I like you, even if you did somehow manage to kick my arse academically …"

"Not by much, though."

"Yes, thank you. I'll go have a bloke-to-bloke chat with the Twins; see if we can kick some sense into Ron." Draco vanished, and Blaise said, "The next step is to start a rumor going 'round the Alley about some competition. Perhaps Neville…" who looked up from stocking shelves and turned pale. "Ron will kill me!" he said.

"Ah, but you want Hermione happy, don't you? Where's that Gryffindor courage, Neville?" Blaise replied. "After all, Hermione, you're clever enough to have been a Slytherin. My price for getting you to the altar is your help changing that silly law that's keeping me from marrying Draco…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oy, where are Gred and Forge?" Draco asked as he came through the door.

Ian looked up (he was in town from Hogsmeade for the day), "Gred is in the back, and Forge is at Gringotts, Draco. Let me see if he's taking visitors."

"No problem, I'll just…" Draco bounced off the wall, blinked, and then tried it again. Ian smirked, "New charm, prevents nosy parkers from eavesdropping." He knocked on the door, poking his head in, then stepped aside, gesturing Draco inside.

As Draco floated past, Ian gave him a small salute, then closed the door. Rubbing his nose, Draco asked, "What the bloody hell did you do to your walls? My nose hurts."

George (or maybe it was Fred), laughed and said, "Pull up a chair, Draco. What can I do for you?"

Still grumbling, Draco rubbed his nose again, then said, "It's not for me, but for your thick-as-a-brick brother Ron."

"Right-o, mate, pull the other one. You don't have an altruistic bone in what's left of your body, so spill your plan, and name your price."

"Fine," Draco sniffed, sitting in midair, arms folded over his chest. "We're trying to get Ron off his nut and get him to the altar with Hermione. _My_ plan involved pain on Ron's part, but I was convinced to get the Weasleys involved, there might be less bloodshed."

Gred grunted, "And your price?"

"Revoking of a silly 1610 law preventing ghosts from marrying live ones." He sniffed again, "I'm prepared to deal with the Ghost's Council; this is for Blaise."

"Ah, young love," Alicia said, coming down the stairs and standing behind her husband. "Didn't we need a ghost for testing?"

"Yes, we do… Gred said, and Draco backed up as Alicia said, "You see, Draco, we need someone to test things that might be the least little bit … fatal. Since you're already dead, there's no problem." She smiled, "We're more than willing to pay our standard rates…"

"Even put a flower or two on your grave, wherever that is," Gred added generously. "Somewhere at Hogwarts, wasn't it?"

"I don't know, I wasn't around for my funeral," Draco snapped. "Are you going to help, or do I have to possess your idiot brother? I'd rather not…"

"We'll talk it over with the family and let you know your part," Alicia said.

"Fine," Draco snapped, then zoomed off toward the wall, once again bouncing off it. He gestured, "Do you bloody mind?" Alicia unlocked the rear door for him, and he zoomed off. She carefully relocked and warded it as her husband asked, "We didn't really need a ghost, did we?"

"No," she replied. "But now Draco's going to be wondering what we're testing that we need a ghost for."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, September 6, 2002: 17:45 (GMT)  
Terra, Wiltshire, Malfoy Gardens, pool:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

C'ari sighed and rolled over on her thin 'beach blanket'. Really, the thing wasn't suitable for a blanket at all, it had no thermal retention, but it did insulate her from the warm concrete. She sighed again, this time in happiness. Life had certainly improved for her, even if she still wore a collar and belt! Still, the belt would come off eventually, and there were rumors…

Peter Oxley had seen the redheaded space babe when she had checked in, and she didn't have the signs of a witch, so he decided to make his move. Besides he was so damn bored… He approached her and used one of his most productive lines: "Hey, babe, want some oil on your back?"

She rose up to lean on her elbows, looking at the young Terran male through her dark protective glasses. "Why would you be interested in the state of my back?" she asked. "Furthermore, as I understand this language, a 'babe' refers to an infant, which I am not, and why should I want to place oil, which I understand is a hydrocarbon fuel, on my back?"

'_Woah_!' Peter thought. '_She might actually have a brain. I can get around that…_' He replied, "Well, hey, no need to go all Spock on me, babe. I thought you and I might get together and enjoy some time together, y'know?" His facial features waggled strangely.

"I do not know this 'Spock', and as I am no longer a slave, I may decline. I do not find you attractive at all, I have no desire to copulate with you, and you are still immature." She turned away from him, resuming her position on the 'blanket'.

'_What the… She insulted me! She can't do that, she's mine!_' "Damn it, bitch, you will…"

"…not do anything she does not wish, Mister Oxley." One of the hotel's security elves said as he arrived with a 'pop'.

Yael Miller was watching from her own lounger, braced to jump to her feet, her Star of David necklace hanging as her hand was in a concealing folded towel. The young man, in his mid teens, flushed with hormones and, by the state of his dress, wealthy, turned to snarl in impotent rage at the small 'elf', one of the hotel staff, then stalk off.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

'_Uppity elf needs a good beating to remind him of his place._' Peter thought as he slammed the door to their suite. "I want that muggle bitch. Who does she think she is? She's a bloody collared slave, and I'm going to teach her to do what she's told and respect her betters," he said to himself. He yanked off his swimming trunks as he entered the shower, leaning back against the tile as he thought of the red-haired slave kneeling before him…

Afterwards, he yanked on fresh clothing; then checked a copy of the resort map. There was only one pathway to the pool area from the main building, with lots of ornamental shrubbery on the grounds. Checking to make certain his wand was in place, he left the suite.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

'_This is much better_,' Peter thought, lounging comfortably behind a bush with a cold drink while he waited for the red-haired bitch to appear. He snapped his fingers, and an elf appeared, "Yes, Mister Oxley?"

"A snack. Something with chicken, broiled, and another drink," he ordered, finishing the glass and tossing it to the elf.

"Right away, Mister Oxley," and the elf disappeared with a pop. Peter looked up at feminine voices, but it wasn't the right bitch, it was two of her shipmates, twins, it looked like. '_Maybe tomorrow, after I've worn the first bitch out_,' he thought. '_I'll do you two, maybe make you compete to please me_…' He sighed in pleasurable fantasy, pleased that his parents had hired a tutor for him after he was kicked… '…_having taken all Beauxbatons could offer me, which wasn't much_,' he thought. '_They believed this would be educational, but so far, it's been a dreadful bore_,' he mused. More female voices, he used a remote viewing spell to confirm that it wasn't his bitch, but a short-haired blonde as it was too much work to get up. '_Let the bitch do all the work, after all, that's why she's a slave_,' he told himself, and of course he agreed with himself.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I am glad you're feeling better, Ashley," Yael Miller said. "Did your doctor say when you could leave?"

"As long as nothing unusual happens, she thinks…" Ashley waggled her hand, "…perhaps a week or two. She does want me to stay aboard ship, keep away from 'reinforcing stimuli', like that's going to happen," and she tugged on her collar. "Anyway, we're done for the day, and the week, so I thought I'd come down and see what you guys are doing."

"We've got some cargo that needs to go to Windfall and points beyond," Yael said. "Think your doctor will agree to the end of next week when we can lift?"

"I'll email her and ask, but for now, I've just spent a long time getting my brain unknotted on a couch, and I'm starving!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"There she is…" Peter whispered, dropping his plate of chicken on the ground. He went over what he needed to do, and what he wanted the bitch to do, and hid himself, pointing his wand as the three approached, the older dark-haired Jew bitch he had seen a bit ahead of the other two. "_Imperio_…" he whispered, and two of them, the redheaded bitch and the short-haired blonde stiffened, stopping in their tracks. "No, no, just the redheaded bitch," he whispered.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Yael was walking back to their suite with C'ari and Ashley, when they suddenly stiffened and stopped walking. They then whispered, "No, no, just the redheaded bitch," and turned toward a clump of bushes, robotically walking toward them. Not knowing what else to do, Yael snapped her fingers (as she had seen others do to summon the elves), asking the first one to pop in, "What's wrong with them?"

The elf took one look, then dropped his tray and snapped both hands. Immediately, the place was swarmed with elves, there was shouting behind the bushes, and the young boy was floated out, struggling against the ropes that bound him. A senior elf appeared, showing stifled rage, and bowed deeply to her. "Please excuse this, Captain. It appears Mister Oxley was using a forbidden spell on your shipmates. We will hold him until DMLE arrives."

"What… what spell?"

"It is known as the Imperious spell, one of the three Unforgivable spells. Please excuse me for a moment, I must confer with law enforcement." With muffled cracks, human cops appeared, conferring with the elf; then one very tall dark-skinned fellow approached her, the sunlight gleaming on his shaved head. "Captain Miller? I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he said. "Please come with me," and he walked over to her two … ensorcelled crew. "They can hear me, they just can't respond," he told Yael. "What are their names?" he asked, pulling out a pad of paper and a ballpoint.

"C'ari and Ashley," pointing at the two girls.

"Stop. Pay attention to me," he told the two girls. "You are under an illegal spell. You will not be harmed. I am law enforcement. Your captain will stay here with you until we release the spell. Obey only her. Once we have released the spell, you will need to give a statement of what you were doing when you were attacked." He took a few steps away, conferring with several others.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mr. Shacklebolt reappeared, conferring with Yael, who told her two girls, "You will give a statement of what you were doing separately to Mr. Shacklebolt when he releases the spell. You'll stay within sight of the other, and myself but don't talk to anyone but Mr. Shacklebolt until he allows it. Come with me, please." The two girls followed her to small tables and chairs set up behind bushes, C'ari standing until he waved a wand, where she burst into tears.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Mr. Oxley? Mrs. Oxley? Will you come with me, please?" the young woman said, flashing a badge. "I'm Tonks, DMLE, and we've arrested your son, Peter, for two counts of attempted rape with an Unforgivable."

"Peter? RAPE? That's impossible!" Mrs. Oxley said, pale and shaking. "He… he doesn't know how…"

"Please come with me," Tonks repeated.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I'm reminding you, lad, don't say anything until your parents and your solicitor get here," the guard sergeant said.

"What the **** bloody **** are you talking about, you **** **** ****!" Peter shouted. "Get these ropes off me, let me out of here, do you know who my father is?"

"Indeed I do, lad. Indeed I do."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, September 7, 2002: 06:40 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Doors:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Professor Snape!" Mattie called as she returned from her run, and he turned, tennis racquets and equipment floating behind him.

"Yes, Miss Wayne?" he asked. The early morning chill was enough to raise goose bumps on his thin legs, shown under his white tennis shorts and togs. A takeaway cuppa was in his hand; he motioned the students on as he waited.

She slowed to meet him, breathing a bit hard. "I ran across an interesting name yesterday on the outbound list to our new colony on P'wheel. Melanie Snape, MD. A neurologist. Any relation?"

He turned to start walking, and she moved to join him. "Not to my immediate knowledge, although the medical and alchemical arts do run in the family. I would appreciate any knowledge you may legally give me." He turned to glance down at her, "The Melanie Snape you knew became an unofficial healer herself, women were not licensed as such at the time. I have some of her journals, I will remove the family wards if you would like to read them."

"I would, I'll ask Karen to pass any information to you." He nodded, "When will her ship depart?"

"Probably about a month or six weeks, it depends on when the _Nevis_ and the _Dover_ get here."

"Good. Thank you, Miss Wayne."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*** ****  
****Author's Note: "A tip of the quill to GITM for knowing far more about golf than I do."  
Saturday, September 7, 2002: 09:45 (GMT)  
Terra, Inverness, City course #2:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

People turned as suddenly a dozen students appeared in the parking lot, accompanied by distinct 'cracks' as three additional adults materialized. The leader, an older, dark haired woman coiled up a small rope that the students had held, and marched off toward the clubhouse.

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"Professor McGonagall, I presume? I'm Mr. Burns, the golfing instructor at MacReedie."

"Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Burns," Minerva said, shaking his hand. She wore her favored long skirts in her tartan and carried a bag, "This is my husband, Albus. Are your students prepared?"

"Oh, my yes," he said with an evil glint in his eye as he shook hands with Albus, who wore gaudy red and gold plus-fours and argyle socks with an orange and black striped golf shirt. "I understand you've just gone through your first OFSTED inspection. My sympathies. How badly did they do?"

Minerva sighed, "Some of the school's most cherished institutions had to be discontinued, ones that dated to the founding of the school in the early tenth century." She sighed again, as Albus said, "I must confess that it has been quite a while since I've had the chance for a relaxing eighteen holes, so when Minerva said she needed an additional chaperone, I volunteered. I understand that we receive a discount?"

"The students do," Mr. Burns said. "Their rate is £15 per, to encourage future growth. Unfortunately, we pay the full price of £35." He shrugged, then said, "Let's get this mob signed in, we don't want to miss our tee time. Where is your kit?"

"Shrunken, and we shall be holding their wands," Minerva said. "I understand there was some concern with cheating, those of us that practice wandless magic have given their word not to, unless, of course there is an emergency." She motioned two others over, "These are Crystal and Steve, they will not be playing, but are bodyguards for Miss Wayne and Mr. Morton."

As they were shaking hands, Albus said, "Let's get them signed in and paired up, now."

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"So you're a bloody wizard," the muggle boy said. "Your fangs have been pulled, how useful are you without your bloody stick?"

"I get by," Arthur answered calmly as he leaned against his golf cart while suppressing a grin. His 'fangs' included far more than just his wand and Mattie's made his look pitiful in comparison.

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Arthur put his opening tee shot about 240 yards straight down the fairway of the 324 yard par 4. Glenn, his opponent, out drove Arthur by about 20 yards, but had found the first cut of rough on the left side of the fairway. After studying this, Mattie pulled her driver from her bag on the cart and walked the short distance to the red tees the girls played from.

In the middle of Mattie's swing, Barbie, Glenn's partner, whistled sharply. Mattie's resulting shot was short and sliced. "That's a stroke, that is," she chortled.

Steve stepped up and warned, "Miss, I'd suggest you play a clean game."

"Oy, the bodyguard is giving me a warning. I'm soooo scared," Barbie replied. "Well, Ms. Rich Bitch over there is going to have to play like us normal folk do. I'm not lifting a finger toward either one of you, and neither is Glenn, and you can't do anything about it," she laughed.

Mattie frowned dangerously as she stepped out of the tee box. "Arthur? Not my father's game."

Arthur nodded, understanding that Mattie had just given him permission to nail Barbie to the nearest tree. He walked to the cart and unzipped a pocket of his golf bag, rummaged around for a moment and tossed a small book at Barbie, who fumbled, then caught it. "The Rules of Golf, Section I: Etiquette. I suggest you read it."

"This is just a friendly game, don't be an arse," she said as she tossed the book back. Teeing her own ball up, she waited for a distraction that didn't come and put her own drive about 200 yards down the right side of the fairway.

"If it's a friendly game, maybe we should make a friendly wager?" Arthur asked as they walked down the fairway toward Mattie's ball.

"Money doesn't mean anything to a billionaire, so how about if we win, we get to see the both of you starkers in the fountain in front of the clubhouse," Glenn smirked. He added, "I've a camera and lots of film."

'_That bet was seriously out of left field_,' Arthur thought. "We have our frugal moments," he replied. "I was thinking of a round of drinks at the ninth and eighteenth holes, but…" he saw Mattie mouth the word '_accept_'. Even if they won, the mere fact that they'd made such a wager to begin with could hurt their/Arrowhead's/the Solar Guard's/the Empire's reputation. "And if we win?"

"Won't happen."

"Humor me."

"Same terms."

Arthur already knew what they looked like naked, having routinely checked them, and everyone else present, for weapons back in the clubhouse. But Mattie had that dangerous glint in her eye... And he'd already been naked in public before... And he knew at least three spells that could ruin exposed film... "Deal," he said, offering his hand.

"Deal," Glenn replied as he shook it. "Ladies?"

"Deal," Mattie said, offering her hand to Barbie. "As you said, we don't have our wands. But I am going to insist on a clean game."

Barbie thought about it for a moment before shook Mattie's hand and said, "Fine, I'm in."

"I can already see the money from the _Sun_," Glenn said, adding, "The famous Mattie Wayne on Page Three, starkers!"

"Over my dead body," Crystal growled in Wolvish to Steve, who shook his head negatively. It was a fair, if stupid, wager and should be left to sort itself out.

Barbie, having heard the growl, looked at Crystal strangely, but quickly turned her attention to Mattie's second shot.

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Third hole, a short par 4, saw Mattie's drive get pushed by the wind to the right and into a bunker. Crystal cursed under her breath. A simple spell could have produced a countering gust of wind to leave the ball in the fairway, but getting caught casting it would have been Bad.

Mattie's sand wedge left her well short of the green, but she still managed a bogey after two putting from 20 feet after her third shot. Arthur missed a tricky four-footer for par and tapped in for his own bogey. They were down two strokes after three.

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Glenn had continued to be longer than Arthur off the tee, but Arthur had hit all four fairways to that point. Mattie's shots had continued to head right, losing her ball once, but Barbie had hit two water hazards and her putting, normally the strongest part of her game, had been possessed by a slight case of the 'yips'. (Twitching during the putt.)

"So... you were both off-world this summer?" Glenn asked Arthur as they waited on the cart path for the ladies' second shots on the relatively long par 4 6th hole. "What's it like?"

He opened a small cooler, extracting a bottle of water and offering one to Glenn, "The stars are beautiful, and seeing planets from orbit…" he said after a minute. "I kept thinking of Apollo…" He shook himself; "I did a walkabout in the port market on Eridani III, bought some stuff like a wrist comp, but mostly people-watched."

"What was that like?" Glenn asked, nodding in thanks for the water and cracking it open.

"It's an open air street market. I took some photos, but Mattie's a better shutterbug than I am. As far as the people, most of them are okay individuals, but there's also that sense of 'looking out for number one', there's not much charity," and he looked at Glenn as he took a sip of water.

The other fellow nodded in recognition, and Arthur continued, "Most of them, the vast majority, just seem to accept what life throws them as 'The Will of the Source' (he finger-quoted), the dominant religion," he said. "I haven't quite figured out all the details, it varies some, but it seems to be something like karma, redemption, and reincarnation. You move upward along the Source's spiral with a good life and good deeds, bad deeds put you further down the spiral, to retrace your steps." He shrugged and watched Barbie's second shot roll into the creek guarding the front of the green. "Ow. She should've laid up."

"How do I know you didn't..." Glenn asked suspiciously.

"I'm standing here talking with you about religion," Arthur said. "Do you see me with a wand in my hand, casting spells? And Mattie's facing the wrong way." He shrugged, "Wind from the Loch's just nasty."

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"She's a bitch," Barbie said to Glenn in their cart as he drove to the seventh tee, another par 4. "Snotty little billionaire. This isn't going the way it should. I want birdies and eagles on every hole. I don't care about your photos, I want to grind her face into the dirt."

"We can't fudge the scorecards, they're counting our strokes the same as we're counting theirs."

"There are ways to cheat other than bad math."

Glenn slowed and glanced over at her. "What? Find lost balls in convenient spots? As far as I can tell, they're not cheating..." Glenn started. "And they seem to be all right, like any other kid in school, I've talked to them both..."

"I DON'T CARE," Barbie hissed. "You do this for me, Glenn Taveres, or we're through! Is that plainly understood?"

"But... Yes, dear..." he replied.

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"Barbie wants birdies and eagles," Steve murmured to Arthur as he handed over a mobile phone for a false phone call.

"Don't we all," Arthur replied quietly as he 'talked'. "I get the feeling she's best with woods."

"The kind with erasers? I think she'll settle for other forms of cheating."

Arthur shook his head as he concluded the 'call'. "Mattie has her mental shields up, she doesn't like that girl, but she thinks Glenn's okay. Barbie signs a wrong scorecard, she loses, simple as that."

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The same creek that guarded the green on the sixth hole ran down the left side of the first section of the long double dogleg 8th, a par 5. "Arrrgh!" Barbie screamed, throwing her club into the creek to follow her ball. She spun, stalking toward Arthur and Mattie, only to be intercepted by Crystal with a drawn wand. Arthur didn't hear what she said, but the club was summoned out of the creek; cleaned, and handed back to Barbie.

"Drop two, play three and unless she can pop it over that stand of trees and hit the fairway on the other side, she'll be lucky to get seven," Arthur said quietly.

"She'll try it," Glenn replied, equally quietly. "Most people try to cut corners on this hole. Go about 190 down the right side like I did and then loft an iron over the trees. Since the approach is a pretty clear downslope, you can reach in two with a strong fade if the wind is right. I've seen Mr. Burns do it, but I've never managed it myself."

Barbie found her ball perched atop a small spit of sand at a bend in the creek. To save a penalty stroke, she yanked off her shoes and socks, then stood barefoot in cold, shallow water, took her sand wedge and blasted out of the creek bed into the short section between doglegs. She refused an offered drying charm from Crystal; her third shot barely cut the corner of the second dogleg and rolled a good 30 yards downslope. She chipped to within 12 feet and her putt went in like it had eyes. She'd saved par, but was still angry.

Her partner Glenn took a four iron over the two small groves of trees meant to block direct shots at the green and left him a downslope chip of his own. Overshooting slightly, he three putted from just off the green to bogey.

Mattie was suspicious about Barbie's fortunate sand lie, but said nothing; she knew Crystal and Steve were watching out for her. Her own first shot had not reached the end of the first leg of fairway, the wind that she'd counted on having failed to materialize. Popping a nine iron over the both corners of the dogleg, her natural tendency to slice came in handy for a change. But she misread the downslope shot, overshooting the green by 10 yards to end in the second cut of rough. Her chip passed within inches of the hole and her return putt was perfectly lined up, just not quite long enough, leaving her to tap in for a bogey.

Arthur, having overdriven his first shot, debated trying to chip over the corners as the others had done, but elected to play it safe, knocking his ball the short distance from the end of the first leg to the start of the third. His 3 wood, pushed by the wind, proved far too much club and his ball ended up a good 25 yards past the hole, ending up near the ninth hole tee box. His chip back rolled through the green to its far edge and he three putted from there for a double bogey 7.

"I've got to work to on my short game," he told Mattie.

"That green was slow," she replied. It was a fact their opponents knew well, having played the course many times before.

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The ninth was a slight dogleg left 400 yard par 4 for the gentlemen, but a 388 yard par 5 for the ladies. As usual, Glenn was 20 yards farther down the fairway than Arthur, but Arthur was in the middle of the fairway while Glenn had to worry about a group of mounds that might interfere with a direct shot at the green. Mattie was safely down the right side of the fairway, while Barbie, with no water to worry about, safely drove the middle of the fairway.

Being furthest away, Barbie took the first shot, pulling out her 3 Wood and firing a drive straight into the wind that put her on the green, but a good 45 feet from the hole. Mattie didn't need quite as much club to match Barbie's feat, ending a few feet closer to the hole. Arthur's approach found one of the left side sand traps. Glenn's iron shot cleared the mounds, but got knocked down by the wind short of the green. Paradoxically, he wound up closest to the hole of the foursome.

Mattie marked her ball with a silver sickle to give Barbie a clear putting line and watched Barbie reduce the 45 feet to four and a half with her putt. Barbie's putt having given Mattie a good idea of how her own would break, aimed a touch farther left than she might have otherwise and was rewarded with a putt that ended eighteen inches from the cup. If it had been closer, she would have tapped in, but instead marked her ball again and waited for Arthur's third shot.

Arthur's ball was buried fairly deep, but the bunker itself was shallow enough that he wasn't worried about hitting out of it. He buried his club face hard enough to send a shock through both arms, but he'd judged the line perfectly, bouncing his ball off the flagstick to end three inches from Mattie's marker.

"Nice one," Glenn admitted, drawing a hostile look from Barbie as Arthur marked his ball with one of the Windfall sandur coins. He bumped and ran to within three feet. Barbie's birdie putt lipped out and cursing, she tapped in for her par. The other three all made their short putts, resulting in pars for the boys and a truly needed birdie for Mattie.

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"How are we doing?" Mattie asked as they sat in their carts, waiting for the group ahead of them to leave the 10th tee.

Arthur pulled his scorecard from his pocket and did some quick mental addition. "Par is 35 for men, 36 for women on the front nine. I've got 44 and you're at 47." For his first round since returning to Earth, he was more than happy.

"If you could do my driving and I could do your putting, I think we'd both be a lot closer to par. How are they doing?"

"I'm just too cheap to buy more golf balls," Arthur said to her chuckle as he counted things up. "We were even after six, down two strokes after seven, down four after the eighth when Barbie saved par, but you got back one for us on the last hole. Glenn is at 42 and Barbie is at 46, but they've played this course before." He took a drink from his water bottle, "I think I'm going to like this class."

"Yeah, and we'll get them on the back nine."

"Why did you tell me to accept that bet? For all you knew they could be MacReedie's top golfers."

She sighed, "That was an impulse decision, but did you ever have someone just completely rub you the wrong way from the start?" He nodded, "I need to meditate on this, and her mind is like wading through mud, but it's been all I can do to keep from beating the crap out of her. I'm having to settle for this, and I hope Crystal and Steve catch her cheating."

"You really need to dial down that temper of yours."

"Yeah, I know. I'm going to the gym when we get back to school and take it out on the heavy bag, but I've wanted to slug her from the word 'go'." She took a sip from her water bottle, "I think I've still got issues about some things from the trip."

Arthur took a sharp breath and nodded. "Okay, I know what you mean, I've got some too. By the way, remind me to tell you about Ted Berry some time."

"Who's he?"

"Carson's father."

"Ah."

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Crystal was morally certain that Barbie had cheated at some point. As no threats had crossed either of their radars, she signaled to Steve to hold the fort, shifted to wolf form and scrambled back to the creek at the eighth hole.

It only took her two minutes to find it. In a stand of tall grass, she found a golf ball with Barbie's fresh scent on it. The lines and dots Barbie used as a personal mark merely confirmed the ball's identity.

'_Now what do I do about this_?' Crystal asked herself. While any wizard would believe a werewolf's statement about a scent, it was unlikely that any muggle would. Particularly her word if Mattie was involved in any way. Being Mattie's personal bodyguard meant people expected that she'd lie on Mattie's behalf.

'_I've got nine holes to figure it out and I can ask Steve if I have to_,' she thought as she collected the ball.

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As the match progressed, Arthur started getting a feel for the greens, Mattie compensated for her tendency to slice, Glenn's driving accuracy improved as the winds died down and Barbie's putting stroke came back to her.

They got two strokes back when Barbie dunked another ball (her fourth) on the 12th hole. Arthur lost a stroke in a fairway bunker on the 14th, but got it back with a 15 foot par putt, his longest of the day, on the par 5 15th after Glenn had problems with a group of mounds guarding the left front section of the green. All four of them hit the green on the short par 3 17th, but none of them managed birdie putts, although Barbie's missed by only two inches.

The finishing hole was an uphill par 4, 305 yards for the men and 294 for the ladies. Barbie once again had the honor of leading off and struck her ball 185 yards down the middle of the fairway. Mattie's out drove her by 10 yards down the right side into the first cut of rough. That was annoying, but not fatal. Arthur hit his tenth out of thirteen relatively wide fairways on the day with his low trajectory drive, but the upslope cost him distance leaving him 88 yards from the front of the green and 100 from the stick. Glenn took a monster swing and drove the ball a good 250 yards, about as far left as Mattie was right.

Barbie, furthest away as usual, lead off by dropping her second shot to the left of the green. Arthur, just a yard farther back than Mattie, lofted a wedge to the back of the green with enough backspin that it nearly rolled off the front of the green before coming to a halt. Mattie used a high iron to reach the right fringe of the green, a good 60 feet from the flag placed back left and Glenn tapped a half hearted chip that scooted 8 feet past the hole before stopping, a tricky downhill birdie attempt given the contours of the green.

Mattie smacked the ball, but the slow green ate momentum, leaving her 14 feet of left breaking green to go. Barbie chipped short with her third shot, leaving 11 feet for par. Arthur studied his putt long enough to get an 'ahem' from Glenn and a 'Whenever…' from Barbie.

Knowing the green was slow; Arthur struck hard from 35 feet, but came up short and left, even if well positioned for a 5 footer straight uphill. He marked his ball with a sandur coin and waited for Mattie's fourth shot.

Mattie's second putt went too far upslope and thus rolled just past the hole on her right. She tapped in for bogey.

Barbie's putt broke to the right more sharply than expected. She also tapped in for bogey.

Glenn's birdie putt rimmed out to a gasp from Mattie and a stifled scream from Barbie. The ball went left three feet and stopped. Glenn took three calming breaths before marking it.

Arthur's five footer went straight uphill and straight in the hole for par.

His side up by one, Glenn felt the pressure. Make it and win. Miss it and tie or possibly lose. Three feet, slight slope to the left. Simple enough. But he thought about the consequences of winning and things got complex. Nude photos of Mattie Wayne might be fun to take, but there was no doubt in his mind that she could make his life a living hell if he published them, no matter how much he might be paid for them.

But the Rules of Golf demanded he play his best and damn it, he would play his best. He checked his alignment one final time, stood parallel to his line, took two practice swings, moved forward six inches and struck the ball.

It went in.

Barbie screamed in triumph. Mattie's face tightened down in a way that indicated impending violence to Arthur. He'd come up with three ways to meet the letter of wager's terms while violating the spirit, but might need to stop Mattie from committing assault first. Glenn calmly picked his ball out of the cup, replaced the flag and got off the course so the next group could make their approach shots.

Steve rubbed his forehead. Bad Press was the last thing they needed. Maybe he should have let Crystal do as she'd wanted.

Crystal just smiled. "Before you get carried away, could all of you hand me your signed scorecards so I can verify them?"

Arthur shrugged, signed his card and handed it over, with Glenn doing the same. Mattie had an intuitive flash about where Crystal might be going with her request and smiled before carefully signing her full name and handing over her card.

"What do you mean 'verify them'?" Barbie asked, signed scorecard in hand.

"Just a little truth charm to verify that you wrote down the correct numbers."

"Truth charm?" Barbie paled.

"Anti-cheating charm, usually used on tests," Steve said, summoning Barbie's card to his hand and giving it to Crystal. He'd twigged to what Crystal was up to and Arthur was right behind him.

One spell later: "That's odd Barbie, you're marked as disqualified."

Wearing a nearly Joker-esque grin, Mattie said, "Don't tell me, let me guess. She lost her ball in the creek on eight, dropped a new one on that little spit of sand without telling anyone, instead of where she should have, then played on from there, recording a 5 when it should have been at least a 6, if not an 8."

"And violated Rule 6 - 6d," Arthur added, his copy of _The Rules of Golf_ in hand.

"You're making that up!"

"Am I making this up?" Crystal asked, pulling a sealed see-through evidence baggie containing a golf ball marked the same as the one Barbie had finished with. "Did you lose this? Because I found this one in some tall grass by the creek on the eighth hole."

"You're a magician! You just … conjured that out of thin air!"

"With your specific markings on it?" Crystal asked, tossing it to Glenn.

"Barbie, you didn't," Glenn muttered while attempting to rub away a headache.

"Glenn Taveres! Are you going to believe me, or are you going to believe them."

"I'm going to believe them because I _know_ you."

Barbie jerked as if shot. "Why, you..." she stormed at Glenn. "We're through!" and she stormed off.

"GOOD!" he shouted after her. "I'm tired of sharing 'Bouncing Barbie' with half the bloody school! Make it on your own, bitch!" Visibly calming himself, he turned, offered his hand to Arthur. "You're an okay bloke, for a Yank. Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it," he replied. "Bet's off, though, it never happened." Glenn nodded, and offered his hand with his camera to Mattie, "Sorry about that, Miss Wayne."

She handed the camera back, "It's Mattie, and stuff happens. Just so you know, I don't care about collecting on that bet, but... don't tell Barbie. Let her sweat."

Arthur grinned, "Damn straight."

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"So what's it like, going to a magic school, instead of a normal one?" Glenn asked as they waited for others to finish up.

"Classes are different, of course, but we're also getting the muggle, the non-magical courses for the GCSE like math and history," Arthur replied as he sat on a bench outside the clubhouse. "Instead of chemistry, we get potions, and transfiguration and charms, which is making things behave un-naturally. Like making a chair dance, or changing it to an end-table or a teapot."

Glenn blinked, "That… violates so many laws of nature…"

"Which is why I did, and still do, have problems with spell casting," Mattie said. "They don't violate _magical_ laws, but I'm much more comfortable with potions and alchemy. I'm not looking forward to my OWLs this year." She clarified, "Ordinary Wizarding Levels, the fifth-year exams."

"Alchemy? You can change lead into gold with that, what's it called, the Philosopher's Stone?"

"The Stone was destroyed in 1995," Albus said, coming up behind them. "Miss Wayne, Mr. Morton, we shall be departing shortly." He turned to see Barbie approach, "Ah, Miss Brittan. I wondered where you were. My dear, may I offer a word of advice? Let go of your anger, it is eating you up inside. I am certain Mr. Burns or any of the fine staff … "

"Stuff it, old man!" she snapped. "We're leaving!" She turned and stalked off, and Glenn said, "I must apologize for her, Mr. um…"

"Dumbledore, and your courtesy does you credit, Mr. Taveres." Glenn blinked as Albus shook his hand; continued, "I look forward to seeing you again, I had a marvelous time today." He turned, "Mr. Morton, I'd like to meet with you and the other students regarding Legilimency and Occlumency next Friday, fourth period in the Room of Requirement. I have also taken the liberty of ordering a text for you; it should be in shortly at Flourish and Blotts. You may expect their owl." He nodded pleasantly and moved off.

"Owl?" Glenn asked, adding, "Well, he's certainly … unique."

"Wizarding mail comes by postal owl, and you have NO idea," Arthur said.

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****Sunday, September 8, 2002: 10:53 (GMT)  
In convoy, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**, Dining room:****  
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Professor Franklin sighed and sat back, folding and throwing his napkin down. He looked out the port at the grey FTL 'jump' field that moved the ship, then said, "I've got an executive meeting in a few minutes; the heads of all our delegations. That's the reason we've been having all the meetings, we want to have as much information about each other as we can. We were operating in isolation on Earth, now we'll have a uniform agenda when we meet with the Governor on arrival, and she's sure to want to know things like priorities and prices."

"Good luck, then," Karen replied, as he got up to refill his coffee.

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****Monday, September 9, 2002: 12:09 (GMT)  
Terra, Inverness, MacReedie School, Dining Hall:  
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"So Glenn Taveres, laddie, I hear tell tha' ye' went an' taught a couple o' wizards how to play the Grandest Game," Scott MacPherson said as he straddled a chair. "How were they? Did they have to use their sticks?"

"The only sticks they used were their clubs," Glenn replied. "An honest game, and a fair game." He took a bite of his apple, chewing slowly. "They're not so different from us, they take a few different classes than the GCSE calls for." He circled a finger in the air, "Not so different, they've got rich and poor folk, they've got people struggling in certain classes and bein' good in others." He took a gulp of water, "Like you an' history, now, Mr. MacPherson?" He asked with a grin. Some of the onlookers chuckled, and Glenn continued, "Like any of us."

"Who did you play with?" one of the girls asked.

"Mixed doubles, I was partnered with our Bonnie Bouncing Barbie Brittan, an' played Morton and Wayne. They…"

"Wayne? The billionaire Queen herself? What was she like? Any chance…" Scott made a rude hand gesture, and Glenn shook his head. "Morton's put a ring on her finger, laddie. One of her mates told me later that there's an unofficial rule at their school. It's called 'Don't fuck with Wayne,' and the reason is that after she destroys her enemies, she grinds them to a fine powder. I heard a lot of 'Oh, laddie, I could tell you stories,' but none _of_ those stories. Those wizards can be a tight-lipped bunch."

"So what were they like? Anything like the tabloids?" another girl asked.

"Ordinary," Glenn replied, after chewing and swallowing a reflective bite of his sandwich. "They had bodyguards, but they were more older sister and brother. The one, Crystal, well, you may have heard, you may remember about an assassination attempt across the pond, in Metropolis?" There was a pause as people thought back, then several people grunted and nodded. "She took a grenade, spent several weeks in hospital. She seemed fine, but the one time Barbie dropped her ball in the lake, she walked toward Wayne with blood in her eye. I don't know why, but they just … moved. Like they didn't need their wands." He waved toward the school's corridors, "When I got back, I googled Wayne and Morton, an' I suggest you lot do too. Her home town is Gotham City, and it's been called 'The City of Nightmares'." He took a gulp of water, "Oh, she is one person I _do not_ want to cross, but… but..." He raised a finger, "She's … down to earth; they both are. The kind of mates you could go to watch a movie or game of footy, have a pizza, and put your feet up with. Morton told me that she brought tools with her, and got filthy dirty fixing a stopped-up pipe." He eyed his sandwich and finished it in two bites.

"So they're … normal, that's what you're saying," another fellow said.

Glenn nodded, holding up a finger until he swallowed. "They could fit in here, easily. Wayne's what the Yanks call a jock; she's a runner. How many people do we have that run for fun? Morton's more of a geek, he's good with math, but his Pa works, or did work, as a driver for FedEx, and his Mum's a university librarian." He held up his hands, "Nothing too weird there. Her older brother is a bobby, his older brother is in college working on an engineering degree." He finished his water bottle; then stood, putting things together, saying, "And now, I've got a bit of time before my next class."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"She's a… a… ooooh, I can't think of the right word!" Barbie said to her clique of friends.

"Witch?" one of them replied, and giggled.

"That too!" Barbie snapped. "Oooh, I hate her! She flaunts her money; you should have seen her kit! All top shelf, and arrogant, a stuck up little snotty bitch! Nothing bad ever happens to her, because SHE CHEATS!"

"What, she used bad numbers? You usually do that course in the 80's."

"No…" Barbie admitted reluctantly. "Her bodyguards…"

"She actually had them?"

"Yes, and they _hovered_, and watched me like a hawk. I was so nervous, I thought they were going to … to spell me any moment. Then Glenn does that _stupid_ bet of his, you know the one he does with any girl playing against him?" Several girls nodded, glaring toward the lunchroom and Glenn. Barbie continued, "Well, he tried it with her, and they _actually_ accepted!"

"Nooo!" several girls squealed.

"Well, we totted up the scorecards, and they lost by a stroke…" (Several girls squealed again.), "… but then they used magic to cheat again, and they said my card was invalid. I thought Wayne was going to … kill me right there, and she could get away with it. The rich always do, you know. They get away with everything!"

"That is SO true…" one girl said. "It wouldn't surprise me that she has her own private cemetery on the moon…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, September 9, 2002: 15:12 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Economics class:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Julie entered the class to see a blonde hunched over a pulled-together assembly of several student desks – she recognized Anne Bundy feverishly working at something. Professor Flitwick kept an indulgent eye on her from across the room. By now, most of the older students knew to leave her alone, something enforced by the Slytherins. Indeed, they had recognized her, and started to gravitate toward her, taking seats around her, slipping quills and snacks on her desk.

"And I thought _you_ were obsessive," she teased Tomas, who simply smiled at her.

"I have a mission, my friend," he observed quietly. "I must prepare for that mission, and for my justice against those who killed my Mama."

She cast a quick privacy spell; "Even the Batman had family, those that supported him, that watched his back."

"_Si_," he replied, studying her. "Are you offering to join my fight for justice?"

"I… think so. Let me consider it."

"_Bueno_," he replied. "It is not something to decide rashly. I will not pressure you." He gave her a searching gaze as she dropped the privacy spell. One of her housemates leaned forward, "What was that all about?"

"I was asking the lovely Senorita to the Halloween ball," Tomas said. "I am most pleased she accepted."

"You don't look pleased," the Gryffindor objected.

"I'm thinking about my dress…" Julie replied, as Professor Flitwick clapped his hands, "Welcome back to our Economics class! Last week, we started to discuss what makes up an economic system…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Mattie!" Julie called as the fifth-year was about to enter the Great Hall for dinner.

She moved aside, next to a suit of armor, raising her eyebrow. "Was Anne still in class?" she asked.

"Yeah, Professor Flitwick was getting an elf to bring her something. Tomas asked me to the Halloween ball…" and Mattie gave a short squeal, "Good for you!" and hugged her briefly. "Anyway, your dress from your third year, the one you didn't wear? I was wondering if I could buy it and update it?"

"Sure, if you can tell me what depreciation is, o business and economics student…"

"Er… the reduction in value over time of an object?"

"An asset, actually, but close enough. It can also apply to obsolescence, wear and tear, or outdating." The rush of bodies going into the Great Hall for dinner had thinned out, Kent Bundy walked out with a tray floating behind him, going up the stairs toward Professor Flitwick's classroom. Mattie nodded, "Good, I don't have to worry about Anne."

"What was she working on?" Julie asked.

"She works on several things at once, depending on which one she has a revelation on," and flicked on a privacy spell. "I know she's not happy with the antimatter production process, but she's also working on producing Fuel without a black hole." Mattie regarded Julie, "Were you planning on taking the training from Professor Dumbledore about Legilimency and Occlumency Friday fourth period?"

Julie nodded, "Yeah, sounds interesting. Who else will be there?"

"That I know of, Amy Johnson, Sprink, Charlie, and Arthur, of course."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*** ****  
**_Warning: Character death_**  
Monday, September 9, 2002: 23:58 (GMT)  
Fiveday 13 Septus, 162, 06:45 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, road near Baasht's 'farm':****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"… busier than a one-legged woman at an ass-kicking contest, Hans," Benni said into her comm. "I don't regret Christine taking some home leave, well, not too much, and God knows she deserves it, but I've still got a long list of things to do."

The shonnen 'bus' slowly came to a stop, the collared driver rapidly setting the brake, leaping down and pulling her bags from the trailer, almost throwing them to the side of the road. "This is your stop, mistress, please travel with us again," the slave girl said quickly, dropping to her knees and trembling in her fear as she watched a waiting carriage.

"I'll call you later, Hans," Benni said. "This is my stop, and the driver seems somewhat anxious to be on her way." She collected her remaining bag and made her way down from the second level of the bus to the ground, telling the driver, "Thank you for your conversation, it was most enjoyable."

"Yes, mistress, thank you, mistress," the girl said quickly, starting to rise and dash toward the relative safety of her bus. A slow, drawling voice made her pause, "Weren't you trained without clothing, slave?" The girl gave a terrified shriek, tearing her thin white slave smock off and throwing herself to the ground on her belly, facing right, left wrist and ankle crossed over her right.

"I do believe her owner wished her to wear his company smock," Benni said. "Go on, girl, off with you." The slave sobbed out a "Yes, mistress," and dashed off as Benni said, "You must be Saalat."

"I have that honor, Saalat, thirdson of Baasht, although now it may be …" he looked at her, "…house Lantern?" he asked.

"We need not be so formal," she replied. "You may call me Ms. Castellano, or Governor, and I see your driver has already collected my bags."

"Yes, she's been trained well and hard, Governor," Saalat said as the shonnen were coaxed into motion with the whip, and with a creak and rattle, the bus made its slow way. "Would you like her to take your last bag?"

"This is a bit more delicate, I'll hang on to it for now," Benni said, making her way toward the waiting carriage. The driver was already on all fours before the open door, Saalat with one booted foot on her naked back, ready to step into the coach. Benni reached down, setting her case next to a wheel, and slowly strolled around the coach, studying it.

The coach itself was unremarkable; she had seen others like it. White in basic color with thin yellow trim, a rain canopy was folded down and back over the luggage compartment, with two luxurious seats protected by it. The driver sat on a hard wooden bench with a foot-bar under and forward, to which the reins were looped around. It was pulled by three pairs of girls, hitched to the pulling tongue by their waists, their arms pulled and shackled up between their shoulder blades in a reverse prayer position. They were naked except for their galactic collars and belts, hooded with blindfolds riveted over top, and with the iron collar, breast chains and hobbles the more sadistic owners considered 'fashionable'. They stood, waiting, as Benni casually pulled out her camera and took pictures of the entire arrangement.

"For my report," she said with a smile.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Stop here," Saalat said casually, and the driver, the only slave that could see, pulled back on her reins, which pulled the girls' arms backward. They stopped, breathing hard, and Saalat gestured at the small valley. "As you can see, a well run, profitable business," he said with a pleased smile.

"So I see," Benni agreed neutrally. A patchwork of fields spread out around a brick-walled fortress situated atop a small ridge. The fortress, roughly triangular, had three guard towers rising up. Benni fished out a small pair of binoculars from her bag, bringing the fortress into closer view. From this distance, the coils of what looked like barbed wire were spidery, visibly attached to the inner sides of the walls, an inner building, also of red brick, ran along one side of the triangle. She could see white-hooded slaves working in the fields and in gardens, overseen by men. As she watched, she saw a slave beaten, she collapsing in the field, his arm moving up and down as he worked the whip. She sat back, telling the coach's driver, "Go on."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The coach moved through the fields, the overseeing guards nodding politely as they watched the slaves weed and tend the fields. They drove past brick lined retention ponds, slave-powered pumps and irrigation channels. Saalat casually said, "We need to increase the number of slaves, as it is, we're barely making our costs. Fortunately, we have an informal arrangement with an off-planet slave breeder, that shouldn't be too expensive." He eyed her, "Although, I have heard some things about you Terrans arming and freeing slaves…"

"Not everything you hear is true," she replied. "I'll want to take a look at your books and records, and have a nice chat with you and your business manager. Perhaps there are things you haven't realized can be done," she said. "For instance, you are aware that in a little under two months, we switch the planetary economy from iron to tungsten based." The carriage clattered over a wooden bridge and turned, the guards waving it into the fortress.

"Yes, at a seventy-two to one ratio," Saalat said, somewhat sourly.

"Iron is one of the most plentiful metals in the galaxy, I can import tons of iron for a few grams of tungsten," she said calmly. "Why the Elders decided on iron to base their economy on, I don't know, but it's like basing it on sand. The actual galactic exchange rate is seventy two _million_ to one gram of tungsten, but if we used that, we'd crash the entire economy."

Saalat eyed her as the pulling team sweated in the heat, "I don't believe you. How could anything be that valuable?"

Benni shrugged, "As you wish, but that's what's going to happen. The first of the year, iron will be worth almost nothing. It's what the market will pay for it, but people still need to eat. Yet here in front of me I see seven slaves, each wearing a kilo or two of iron hobbles and chains… I do believe you said you had several thousand slaves here? Well, you can add as well as I…" Saalat went pale as the carriage stopped in front of the inner building, the driver setting the brake and jumping down, once again assuming the duties of 'footstool' for her owners. House slaves appeared to take her baggage off. "Have a slave bring those books and records by for my examination. I'd like the chance to freshen up, it was a long, dusty journey."

"I'm certain it was," Saalat agreed, still somewhat rattled. "I'll send a slave when we're ready for last-meal, if you'd care to join my family and I."

"That sounds delightful," Benni said, 'unthawing' a bit. "Oh, by the way, when you remove those hobbles, we've found the girls can't walk for several days, and the breast chains? Be gentle, you don't want infections. Use alcohol there, you do want the girls in salable condition."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The slave held the door for her; then scampered off as Benni crossed the room's intricately inlaid wooden floor. Saalat turned, "There you are!" he said jovially at the click of her heels. Another slave scampered up, holding a tray with a fluted glass of wine for her. She accepted it but didn't drink from it, holding it in her right hand as the slave left. "This is my son and senior manager, Tiisen," he introduced the younger man, in his late teens to early twenties, who grudgingly nodded at her.

"I have calculated the fastest, most efficient method of removing the iron from slaves, father," he said. "By using torches, the hobbles and neck rings may be cut off…"

"Thereby crippling the slaves and disfiguring them," Benni said casually. "The objective is to both recover the iron and leave the slaves in a salable condition." She turned slightly, snapping her fingers, and a slave ran to her, dropping to all fours. "Stand, slave," she said, taking hold of one of her breast chains, at the same time her gaze slid to a ring on her right middle finger. Three particular gems gleamed yellow as she said, "The chains are simply clamped together with this ring. Pull it apart, the metal shield, bell, and the chain itself separate. The locking rivet on the neck ring can be punched out easily." She turned the girl around, "On your belly, girl; ankles in the air." She grabbed a big toe, "While a torch might be faster, it will cripple the girl by destroying this tendon and turning her ankles into badly cooked meat, which you could not repair without a med-tank."

"We have one…" Tiisen said. "They are only fe…" he caught himself, "…slaves, though."

Pretending not to notice, Benni replied, "Why needlessly destroy salable merchandise? Simply reverse the installation procedure, and remove the locking rivets. Now, a minor problem is the slave's muscles will need to be reconditioned to a flat instead of an arched foot. She will be unable to walk for several days until her muscles are re-conditioned; a short-term loss for a long-term gain." She moved away, 'accidentally' knocking her drugged wine against the slave's upraised foot. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

"Clean that up and report for discipline, slave," Tiisen snapped.

"No," Benni said. "My fault, I spilled it." She turned to tell Tiisen, "You get better performance from a slave if you don't blame them for everything. Free people do make mistakes, and they're still slaves." She told the slave, "On your feet, girl, and clean that up," then asked with a smile, "When is last-meal, I'm hungry!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I thought you had a wife and four daughters," Benni asked as they were shown to the table, a slave standing behind her chair. She picked up another glass of (once again) drugged wine, and walked about, adding, "Why don't you bring them out? One happy family at mealtime!" and pretended to take a sip. The chemical sensor in her ring blinked again, reading the fumes and producing three blinking yellow lights, indicating a capture drug present. She strolled around, switching her wine glass for Tiisen's (which wasn't drugged) as smoothly as a Vegas card sharp.

Turning, she saw Saalat's wife and four daughters enter, taking seats at the table. Strolling back, she took her indicated place; smiling as the first course was set before her.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Saalat somehow managed to hide his frustration. The meddling Terran was apparently immune to the capture drug he had ordered placed in her wine. He glanced at his firstson, who raised an eyebrow. The meal was coming to an end, and he raised his glass in the expected after-meal blessing to the Source. Unusually, he tipped his glass, draining it and hoping the Terran would follow his lead, as Tiisen did. He was glancing down the table at his mate, when Tiisen licked his lips, then crashed headfirst into the tableware.

"I switched the glasses," Benni said into the silence. "You've been trying to use a capture drug on me; which the law treats as poison, not to mention the little 'gift' you left in the front of your books." She tossed a small bag of coins on Saalat's plate, adding, "Your false books, and really, did you think I was simply another bureaucrat you could get rid of with a few coins? You are aware that attempted bribery of a public official is a permanent collar, and attempted murder is as well."

Saalat licked his lips as the Terran produced a sharp steel rod from somewhere. "Governor Sullivan doesn't have a problem killing slavers, as she was a slave. However the Queen doesn't like to kill, and as for me…" she walked around Saalat, the rod touching him at various points. "I got to where I am by making my bones, by killing. This is known as an ice pick." She tapped him as his family held their breath. "The temple… up the nostril… or the eyes, the skull is thinnest at those points." She continued to tap those three points, and Saalat blinked away sweat from his eyes. "What do you want? My daughters? They're yours!"

"Father!" one of them protested, and he shouted, "You are only females, no longer part of my House! Strip and submit to your new mistress, slaves!"

"Father!" another wailed, and Saalat pushed a concealed button. A security guard ran in, needler in hand, and Saalat motioned at the four girls. "They are no longer of my house! Strip them and have them marked and collared, I have given them to the Terran. Have them delivered to her chambers, and marked with penalty brands for disobedience."

"Father!" one said as the guard pulled her sister to her feet, throwing her to the ground. Saalat's wife was out of her seat, backhanding the girl who used to be her daughter. "Collar them, but no breast chains or hobbles," she told the guard. "Gag them so their new owner can verify their identity." She kicked the girl; then shoved them toward the door, the four crying girls being forced out by other guards. She shut the door after them, giving an insincere smile to Benni; then cleared her throat. "My mate didn't introduce us, I'm J'yan, and that's something I've wanted to do for years, the whining, greedy little bitches. A collar will be good for them, and as for that one," she gestured at the unconscious Tiisen, "You can have him in a collar too. What do we do with my mate?"

"That depends," Benni said. She laid the ice pick next to Saalat's plate, and searched for the concealed button. She pressed it; the security guard came back in the room. "Call the healer, please," she asked, and he stepped out into the corridor. They waited a few minutes; the healer arrived and closed the door.

"Saalat has a decision to make," she told the three of them. "He can have a public trial for my attempted murder and bribery, where he'll get a collar, or he can have a fatal heart attack, keeping his family honor intact, and allowing you three to split the proceeds when you turn in the iron the slaves are wearing for tungsten." She raised her hand, "I will insist the slaves are healthy and in salable condition, though."

"What about him?" J'yan asked about Tiisen.

"He knew about his father's plan, and cooperated in it. That makes him guilty, but the capture drug put him out. He said you had a med-tank here; you don't want him recognizable."

"Better he killed his father," the security guard said. "He earns a collar that way." He went to the door, opening it and having a quick word with two other guards, who took Tiisen away. Closing the door again, "I'll need another ten kilos of tungsten for their silence, and a promotion to Guard Captain." He turned to the Healer, "You?"

"It bothers me to some extent, but I haven't liked the treatment of these slaves," he said. "Give me supervision of their treatment, you'll have them healthy and salable by the turn of the year."

"Done. What about this visiting slaver?" Benni asked. "It's a security problem for the planet."

"Not a problem," the new Guard Captain said. "He's a freelancer, his ship won't lift off again, with him, at least."

"Do either of you have a problem taking J'yan's orders?" Benni asked. They both shook their heads, the Guard Captain took the bag of coins, placing a small needler on Saalat's plate, holding up the ice pick, which Benni reclaimed.

"You know what you have to do," J'yan said to her mate.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hans? Yes, I'm fine," Benni said into her comm. "I think this place will make an excellent training facility, as well as a prison, with a bit of refurbishment. We'll have to enlarge the gate to take your armor, but that shouldn't be too much of a problem." She listened, "Yes, I'm sure we can find masons, and brick is cheap. No, I want to extend electricity down into the dungeons, torches are good for atmosphere and Hollywood, but we want something a bit more modern." She turned to look at the table, "No, my machine is up and running, you can tell Piotr to send his requirements…" She listened; then nodded. "Certainly. I'll discuss the requirements with the new warden in the morning. No, I don't really trust her, she was too quick to shuffle her son and daughters off to a collar, she's something of an amoral bitch." She nodded again, "That's why I want Piotr here, as well as those Blacks that wanted a slave collar. We can start to rehabilitate the one group of slaves, while we install anti-air and anti-space defenses, there's a freelance slaver that visits I'd like to capture. Alive, preferably, so we can find out what he knows." She nodded, "Okay, I'll give you a call first thing tomorrow. I want a more extensive tour of the main building; I just wanted to call in. Right. Send it as soon as you can. Bye."

Closing her comm, she walked out to the balcony of her 'VIP' suite, checking the comm antenna that was clamped to the railing, and then the fiber-optic cable that lead to her laptop. Closing the door, she flicked the defensive shields on around the perimeter of the room; then motioned her assigned serving slave over. The girl hurried over, kneeling, her short leash chain rattling against the wood floor. Benni sighed, "Head up, girl. I want an honest answer, and if you've heard anything about we Terrans, we prefer that. You also have my permission to whimper and speak as well as you can." The girl whimpered once, then once again, nodding for emphasis. "I have to assume you were listening. We are rehabilitating slaves, and that will include you and your sisters…" the girl gave a happy squeal, "… which means measurable steps toward a dark collar." The girl gave another happy squeal, and Benni smiled. "I want to see the dungeons, especially those parts I'm not supposed to see, but you probably have." The girl's eyes were wide, and Benni asked, "If you don't think you can, let me know, I'll leave you here and…" The girl whimpered twice, shaking her head and putting her head to the floor, then sliding down until she was fully prostrate, her hands flicking back to cuff herself.

"Okay, wait in the corridor while I lock up," Benni said with a grin.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The girl stopped as she trailed Benni, whimpering to get her attention. "Who gave you permission to speak?" J'yan demanded.

"I did," Benni said casually. "I would prefer to remove her gag, so she could serve me as a food taster," she added. "Why don't we do that, or is something down this corridor I should see, slave?"

"Nothing but light discipline rooms," J'yan said. "Nothing worth seeing." The torches crackled in their wall brackets, and Benni motioned, "Lead on, slave."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

A chained, blindfolded slave turned a crank, which used wooden arms and leather straps to whip another slave. Reluctantly, J'yan said, "The slave turns the crank until the counter rings the bell."

"I see," Benni said. She stepped forward, zeroing the counter and ringing the bell. "What crime did the slave commit?"

"Does it matter? She is a slave!"

"We will be turning this into a prison, for criminals," Benni said with a sigh. "They have been convicted of crimes, and will need to be punished. They will work off their sentences, we do not beat them simply because they wear a collar." She motioned to the two slaves, "Take them to the healer's office for treatment and to remove the iron. How many other rooms like this … no, close them also, same thing with the slaves in there." She turned, "What about the girls who were your daughters?"

"And my former son?" J'yan said. "Down three levels, where the med-tank is, and the collaring machine. We will be giving them basic slave training, they are already collared and branded for you."

Benni grunted, motioning to her serving slave, "I want this slave's gag removed. She will be leaving with me."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

J'yan seethed, glaring at the interfering Terran, who was now gazing through the security strip in a cell door. She hadn't noticed when she had taken the needler after Saalat had done his last duty for her, a female needed protection here, and all the Terran had was her 'ice pick'. Yes, this area of cells was dark enough; she took a few steps to have a good chance, raising the needler…

452 saw her last owner raise the small weapon, pointing it toward the Terran she served, who had said she would buy her, she would have a private owner, taking her away from this Source-damned place, and squealed an alarm from where she knelt. The Terran female spun, dropping her light, a weapon appearing in her hand, which … sneezed … twice as her last owner's weapon fired. The two were at most ten meters apart in the dark cell area, 452 felt agony in her right shoulder as a needle hit her; another hit somewhere else on her neck she didn't feel. Her new owner strode forward, kicking the weapon from her last owner's hand as she regarded her. "Congratulations, that's the closest anyone's come to killing me in years." She crouched; examining 452's last owner, then stood. "I got your lungs," she told 452's last owner, who was struggling, coughing and gasping for air. "You're going to drown in your own blood soon, a nasty way to die." She held up her weapon, "Want a mercy shot, a quick death?"

J'yan didn't know what had gone wrong, the Terran had been too far away to use her weapon, but she had produced another… she struggled to breathe, coughing up blood. From far away, she heard the Terran say something about blood, and mercy, and she nodded. Blearily, she saw the Terran take a step away, pointing her weapon, which flashed…

Benni told the slow-to-arrive guard, "She tried to kill me, and she injured my slave. I killed her in self-defense. Have something done with her body, and take my slave for medical treatment." She pulled the guard close, placing the muzzle of her P228 in his nostril, where he could smell the fumes. "I want something understood. If she dies, you die. She saved my life; I owe her. Am I understood?"

The guard nodded, "Yes, mistress. I will take your slave now, and send slaves to remove the other body and clean. Where will you be?"

"I want to see my other new personal slaves, the four former daughters, and Tiisen. Where are they?"

"One more level down, mistress, then to the left, with the collaring machine and med tank. Your slave will be in the medical section, up two levels, mistress."

"Good," Benni said, and picked up her hurricane lamp from where it sat on the floor. "I'll be there in twenty minutes or so. Remember, I'll match your treatment with hers."

"Yes, mistress," and he carefully picked up 452, carrying her toward the stairs.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Tuesday, September 10, 2002: 07:04 (GMT)  
In Convoy, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**, Dining room: ****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Your attention please," the intercom said, and morning conversation quieted. "We are leaving the convoy, both ships are setting condition Yellow. Wearing of personal and issue weapons is authorized at this time. Passengers, please restrict your movements to and from your quarters and the mess hall. Please obey any instructions issued by ship's personnel or Marines. We estimate arrival in the Secundus system within twenty-four hours. Thank you for your cooperation, that is all."

"Oh, look, the stars are back!" someone said from a window seat, and Karen turned to see an unmoving view of the stars, instead of the grey field of the FTL 'jump' drive. They turned with the ship, changing as their other ship; the _Nevis_ came into view, her white hull sprinkled with flashing lights. Both ships moved slowly, aligning themselves with an unseen point, then started to accelerate.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Aboard the _Nevis_, Lise de Galais turned, "Madam La Captain, our messages are confirmed received, Convoy Command has refunded four kilos, twenty-eight grams of our deposit, warns of pirate activity and wishes us safe passage. You have messages in queue, Madam."

Gloria turned to her first officer, "Condition Yellow?

"Set throughout the ship, Ma'am, we have confirmed our tactical command with the _Manhattan_," Murdock replied. "Secondary reactor powering up, optimal level in two point six minutes. Our weapons are primed and on standby; shields are forming, currently at ten percent. We can proceed at your command."

Gloria nodded, "Very good, Mr. Murdock, you have the conn. Please signal the _Manhattan_, ready to jump to our initial speed of one point five lights on our signal. Set tactical formation and increase to cruising speed at your discretion." She stood, smoothing down her uniform, "I'll be in my cabin, reading my mail, Mr. Murdock."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied as he took the command chair and pushed a button, "Ship's log, this date and time. First Officer Murdock recording. We have left the convoy…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, September 10, 2002: 10:00 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2****nd**** year Mathematics:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning, and welcome back to second year math," Arthur said, and most of the class quieted down. A fellow kicked Whitloe's chair, and she turned, raising her wand, but he simply pointed at Arthur. "Thank you, Mr. Bundy," Arthur said dryly, "But if Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe cannot learn that when the door closes, class is in session, I have no problem continuing to deduct points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. How they deal with their housemates is their problem." He flipped open the folder with attendance, his eyes flicking around the classroom. "Now then, I have received most of your homework, except for Mr. Bundy, Miss Canby, and Miss Whitloe. Mr. Bundy, I am aware that you were in the Infirmary with an injury, there will be no penalty, please have it submitted to me by Friday with this week's assignment." The boy nodded, and Arthur flicked his wand, returning the pages. "Miss Canby, Miss Whitloe, do you have the assignment complete, and didn't turn it in for some reason?" He waited in silence, rocking back and forth on his heels as the two girls squirmed.

"No answer?" he asked after a few minutes. "Very well. Please report to Professor Snape for a detention tomorrow night, the homework is still due, in addition to today's. In addition, five points each from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for failing to complete an assignment."

"Thanks a lot," Bill said to the girls, and Arthur shook his head, "Mr. Morton, I mentioned last week that discipline is my job, not yours. While I can appreciate the sentiment, I will still deduct two additional points from Hufflepuff." That raised some eyebrows; it was known the two were brothers. Arthur continued, "Once again, I want to see you doing the work. From this point forward, if I don't see it, I will assume you used a calculator or charm, and will mark the problem wrong, even if the answer is correct." The class groaned at that, and Arthur replied, "Let me go over some quick tricks you can use in your calculations. For instance a 'stone', as a unit of weight, is fourteen pounds or 6.35 kilograms. Now, what we can do is simply break the problem down into easier units, multiply or divide that, then correct that result." He drew his wand, writing in midair '1 stone = 14# = 6.35kg'. Taking a sip of water, he continued, "Someone says they want to ship eleven stone, and by the way, that's written 'stone', singular, instead of 'stones', plural. You want to know how much that is so you can charge him correctly. Fourteen multiplied by 10 equals 140 + 14 is 154." He wrote this in midair. "Everyone follow that?" He waited as various people followed along, there were a couple of 'Ahhh's' he heard. "Let's do the same thing with kilograms. We break this down into wholes, quarters, and tenths. Eleven times six whole kilos, eleven times a quarter kilo, and eleven times a tenth. (He wrote in midair again.) Eleven times a tenth is… Miss Canby?" He sighed again and pulled out his pocket watch, "Everyone, please note Miss Canby has resumed her conversation with Miss Whitloe. It is now 10:23. Once again, five points per minute."

"It ought to be more," a Ravenclaw said. "By the by, it's 69.85 kilos."

"That's right, but I didn't tell them it would be more than five points," Arthur said, rocking on his heels as he waited again. This time Miss Canby noticed the silence and the pointed glares from her yearmates. Arthur cleared his throat, "Miss Canby, you and Miss Whitloe are each debited for seventeen minutes, at five points a minute. How many points is that?"

"Um… eighty five?" Miss Whitloe asked, and Arthur nodded. "Correct, although I did ask Miss Canby the question, and the original question, Miss Canby?"

She blinked, "Um, what was it again?"

"Eleven times a tenth?" Arthur wrote it in midair.

"Um, a hundred ten?"

"Close, one point one, Miss Canby, you forgot to move the decimal. As I said previously, I will subtract eighty-five points from both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. This is the second time for the both of you, the next time you disrupt my class will be the third time, at fifteen points a minute." (There was a collective gasp of horror.) "Each additional incident will multiply, the fourth at twenty, fifth at twenty five, and so forth. In addition, I will be discussing the reasons for my actions with Professor Sprout and Professor Potter, and may impose my own detentions. Some of you are aware of where I spent my summer holiday. It was not pleasant." He gave the class an eye; then took a sip of water. "Mr. Morton, eleven times a quarter?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, September 11, 2002: 05:55 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"I see our points are down again, Mr. Morton," Professor Harry said on entering the staff room. "Let me guess, Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe again?"

Arthur nodded, "Yes, I've given them a detention tonight with Professor Snape, and informed them that this is the second time, third will be fifteen points per, fourth twenty points, and so forth." He took a sip of his blackberry tea, "I also took another five points each for failing to turn in homework."

"It's not that difficult," Callista Vector said as she entered, making a beeline for the teapot. An elf popped in with a fresh pot, she smiled and thanked him as Aurora Sinestra entered, Callista handing her a cup.

Sighing, she asked, "How's Emma doing?" She waved a hand, "All right, I'm a nervous mum. Severus?"

"No unanticipated problems," he said. "I am having to assist her with some of the more obscure items, but it has only been a week, Aurora." He took a delicate sip as Hagrid entered, moving to the pot, followed by Miss Wayne. "Mr. Morton, anything else regarding your two problem students?"

"I mentioned I was considering doing my own detentions, I had been off-planet over the summer, and it wasn't pleasant. Let their imaginations go," he added, and Mattie chuckled.

"Right, I'm looking forward to grilling you in class," Callista said. "Did you bring your paperweights?"

"Oh, yes, suitably locked and warded. London Good Delivery Bars, four hundred troy ounce bars of gold and silver, that should keep people from slipping them in their pockets," she replied. "I want to discuss the different types of markets and how to evaluate them. Got your ten securities picked out?"

"I wasn't quite sure how…"

"I saw people in the common room throwing darts at stock listings," Arthur said. "Nothing motivates like money."

"Be nice if it were real," Hagrid rumbled, and Mattie said, "It's real, you just can't withdraw it. You'll get a statement from Gringotts; you just don't have a key to a vault. I've got the same thing, so we can see who's the champion investor. I think I'll award a prize…"

"That should be interesting," Minerva McGonagall said, rapping her knuckles on the table. "I plan to hold a minute of silence after lunch today at one pm, in honor of last year's attack in New York. Please adjust your plans accordingly. Moving on, Remus, you had questions about English and Composition?"

"Yes, I find that I'm going to need to go the parts of speech, especially with the younger students. They have a habit of using abbreviations with their mobiles…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, September 11, 2002: 09:57 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Intro to Business class:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Oh, yeah, baby…" Julie Morton was dancing to the music with Miss Wayne when Callista got to class. She noticed as she took her seat in the back (with Severus, Cho, and Hagrid) that there were several students attending who were not scheduled to take it. Filius popped in just before the bell, offering "Memory Charm?"

"Thank you," Miss Wayne said, flicking her wand to close the door. "That delightful medley was '_For the Love of Money_' by the O'jays, and Stevie Wonder's '_Livin' for the City_'. I've always loved Stevie Wonder's voice." She flipped open the attendance, her gaze going around the room, adding, "I notice a few new faces here, I have two simple rules. One, anything may be on the test, and second, there are no students and faculty here, only investors. I appreciate the suggestions for wizarding bands regarding money, investing, and business, and would appreciate any others."

Boosting herself onto a table, she asked, "How's everyone's investments doing? I understand there were a lot of darts thrown in the various common rooms," and people chuckled. "Picking investments, and please note I don't use the term 'stocks', is a combination of reading the financial tea leaves… is Professor Trelawney here…" There were some chuckles, and she continued, "As I was saying, there's doing your homework, developing your own style, and a good bit of luck." She pointed, "Callista, what did I say last week about love?"

Severus looked startled, but Callista replied, "Don't love something that can't love you back."

"Excellent! Three points for Slytherin." She pointed again, "Bill, Morton that is. What song was playing last week?"

Bill flipped to his notes, "ABBA's '_Money, Money, Money_', they're a Swedish band."

"Excellent! Three for Hufflepuff, and another for an extra fact." She shoved off the table, "People, when I say you need to do your homework on an investment, I mean it. One company's minor product or process could become an industry leader, transforming that entire industry. One area of Poland had this really annoying, sticky mud that nobody knew what to do with, until it caught on fire. That was one of the defining moments of the global petrochemical industry, or as they say in Texas, 'th' awl bidness'. Anyone heard of a company called 'BP', or 'Shell Oil'? All came out of sticky mud, folks."

She took a few steps, "Investments can fall into several broad ranges. We have stocks, in which you buy shares of a company. You have options, puts and calls, and the associated futures, in which you're gambling on what price a commodity is going to sell at a certain point in the future. You have bonds, which are debts, essentially IOUs that are issued by a company or government, and pay interest, known as the _coupon_, at a certain date, known as the bond's _maturity_." She paused to let people write this down. "Finally, we have mutual funds, which are baskets of securities for different interests. They have a specific share price, on the London exchanges a pound, New York a dollar, and so forth. They will never drop below that share price. In order of risk, the highest are options and futures, the lowest are government bonds."

"Why the extreme risk with options?" someone asked.

"Some people like that gamble, you can make millions in a day, or you can lose millions in a day. Let's say you're trading options on … Airbus in France. A thunderstorm knocks one of those planes out of the sky, killing hundreds. That price takes a nosedive, which means that depending on how you're invested means you've either made or lost big money. All because of a thunderstorm."

"How big is big money?"

"Largest I've heard of is about fifteen billion," she replied casually, and someone whistled. "Yep, that's billion with a 'B'. More than some small country's annual budget. I don't have the temperament to do that, day in and day out. I was raised as a conservative investor, so I stay with a diverse portfolio. That way, some disaster happens, you're not wiped out. I've got a good mix of stocks, bonds, and real estate, as well as some commodities; like gold. By the way, I want you to pass these around; they're heavy, now." She pulled a cloth off, "These are 400 troy ounce bars of silver, gold, and tungsten, or about twelve point four kilos each. Banks usually trade them. A troy ounce is about ten percent more than the avoirdupois ounce, which is what you use in daily life." She lifted her water bottle and waggled it, "Measured in ounces and milliliters. Anyway, if you have the nerve to play with options, more power to you. Moving on, futures."

She took a drink from the water bottle, "Futures are exactly that, we are gambling on a commodity being at a certain price at a certain date and time in the future. I will make the distinction that it gives the _right_, but not the _obligation_." She paused. "The _right_, but not the _obligation_," she repeated, then held up the textbook. "This is not covered in the text, by the way, so this is for your information. There are two options to these, a '_put_' is a sell option; a '_call_' is a buy option. The way I remember them is I'm _calling_ it to _buy_, or I'm _putting_ it out to _sell_." She cast refilling and chilling charms on her bottle of water, "Real world example: A Belter wants to sell me an iron asteroid. He outfits it with fuel tanks and a motor, and calculates an orbit to L4 in, oh, eighteen months. I'm going to buy a call on that quantity of iron at a certain price for that date and time. Someone else thinks the price will go up with a hidden gold deposit, or maybe a large diamond will be found." She shrugged, "It's happened, we've found rough diamonds the size of basketballs." She pointed as people whistled, "Severus, you've dealt with this kind of thing before. What would a diamond that big do to the market?"

"Depress it," he said laconically. "Lowering the carat price in the major diamond markets."

"Excellent, another four points for Slytherin," she said. "The reason diamond prices are high is because of a restricted supply. As I said, you need to research the particular market. Wand cores, for instance. Phoenix feather cores are going to be more expensive than unicorn. Questions so far?"

As Mattie answered a question, someone passed Bill the gold bar with a grunt. He held it up to admire it, but it slipped through his fingers and landed on his foot. "Ow!" he said, and Mattie stopped, coming over to him. "You okay, Bill?"

"Dropped the gold bar on my foot. Sorry, my bad."

"Lemme see," Hagrid said; then gently manipulated it. "I'm gettin' ye tae Pomfrey, lad. Might be broken." He picked up Bill despite his protests, carrying him out as Mattie looked worried.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Wednesday, September 11, 2002: 13:46 (GMT)  
Underway, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**, Dining room: ****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Your attention please," the intercom said. "There are two announcements. First, the Captain wishes all persons to rise for a moment of silence on the one year anniversary of the World Trade Center attack in New York." Karen rose with everyone else, bowing her head. After a minute or so, the speaker came back on, "Thank you. Second announcement is that we have entered the Secundus system and will be going sub-light." People looked out the windows and didn't see anything unusual as the announcement continued, "We anticipate planetary orbit within twelve hours. At this time, please secure personal and issue weapons. Thank you."

"Time to pack things up again," Karen said, and looked at Professor Franklin, "What happened with the executive committee meeting?"

"We sent our list of questions to Governor Castellano, who replied back this morning," he said. "You can tell she's from a financial background, her reply was based on cost/benefit. I think we'll at least get quotes on the cable factory; she also gave us availability on things like aluminum, copper and steel stock and pellets. With that, our Mexican friends have started preliminary designs for their stock components like floatation chambers, while they still have the computer power available."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Wednesday, September 11, 2002: 16:40 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Port of Hamburg, Imperial Logistics office: ****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"When will those lazy bastards in London finish the Catalog?" Alex asked the air. "It's not like they don't have a good starting point."

"Yes, they're starting with the NATO supply catalog," Susan, his co-worker said. "They've also got to add in stuff from non-NATO countries, and off-world stuff. Just re-numbering everything's going to be a tough job."

"True," Alex conceded. "I'm just used to the US Army's way of doing things. Still, the supply depot we're building in Phobos..."

"Will hopefully be big enough for an Empire," Susan replied. "Fifty-six hundred cubic kilometers, I would think so. At least they've got water, and it's not solid rock. More like a sponge, or Swiss cheese. That's not our problem, at least." She started to put her things together, "Don't forget, it's not all coming here, I'm sure we'll be setting up other depots in handy planetoids and moons. We just have to worry about shipping, storing, and distributing it."

"Again, true," Alex conceded, draining his coffee cup and turning off the machine. "You coming down to the pub with us?"

"I need to pick up Jason at child care," Susan said, draining her own tea and rinsing out her mug. "Don't forget to clean the coffeepot, I'm tired of doing it." She took a paper towel, folding it and resting her clean mug on it, "See you tomorrow."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, September 12, 2002: 23:56 (GMT)  
Seconday 15 Septus, 162, 29:40 (WFT)  
Secundus system, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**, Cabin C-05:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"We're going to have to get used to a new calendar," Karen said as she waited to be called for disembarking. Their suitcases had already been taken; all they had left was their carryon bags.

Eleanor checked her list as she added, "This is worse than Heathrow." She shook the page, "We go to Port Lincoln first, where we check into a dorm. Tomorrow morning we meet our local girls, have a briefing and get together, then board boats to our sites."

"Those of us that have local girls," Karen acknowledged, paging through the rather brief biography of her new 'little sister', 13713. She had been trying to think of a name for her. The PA came on, "Passengers in Deck C, odd cabins, please report to the transit lounge on Deck B with your luggage. Passengers in Deck C, even cabins, please stand by. Thank you."

"That's our call," Eleanor said, scooping up her bag and giving a last look around. "I almost want to say good-bye."

"Well, I will," Karen said. "Good bye, cabin. We've enjoyed your hosp…" she paused, then dashed across the room, "Almost forgot the family photo! See, it's good luck to be polite to your ship."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, September 13, 2002: 06:39 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Arthur!" Mattie called when she saw him come in for breakfast. "How's Bill doing? I haven't seen him."

He detoured to the Slytherin table, "He's fine, slight bruise. Madame Pomfrey did her bit, gave him a pain potion because he was being dramatic about it. He's more irritated with himself for being a klutz."

"'Kay, thanks," she replied as Sprink and the other prefects came in with the mail. She dropped the bag, complaining "I feel like bloody Saint Nick, and there's not even any snow on the bloody ground." She rooted around, "'Ere we go, Bundy, Anne... (she passed over a bundle), Bundy, Kent…" She gave him an eye, "I don't want to see you shooting those bloody elastics again, mate. They bloody well hurt, an' you could get someone's eye!" There were some chuckles, "Bones… Driver… Koslowski… Willis… Branstone… y'got something from Ollivander's there… an' o' course the bloody Queen 'ere…" She levitated a large bundle with her wand, "Now I'm going t' be collecting those elastics back from y', Hagrid's onto saving shillings, he is. In the bag, now, an' I'll step aside for the next wi' more mail, an' then I can sit down an' look a' my own. Never should'a taken th' job, I feel like a bloody owl myself. Never thought I'd miss them."

"How do I read this?" May Branstone asked, holding up a seemingly blank scroll from Gringotts. Anna Driver leaned over, "Touch your vault key up top there, it will disappear into the parchment to decrypt. When you're finished, tap it with your wand and recover the key and it will go blank again."

"What if I lose my key?"

Anna paused, not knowing, and Mattie quietly replied, "Gringotts will replace it, but it costs five galleons." She blew her fringe out, "I need a haircut." She looked up as May cleared her throat, "Um, Miss Wayne?"

"It's Mattie, yes, May?"

"Um, I've got a wand to send my sister on another planet, and she wanted some books…" (May tapped her laptop.) "… How do I send them to her?"

"I didn't know Eleanor had gone off planet," Mattie replied, somewhat surprised. "Are these part of her duties?" May nodded, and Mattie nodded. "Okay, then I'll send the wand to her, as far as the books, for what?"

"Um (she checked the email), she wanted copies of Professor Snape's formulary and Professor Flitwick's grimore, and asked about plants." She started to stand and go up to the High Table, and Connie Koslowski hauled her down. "First, Professor Snape is not a morning person," she said. "He will tear your head off if he hasn't had his first cup of tea. Second, cut and paste the relevant parts of your sister's email into a new one to the three of them. He is _very_ unlikely to copy his formulary; it has a lot of very dark potions in it. However, he will give you a recommendation, buy _that_ and ship it to your sister. Same with the other two."

"Plante and Weade have a grand catalog of Herbology," Sprink said, blowing on her own tea. She looked over at Mattie, "We've got a mail ship going out soon, I think."

She nodded, "One of the crew's in for medical treatment, they're staying at Malfoy Gardens." She made a 'gimme' motion, "I'll forward the wand to them for Eleanor. Are you close to done? I'll show you where the owlery is."

"I'll show her," Kent Bundy said. "I need to send a few owls myself."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, September 13, 2002: 20:53 (GMT)  
Thirday 16 Septus, 162, 09:40 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, 'Dormitory':****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning everyone, I'd like to welcome you to the planet of Windfall," Benni said. "I'm Lieutenant Governor Benni Castellano, and my office is just down the walk here, in what we call the 'embassy'. It's the egg shaped building, and after the girls come out, I'd like to meet with the executive committee members." She took a few steps, "I do apologize for the lack of coffee, hopefully some of you will grow the Arabica bushes and we can have some soon. In the meantime, there are some rather strong teas for your caffeine jolt." There was a morning chuckle, "In a minute, we're going to bring in the girls you've heard about, down the road in a month or so, we'll be adding to them some local girls from a slave farm." She rocked back and forth on her feet, "A slave farm is just like it sounds like, girls bred and raised for the collar, so hopefully we can help them out as well."

"How many girls are there?" someone asked.

"In this group, about seven hundred. We've got about two hundred doing construction of the sites under the supervision, union supervision mind you, of a British firm, Parkinson Construction. Now, I do want to say that while these girls are still wearing collars and belts, we are regarding them as free females. Governor Sullivan and I are acting as, well, '_in loco parentis_' for them in regards to treatment and contracts until they can get their feet more firmly under them." She let them think on this, "As far as I'm concerned, these are my daughters, my cubs, and I am a mama bear sending them off for their first day of school. Need I say more?" She eyed the group, "Now, there are quite a few that already have bank accounts and are being paid for their work." She cleared her throat, taking a sip of tea, "Please bear in mind that in about eight weeks, the planetary economy switches from iron based to one based on the tungsten gram, at a 72:1 ratio. This has been extensively advertised since the late, unlamented Elders … retired."

"So what is a pay scale?"

"For inexperienced girls, fresh off the block, I'm paying them six grams a day and withholding two for overhead. Food, medical care, housing, and so forth. Next level up is eight, after that is ten a day. There is an investment account that a lot of the girls put into, after all, until very recently under the Elders, they were slaves, they really couldn't buy much. What I've told my girls is that when the economy switches over, we'll do a salary review and change over at that time." She looked over the group, "Are there any questions at this time?" She paused, "If not, then I would appreciate your sitting at the table with your site number, that's how the girls know where to find you. After that, you can sit and get to know each other, walk on the beach, and we'll be having what we refer to as a 'beach day', a day off, we'll have a barbeque cook-out for lunch, and if any of you drink beer, we have some excellent local beers for you to try. Ready? I'll go get the girls while you re-arrange yourselves."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

13713 waited nervously with the other girls, lined up in the corridor. She could hear their new owners in the large meeting room, all she knew about her new mistress was a name, K'ren, and she would be at the seedling 17 colony. Mistress B'nni came through the door, placing two fingers in her mouth to whistle. The girls became silent, "Everyone, listen up. I'm going to put you through in small groups of about fifty each. Find your site and your people; then get to know them, go walk on the beach and talk." She looked at her list, "Girls whose collars end in zero and one, go on through and find your new family."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Karen watched anxiously as nervous girls, mostly wearing brief white or light blue tunics appeared, looking around at the signs taped to the walls, then moving toward those tables. One stopped and knelt, glancing at her sheet, "Master Rice? I am…" His wife Glenda scooped her to her feet, supporting her with a strong brown arm, interrupted her; "No, you're our new daughter, who is not a slave. Come along dear, let's talk and get to know each other."

Karen watched the three of them move off, smiling gently, and turned as she heard a throat clear. "Mistress K'ren, I am 13713, your new…"

"My new sister Allison," Karen replied, crushing the girl in a hug. "Come on, let's get something to drink and talk."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Um, Mistress K'ren, I …" the girl's attempt ground to a halt, and Karen turned. "I need to apologize, just … naming you like that. I didn't even check to see if, or …"

"If I had an existing name, mistress?" the girl asked with a crooked expression. "No, mistress, I did not, I am just … curious as to how you decided…"

"Well, I was going off the last two of your…"

"My collar, mistress? I do have the whole number memorized; it was my only identity, until a few minutes ago. Others, mistress, they have decided on their own, I could not." She sighed, "I am not suitable for you, mistress, you may return me…"

"Over my dead body," her new mistress growled with an intensity that frightened her. "You're my new sister, and the only way they're taking you anywhere without your consent is when they pry my cold, dead fingers from my empty gun. You. Are. My. Sister." She shook herself, "I'm sorry, Allison, or whatever you want to be called, but your days of being a slave are _over_." She growled again, clearly angry, but at what she could not see. "The only time I'm going to insist you do something is for health and safety reasons. The rest of the time, if you don't want to do something, you can say no." Her new … sister … turned and looked her in the eye, "My job is to help you stand on your feet, to think for yourself, to be a free female. We were told there is a slave farm the Elders had, well, we're going to help those girls as well. I'm giving you a hand up, there's no reason together we can't do the same for those girls. Do you agree?"

"I…" Allison blinked, "It is only proper to assist another when you can, my … my new sister K'ren." She took a deep breath, "My sister… what is it you do? Cut wood, or metal, or build things?"

"I help people to talk, by linking computers and comm devices and such to satellites and radios, make sure they are secure… it is a big, ever changing job that requires you to think things through. What is more, every network is different. My friend Felipe (she waved at a male) has different, but similar problems, so we help each other out. One thing we were considering on the flight is trading…" She paused at the alarmed look, "Only with your consent, remember? The idea is to give you a broad base of knowledge. I might do things differently than Felipe; there is no one correct way to do things."

"I… see," Allison said, as her new sister took a drink from her bottle of beer. "What do you mean 'health and safety'?

"That is wearing protective equipment to protect yourself from things like acids and electricity, things that can injure or kill you or someone else. Gloves, eye protection, that kind of thing." She examined her bottle of beer, finding it empty, and guiltily, Allison took a drink from hers, wincing at the bitter taste. "If you don't like it, we can get something else. There's no reason to force yourself," Karen said mildly. "We're all different, that's what makes things exciting." She waved her bottle, "Let's find something you like."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"… I am not certain, Sensei," Nicole told Bob Jourdain. She kicked some sand, "I have had some instruction from two other Terrans, Master Frank and Master Otto, but as I said, I do not know."

"The first step is going to be getting the shop set up," Angie said. "I'm going to be out clearing fields, I don't know how much help I can be."

"Chuck and I were planning on having our shops close to each other," Bob said. "That should help getting the heavy things in place, like drill presses and the forges, and we can rent an anti-grav lift. However, from what I understand, we've just got the basic foundation and a full-width two-story building plus basement. One big empty room, so we're going to have to put in floors; run electrical and plumbing…"

"Why the hell wasn't that done?" Angie asked angrily.

"They didn't know who was going where," Karen said, stopping by with Allison. "I've got an electrical manual, but I'm not a licensed electrician. I do low-voltage stuff like fiber optics, computers, phone and data networks, so it looks like you're going to need to plan everything out as to what goes where." She looked at her new sister, "I think we're both going to be helping out Mr. Abdullah, our electrician, and getting some on-the-job training."

"I think Chuck and I are going to need to get interiors done. We're all going to be very, very busy."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, September 15, 2002: 14:02 (GMT)  
Fourday 17 Septus, 162, 22:49 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Eastern River, 'Brazos':****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Someone has to say it, so I will," Dr. Franklin said. "Welcome to our new home." Karen and several others were on the top deck of the ferry sternwheeler, snapping photos by the ship's lights as the Captain steered them toward the southern docks, letting the current carry them against the pilings, where a couple of crew members stood waiting to jump on the floating wooden dock and secure them.

"I thought we docked on the other side of the river," Chuck said. His wife chuckled, "The captain doesn't agree with you, honey. Look, there's the fueling stuff, maybe he needs gas."

"Could be," he agreed, cracking his knuckles. "Hard to believe it's only been what, six weeks since you got that email, Angie."

"I remember sending it and thinking, 'My god, what if no one comes?' Dr. Franklin said. He moved to the rail and peered down, "I think the boat's tied off, or up, or whatever the term is." He took a deep breath, "Let's go build a community, shall we?"

"Words for posterity, doc," Chuck said.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, September 15, 2002: 18:39 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"You won't be ready for class tomorrow if you don't eat," Connie advised May. "C'mon, either eat up or spill whatever's bothering you," she suggested.

"I'm worried about my sister," May confessed. "My last email from her said she figured they would be arriving on site about now. What if… if…"

"When she can, she'll send you a letter," Connie said after looking down the table. "Look, I know it doesn't help much, but look at Mattie. She's got the entire colony effort for the Empire on her shoulders." May did look, and saw her housemate pushing her potatoes around the plate, periodically refilling the gravy 'lake', but not actually eating. She stabbed a pea with her fork, and gazed at it, turning it around, before slowly putting it in her mouth. "Like I said, it's not much, but…"

"I know," May said. "How does she deal with the stress?"

Connie looked around, "She exercises; and beats the stuffing out of the bags in the Hufflepuff gym. If you're not going to eat, come with me, we'll change and I'll show you where it is."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"This is the Hufflepuff gym," Connie said. "To get in, face this tapestry of Helga Hufflepuff and say something nice about her house." She faced it, "Hufflepuffs are steadfast, loyal and true."

"Aren't you nice," the tapestry agreed, and with a click the door behind them unlocked. May cleared her throat, "Hufflepuffs make the best friends."

"I would certainly think so, dearie," the tapestry agreed with a beaming smile, and the door clicked again.

Inside, what seemed to be an informal basketball game was in progress, while a blonde savaged the speed bag, her fists moving in a blur. "Amy Johnson, seventh year Ravenclaw and CEO of Greywolf Transport," Connie told May quietly. "A lot of people here are connected with Greywolf and Arrowhead, there's a lot of stress to burn off." She turned and continued quietly, "I wondered why she wasn't at dinner. Sprink is the 'spokeswolf' for Greywolf; she negotiated two planets into the Empire over the summer. The tall dirty blond bloke is Arthur Morton, he and Charlie Adams went to Windfall; they were there for the entire summer. Helped overthrow the old Elders and install a new government. They must know a lot of people there." Arthur took a pass from Charlie, faked right, and shot, the ball bouncing hard off the rim. Sprink went up, grabbed it, spun, and tried a three-pointer, which failed.

The door clicked open, and Mattie came in, wearing a gi. "I see I'm not the only one," she said. She dropped some stuff next to the heavy bag, stood silently for a minute, then blurred into motion, kicking and jabbing with her full power. Some activity came to a halt, the older students knew she only let loose on the heavy leather bags, and it wasn't seen that often. With a ripping sound, the first seam split, sand spilling out. She changed her angle of attack, going high, and with a 'ping' a chain snapped, hanging the bag at an angle. A high, twisting kick ripped the mounting grommet on another chain, and after no more than a minute, the bag was hanging by a single chain, sand spilling out of it from multiple tears and rips. She stepped back, summoned her wand and started to cast '_Reparo_' on the bag as people went back to what they were doing.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***


	2. 16 30 September 2002

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Chapter 2: 16 ~ 30 September 2002 ****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Monday, September 16, 2002: 06:21 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin Table: ****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

May breathed a sigh of relief; she had mail from her sister!

_To: Mum (work), Dad (work), May Branstone (school)  
From: Eleanor Branstone  
Date: 16 September, 2002  
Subject: On planet, at home base  
_

_Hello!_

_I'm sending this brief note to let you know I'm safe and I've arrived at Riverside, my 'home base'. I've already unpacked, such as it is, and my first task is to tend to my special plants. I don't have a 'little sister' as they are being called, due to my special requirements. Once they are up to scratch, I'll be doing quite a bit of traveling, as I discussed with the three of you before I left. _

_I haven't had time for more than a brief walkabout on the way to and from my small flat (same building as the Governor's!) to the dining hall, at least there's a massive kitchen garden for fresh veg! On the other hand, they're Army cooks (and German), so one must eat what you take! grin At least the beer is good, and I know from discussions on board ship that at least three sites are planning to raise hops. _

_May, thank you for getting me that item from Ollivanders, and your housemates' suggestions sound good. Let me know how much the books are, and shipping, and what the professor's consulting fees are. The more data, the better! Hopefully this type of thing will be in the Grand Catalog when we finally get a copy and can order kit!_

_I had best sign off now. Love to all,  
Eleanor _

May sat back, feeling much better. She realized why her sister had phrased things the way she did, both her parents worked muggle jobs, and their co-workers didn't know their daughters were witches. She turned as Miss… as Mattie came in, still yawning, and said, "I've a letter from my sister, would you like to see it?"

"If you don't mind, I could use some good news," she replied, moving around the table to read it over May's shoulder. "When you reply, ask her if she needs dragon dung. I really hate the thought of paying to ship it all that way, though."

"I'll ask her. Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

Mattie yawned again, "Not enough, but about six hours. Better than I have been, thanks." She gave May's shoulder a squeeze, then moved down the table to an empty space, setting her bags against the wall and accepting the oatmeal someone passed her.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, September 16, 2002: 06:54 (GMT)  
Fiveday 18 Septus, 162, 09:41 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, Central Island, 'Town Hall':****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Well, this is a fine way to start the morning," Karen said in disgust. Her 'little sister', Allison made a querying sound, and she said, "My specialty is electronics and communications. The equipment has certain requirements for temperature, humidity, and so forth." Allison nodded, and Karen gestured at the exterior wall-mounted breaker boxes and other electrical equipment. "These are not a weatherproof design, you see. There has already been rain since these were installed, and with the higher humidity of being such a short distance from the river, you can already see rust." (She tapped certain locations on the box.) "We are safe for the moment as the equipment is turned off, but if we mount our equipment out here, it will fail, and it is expensive to replace. Now, it's time for you to start thinking. What do we do to fix this, both short and long term?"

"By 'short term' and 'long term' do you specify time durations?" Allison offered tentatively, and Karen nodded. "For the short time, we may build a protective enclosure, and channel the … wires … into the building?"

"Good, but the enclosure needs protection against rain and snow, which is frozen rain, but also needs air circulation for cooling. They produce a good bit of heat." She indicated an area around the breaker box about a yard wide and five feet high. "This will give room to work, but also a place to run the wires. Now, we don't want insects getting into the building through the wire's pipes, so we'll have to block them. How?"

Allison chewed her lip, "With some form of wax, K'ren?"

"Some insects would eat the wax, but that's a good answer," she replied reassuringly. "There's a type of putty, a firm gelatin, like this white mortar (she tapped between the building's logs). When we need to work with the wires, we chip the old putty out, do the work, and put fresh putty in. For our protective enclosure, we can put a baseboard over the wall's logs, and fill in the gaps with the white mortar."

"Giving a level base for the field generator," Allison nodded.

"Or a simple wooden box," Karen said, and Allison looked crushed. "Your idea would work, but it's complicated, and more expensive," Karen said encouragingly. "Remember, we'll need to do this for all the buildings, so we want something we can do quickly, cheaply, and many times over. A box does not require power, just a few nails and wire mesh to let air flow." She stepped back, "For long term, where would you put our equipment?"

"Inside the building," Allison said, adding, "From what you have said, it is something that we may control from a distance, so we may place it where none go frequently. I would place it in a storage room on this level, or the one below."

"Excellent!" Karen replied, and Allison blushed. "To add to this, let's go take a look at those rooms, and we'll need to meet with Mr. Abdullah, our electrician, and with Mr. Rice about building an enclosure for the outside equipment."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Out of habit, Karen flicked the light switch, then shook her head, irritated, and held the hurricane lamp up higher. There was a rustling under the wooden stairs, and she held the lantern out to the side. "What the…" she wondered, and turned up the wick, giving more light, and seeing several brown and black forms, and the red gleam of reflected eyes. "Oh, shit!" she whispered. "Back up the stairs, Allison, quickly, and we need to lock it. We've got wabbits."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, shit…" Professor Franklin said. "How the hell did they get in?"

"To the Town Hall? I saw an outside cellar door with about a two-inch gap, and presumably the lower door as well," Karen replied. "There was a padlock hasp that held it open just enough, and I saw both stairs, that they can't climb, and a ramp. As far as getting on the island?"

"Maybe they can get down, but not up stairs," Bob Jourdain said. "There are only two bridges onto the island, north and south. Both lead onto extensive prairies and woodlands. The northern one had a partially open gate and they had the time. I've closed it, but we need to eradicate these critters, and be careful to check them in the future."

"All right," Professor Franklin said with a sigh. "Step one, we need every shotgun to go house-to-house and check. Kill the damned things, and don't forget the tail choppers. You have some chalk for the doors?"

"Paint, but people will object."

"Screw that, we can get turpentine. You go in, search and clean house; then lock the doors behind you. Do the Town Hall first, so we'll have someplace to sleep." Bob nodded, and the Professor turned to Elizabeth, "Once the buildings are done, we do a sweep of the island, and that's everyone as a beater. Drive 'em into the sea; let 'em drown like lemmings. Your job, Ms. Brandt." He turned as she nodded, "Mr. Abdullah, can we use electric lights and power?"

"Professionally, I would say no," he replied. "I do not know what electrical code they went by, but it is not one I am familiar with. With wood construction, I would prefer to wait until we can replace with proper equipment, and test and certify it." He stroked his bushy black beard, "However, in the current situation, if we are careful, and I operate the equipment only long enough for Mr. Jourdain to sanitize the building…"

"That's what we'll do, then," Professor Franklin said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

_Brazos community log, Day 2_

_Fiveday 18 Septus, 162_

_We arrived mid-afternoon yesterday, and spent the balance of the day moving our cargo off the barge and on dry ground. Therefore, today was our first full day in our new community. About 8:15 this morning, Ms. Karen Meyers, our computer girl came to me with her new 'little sister' (our informal name for the slave girls we're helping out), Allison. They informed me of the results of her check on the Town Hall. Two distressing things, first that improper electrical equipment had been installed, (indoor equipment on the outside walls – it was already rusting), and what may have been worse. We had a wabbit infestation, due to some carelessness in leaving gates open by the initial installation crew. _

_We are mounting 'Operation Wabbit Woundup' as one of our jokers has dubbed it. One suggestion was to simply flood the basement with an inch or two of water, then drop insulated cables in and electrocute them – the old 'hillbilly fishing' method. However, we don't know if floor drains were actually installed or not, given the diligence that the installers used._

_Once the buildings are searched, 'cleansed' of wabbits, their bodies removed and the buildings sterilized, we will then proceed with rolls of razor wire to do the same to the main island and the secondary islands. We hope this will be done by fiveday of next week, at which time we can have those areas kept clean by planting bloodvine and irontip bushes. _

_Once the wabbits are eliminated, we can then start to build the interiors of the buildings. As built, they are one big, empty room with a full-length basement. We need to build in an upper floor for living space, install second-floor plumbing and showers, kitchens, phone, electric and computer outlets. Those of us with bulky or heavy equipment will need floors reinforced with either timber or masonry. I have discussed this with the fellows who will be doing most of the work, and sided with them against townspeople that want individuality. We must be practical at this stage, we must concentrate on getting people in, under shelter, and ready to work, we do not have the time to do custom building. They may contract for that later, for now on the larger buildings, they will install a second floor on one side of the main building for living spaces. Under that will be a main 'shop' for retail and customer service to the right, a central main entrance, and one large, high ceiling room to the left for production work. _

_As planned, the community was bunched together in one section of the main island. We're going to expand, with the 'craftspeople' taking two full sections or more. To mark the sections of property, we'll be using the irontip bushes, which I understand will grow rapidly from seed. The 'trades people' that don't need that amount of room (our doctor, dentist, accountant and so forth) that can also 'live over the shop' will share a row of shops that individually take half or a third of a section. The third group is the 'others', which are apartments for those that commute to work like I do. Town Hall falls into that category, it's our seat of governance, courthouse, jail and meeting rooms, which we plan to use for religious services. That's where Ms. Meyers' communication equipment is slated to be installed, the building is somewhat co-joined by a common elevated boardwalk with our branch of Gringotts Bank and Post Office. We occupy an arc at the northeastern corner of the main island, with a public house/tavern/bar at the other end of the arc. _

_As Town Hall is at the 'curve' of the arc (moving from south to west), to the west we have a small parcel of land, somewhat larger than a tennis court, where we have our satellite dishes, air conditioners, and so forth for the building. Moving further west is a somewhat larger plot of land, currently staked out at 40 x 40 meters, which we have designated as our cemetery. While it doesn't have any people interred (yet), it does have several pets currently resident, courtesy of the Wabbits. There was some disagreement as to the suitability of pet burial there. Personally, I feel that they gave their lives for us, that is worthy of respect, while others feel they are not suitable, as animals, to rest in consecrated ground. An informal vote allowed them the honor, the 'daughters' being surprised when they were encouraged to add their votes._

_To the west is a general park, where we have a dining tent set up. We have cleared an area for that with scythes to prevent wabbit ambush, and plans have been drawn up for horse and shonnen-powered mowers and ploughs. South of the Post Office and the pub, and across the street is the General Store and our warehouse of supplies. Our electric generating plant, as well as water and sewer plants is at the far end of the island from us. Given the care taken with the residential wiring, we are fortunate that Mr. Abdullah, our electrician, has insisted on taking a look at that plant, and that Dr. Enrico, our physician, has tested our water supply. Both have blessed those installations, so we can at least drink the water. _

_No deaths, births, or crimes to report. _

_Signed: _

_John Franklin, Acting Mayor_

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, September 16, 2002: 09:38 (GMT)  
Fiveday 18 Septus, 162, 12:52 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, 'The Embassy':****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"_Enervate_."

Marie awoke, shaking her head to clear it. She saw a young brunette woman set a wand down in front of her; she sat next to an older blonde lady. She glanced around; she was wearing a pink smock and wooden blocking bands on her wrists and throat; she could feel, and her hands confirmed; she was wearing a collar! "What is going on?" She demanded.

"Ms. Laval, you tried to leave the _Scythe_ without the Captain's permission," the blonde answered in an American accent. "When the crew tried to stop you, you resisted with violence, causing damage to the ship. The First Officer arrested you; charging you with causing damage with violence and resisting arrest." She paled as the blonde continued, "Under the Interstellar Commercial Code, they had every right to eject you into the drive field, giving you a very quick death. However, since they were on their way here, they decided to bind you over to the colony authorities for trial. I'm Deputy System Governor Benni Castellano, and that's where we are right now."

"I'm charged with mutiny?"

"Formally, desertion, as you had agreed to obey the Captain's orders. Mutiny requires a conspiracy of more than one person." The brunette cleared her throat, "I'm Eleanor Branstone, this is an informal hearing to allow you to explain yourself and see the recordings and depositions we have on file. I'm also a witch, so I'm something of your advocate, we don't have any wizarding solicitors here. We're on Windfall, by the by, and we're trying to keep the presence of wizards secret." Marie nodded, and Eleanor continued, "This is recorded, of course. Be aware that Ms. Castellano does have the power of High Justice, but she also has to pull the lever herself."

"Pull the lever…" Marie asked.

"The trap on the gallows," Benni drawled, and Marie swallowed, hard. "The collar is not a slave collar, by the way. While it is implanted in your neck by the same equipment, it can be easily removed without nerve damage. It is a tracking collar, the same thing that courts in the US and elsewhere use as a locking ankle device. Should you try to violate a slave barrier you are not cleared for, you will get a shock, but it is limited to the first level, and does not have the kill circuit a slave collar does." She took a sip from a mug, "Should it prove necessary, we can change it to a judicial collar and slave belt, and we'll know to within a meter exactly where you are at all times. At the moment, you are not a slave; the question is what we do with you."

Marie was silent, and after a minute, Benni continued, "The first thing I want to know is why you tried to leave the ship. The only reasons I can think of I don't like; we don't have any truth serum at the moment, so Eleanor is going to cast a truth spell on you."

Marie nodded, and Eleanor drew her wand, "_Veritas_."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Was there anything else you would like to tell us?" Benni asked.

In the dreamy state of the spell, Marie replied, "No, ma'am." Eleanor raised a hand, "Ma'am, I don't want to leave her in the spell for too long, there is the possibility of mental damage."

"Okay," Benni said, and sat back. "Take her out of it, then." With a flick of her wand, and a '_Finite Incantatum_', the truth spell was released, and Marie shook her head. Eleanor pushed over a glass, "Drink some water, you did quite a bit of talking."

"Ms. Laval," Benni started, "I'm going to want you to talk to my security and counter-intelligence people after they've had a chance to review this." She nodded to the side, "Eleanor or someone else can be there if you wish." Marie nodded warily as Benni continued, "You're a tool of DGSE, the French Intelligence service. You're also a fully-qualified witch, and thus a potential asset, we have your biography here." She tapped a file folder, "Unless the security people have different plans, I'm going to offer you parole as Eleanor's assistant, she has a lot on her plate, and also needs to do some traveling."

Marie sat back, regarding the taller blonde. After a few minutes, she said, "Let us dispense with the threats and negotiate like equals. DGSE required me to obtain various items, presumably as a test of some sort." She raised a hand; a legal pad flew to it. She touched the blocking bands she wore, they came off, and she stacked them neatly to the side. "They are holding some of my relatives in Senegal, and the tropical climate is not healthy for them, they are old. In exchange for my cooperation, I would like you to obtain these items; I will send some of them back with a request for my relatives to be moved to a healthier climate. Lorraine, for instance."

"And for that, I shall receive?" Benni asked.

"My cooperation, I wish to have my relatives safe. I also have quite a few useful spells and potions in my grimore and formulary. You offer the best means of removing them from DGSE's control."

Benni sat back, regarding the young voudou priestess. "I don't trust you, I want to know where you are at all times."

"Which you will have with this collar," Marie replied, touching it. "In return, I refuse to wear the pink clothing, and I will start to train Ms. Branstone on wandless work."

"I will also need assistance with some of these plants," Eleanor said. "When the various wizarding plants were shipped, some of them have gotten in sad shape, and I have a limited supply of dragon dung." Marie nodded, leaning forward, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers as Eleanor continued, "Your first task would be to help me get those plants up to scratch, and if you know of others, suggest them. I'm having my sister at Hogwarts send me a copy of Plante and Weade's grand catalog. When you went to Loyola for Uni, you did well in Botany and Potions."

"Hold on, that's not a wizarding university," Benni objected.

"They have a wizarding college," Marie replied. "I've never understood why the Brits stop their formal wizarding education after Hogwarts, it puts their graduates at a high school level." She waved that off, "As I said, I can offer more advanced training; I understand this planet has a much shorter growing season." She settled back, "I'm thinking of a potion that increases the effectiveness of organic fertilizers, I have several in my formulary."

"Which has some nasty wards," Eleanor added. "We also have irontip and bloodroot that we have to seed, and they need special packaging."

"Ah, yes, I know of them. That's simple, a permanent desiccant charm, we cast it on a totem in the canister," Marie said. "We put a rebate on the canisters to make certain they're returned, just like a soda bottle or tin can." She steepled her fingers, "Now, Governor, can we make a deal like adults?"

"I want to have my security people see what you're reporting back."

"I have no problem with that, or working with you against DGSE, as long as my relatives are secure," Marie agreed. She raised a hand, summoning a pen, "I have no loyalty to DGSE whatsoever, I don't like being threatened. Now, I've even agreed to wear your collar. Do we write a contract or not?"

The two regarded each other; then Benni nodded. "We do, as long as you remember that wizards are in hiding here. Regarding your plants, when Morton was here, he dropped off a care package from his mother. She included about half a seed catalog, and I can't even grow weeds."

Eleanor snorted in amusement, "Arthur Morton? About five-eight with dirty-blond hair?"

Benni nodded, "You know him?"

Eleanor nodded, taking a sip from her own tea. "Oh, my yes," she said. She took a sip of tea, "That would actually prove a benefit, as misdirection. Have our little garden and potion laboratory in the back…" She took another slow sip of tea as she thought, "We'll need to package the irontip and bloodvine seeds so muggle machinery can use them…"

"Not really a problem with a totem," Marie said. "Governor, do we have a deal?"

"We do," Benni agreed.

A grin split Marie's dusky skin, "Good. Now, let's talk salary…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Tuesday, September 17, 2002: 12:21 (GMT +5)****  
****Terra, Gotham, Blackgate Prison: ****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

With a buzz, the heavy steel door unlocked, and the attorney swallowed nervously. What he was about to do was extremely risky, but if he could get his family back… He needed the convict to sign one document at least…

After a few minutes of conversation, the convict leaned forward, "What else y' got?"

"Some documents for your signature regarding your case," the attorney replied, adding more quietly, "Regarding the Wayne contract? I had to … (he cleared his throat) … subcontract it."

"Ta who?

"An African-American freelance group. You are aware that universities were going off-planet, for sub-colonies?" Salvatore Marone made an impatient gesture, "Well, _I_ could not go with the ones from a Florida school, however, they managed to place a man among the students."

"Yeah, so?"

"Ms. Castellano is the Deputy Governor of that colony. Their man has the best chance of getting to her, however, shipping a … (he cleared his throat again) … head across interstellar distances would be difficult; it would arouse suspicion." He tapped the bundle of 'legal' forms, "Third page, this is your authorization to Paolo to pay the contract on a photo."

"I wanna see this n…"

"African American?" the attorney said quickly. "If you use that phrase, he will take offense and the price will go up. Right now, he will pay his man one million, they are subcontracted for five."

"Righ…" Marone said. "Lincoln shoulda' never let 'em go. Third page?" He read quickly; then nodded. "'Kay. Tell Paolo it's 'kay. You takin' the other five?"

"Instead of that, I had a counter-proposal to you, Mr. Marone," the attorney said. "You keep the other five, I buy my wife and children with them."

"Dey don' like the Alps?" Marone regarded the attorney, "Lots a' fresh air there. Y'know, Wayne came to visit me. I gotta admit, she got some big brass ones, an' I hear 'tings about her; 'th Ghost Dragons, they say we're square, she took what they hadda give her and dealt back. I c' do business wi' her, they say, but tha' contract, it's hurtin' business. I like da blind monk, and Cobblepot's gotten some nice au'tentic rocks from her." He sat back, regarding the attorney, fingers idly twirling the cheap blue Bic. "Man works best when they motivated. How much more motivatin' you'll be? Lots?"

"Lots," the attorney echoed. "Next form down. I'm page three, family page four, Wayne page five."

Marone switched forms, skimming the thick legalese until he got to page three, then sitting back to read as the attorney held his breath. "I wanna talk ta this 'African-American' y' subcontracted. He brings back proof. I'd prefer a head, but if they can' manage tha', I'll settle for a photo wi' Castellano's bloody head on her desk an' th' form, I sign off on payment."

"Yes, sir," the attorney said as Marone leaned forward, his wooden chair creaking. He scrawled a signature on page three, read over page four and initialed it; then looked at page five. "What happened ta th' crew we sent ta Metropolis?"

"Killed," the attorney said succinctly. "They used the weapon provided incorrectly, and it killed them."

"They at least took a shot a' Wayne, right?"

"Yes, but the bodyguard shielded them with her body. Spent a few months in the hospital."

"Idjit," Marone said idly, and the attorney wasn't sure who he was referring to, and said nothing. Marone nodded, "'Kay. Wayne's proved she got big brass ones; an' I can do business wi' her. She got my respect." He read over page five again; then initialed it. "Tell Paolo the Wayne hit's canceled, an' you, you finally growin' a backbone an' some balls ta go wit' 'em." He flipped the manila file folder closed, then decisively put the pen down on top of it, and pushed his chair back.

A small segment of duty to his client resurfaced, "Do you need or want anything?"

"Na. Not ri' now, 'cept for that bitch Castellano's bloody head, an' her DNA proof. 'tanks, though." He stood, turning and banging on the door, "Hey, screw! I'm missin' t' movie 'o 'th' week, here!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The attorney drove away from the prison, turning into a small 'no-tell' motel. In room 127, he met an FBI agent, who copied his files and took possession of the tiny recorder. "He didn't search you?"

"No, although he did have some rather … politically incorrect things to say, including the 'N word'," the attorney replied. "He'd prefer to see a bloody head in front of him, but I managed to convince him of the difficulty of sending that across interstellar distances."

"Not to mention getting a box that size into a prison."

The attorney didn't answer; he'd arranged such things before. He continued, "He will settle for a photo of Ms. Castellano's head on her desk with her blood on the form."

"Excellent," the agent said. He flipped through the documents, "He just skimmed the text?"

"It reminded me of my law school exams," the attorney said. He had of course read the forms himself. "Whoever wrote them should be in Congress."

"US Attorney, lost by a narrow margin for his local House seat," the agent replied. "I see he signed off on your family."

"Yes, and once this last deception is complete, we are going someplace and pulling the ground over us," he replied. "I can get my family back, whole and healthy, you may deal with Mr. Marone as you see fit."

"Continue with us for a bit," the agent replied. "The FBI owes Ms. Wayne a debt, and she'll owe you one." He tapped the signed papers. "I'm sure that she can do something to help you and yours out, as well as Ms. Castellano. After all, the reason she was 'found' was her rather public position on Windfall." He started to pack things up, "I'm heading to DC; will you be available to fly to London soon?"

"To meet with Wayne?"

"And the Italian Carabinieri," he said. "They want to round up as many Mafiosi as they can, and now they have proof of kidnapping for hire. It's not murder, but they'll take it." He stood, a large black man with a shaven head, and offered his card. "My personal cell number's on there. Call me any time, twenty-four seven if you need me, and thank you, 'Mr. Wilson'." He shook the attorney's hand; then touched his earpiece. "You're clear, no surveillance other than ours."

"Good," the attorney said, and slipped out the door.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, September 17, 2002: 19:28 (GMT)  
Firsday 19 Septus, 162, 10:56 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, Central Island, 'Town Hall':****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Oh, that stinks;" Karen said, stepping away from the boiling kettle and waving her hand. They had decided to boil the wabbit carcasses; to ensure death of the pests and so when they shipped them back to Riverside to claim the bounties on them, they wouldn't rot and stink up the boat. As it was a community effort, the money went into a separate account they hadn't decided what to do with yet.

"It is better than washing the inside of the buildings, I think," Allison replied, using a stirring stick to fish out a de-fleshed skeleton and hanging it on a coil of wire with the others to dry. She pulled out another, pulling off a last bit of meat and tossing it back into the pot, despite the hungry whines of some of the lounging dogs. They had already determined the meat was deadly, one of their house cats had died from it; more pets had died in confrontations with the wabbits. The dogs had been trained to alert at the smell of wabbits, what was more difficult to overcome was their protective attack urges. The cats that remained (three of them) were being kept in travel cages for the moment, there was a small native rodent and they needed mousers.

Allison stirred the pot again; then set her stirring paddle aside. "Stay in place," she instructed the dogs, and pulled a wire barrier in place around the pot. She seemed to have a gift for getting dogs to do what she wanted. She had 'trained' them by simply telling them what to do and why. Now, she moved toward a small concrete pad that had conduit and wires protruding, and picked up a drill as two of the dogs trotted after her. Centering the drill on a mark, she started to use it, then stopped, putting on a pair of goggles and waving the investigating dogs back. "I do not have eye protection for you," she told them. "Move away." They backed off a few feet and lay down to watch, and she started the drill again.

Karen shook her head, smiled, then picked up her wrench and started to work on her satellite dish, only to be interrupted by a 'hunter' team coming back behind the building. She moved to meet them, pulling the wire aside and shooing back a dog, offering their improvised 'hazmat' cardboard box for the tails. The bodies were dumped in, Mr. George (their glazier) complaining about the smell while his wife Ellen tried to get a tail out of her sack without touching it.

"Need more ammo?" Karen asked as she used a paddle to push the fresh corpses under the boiling water. She fished out a skeleton, shaking it a bit and putting it on the fence to dry. Ellen George had given up on the stuck tail and was counting the skeletons drying on the fence. "Forty-three," she said. "Not bad. We added six, there are how many in the pot?"

"A dozen or so, I think," Mr. George said. He examined some of the wooden scraps they were using for the fire, thinking. "I think this wood may be usable for molds," he said. "I've been thinking about containers. May I have some; I'll do some whittling tonight. I'll have to find a release agent…"

"Some sort of animal fat?" Ellen George said. "It would be nice to get _some_ use out of these stupid beasts," and she asked one of the dogs; who had whined, "Why did you think I meant you? I'm taking the last eight twelve-gauge shells in this box." She made a note on the clipboard, then pulled the wire barrier aside as her husband set several blocks of wood aside. "Good hunting!" Karen called, pulling the barrier back in place; then picking up her wrench again.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Jamal Abdullah sighed and held back a curse on whoever had installed this mess. '_They need the blessings of Allah more than my curses_,' he thought, and turned to his 'little sister'. "To remain safe, you must ensure that the main power is off," and he pointed to the proper switch. "We shall be re-working this, installing proper equipment. Once the switch is off, you take your meter (he handed her the yellow box), set to AC, and test these points. Here, you should read zeros, and here, 480. The switch thus breaks the circuit, preventing a fatal shock. Now you." He stepped back and watched over her shoulder as she tested. "That is correct. Remember, it is always proper to test; it is your life that you guard. Electricity can kill you in a second; you must protect yourself. It is very dangerous. Now, the current goes from the switch into this array, it is known as a breaker box. These are usually used indoors. We will not be re-using this equipment; we do not trust it because of how it was installed. We will install trusted, new equipment and recycle this. While you remove the breakers (he tapped them), the black switches, I will install a proper new meter box. Let me know when you complete this." He sat on the outside deck, showing her the small box. "This will allow us to know how much electricity is used by speaking to a central computer and billing the owner." (He rapped the building with his knuckles.)

"I wonder how I shall recall all of this," the girl said.

"You shall because you will encounter it daily," he replied. "For now, the thing for you to remember is to test when you have the smallest doubt. Do not hesitate to ask questions, there are no foolish ones when you are learning." She nodded, and started to remove the black switches.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Careful … careful … that's it …" Karen said as she maneuvered the antenna onto the drive motor. It seated with a 'thock'. "I'll hold it while you tighten the bolts," and Allison nodded. "Do you need assistance?" she heard, and turned, "Mr. Abdullah! Thank you for the bit of spare wire. We've got this, thank you, the next step is finding north on all four mounts. I've got a compass and a Sharpie® marker in my bag, would you be so kind?"

"Certainly," he replied.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Come on, baby…" Karen said, concentrating on her laptop. Above her on the pedestal mount, the antenna moved slightly, motor whining as it searched for the satellite. A green light flickered on, then steadied as Karen pumped her fist, "Yes! We have comms!" She flopped back on the concrete pad, "Ow!" and rubbed her head. "One down, three to go."

"Three?" Elizabeth Brandt asked.

"This is the high altitude secure satellite, I still have the lower orbit _insecure_ satellite constellation the Elders put in, and to our east the weather satellite to connect to. Orbital traffic control for aircraft and boats use the lower orbit birds to communicate, and then there's the simplest one, the GPS antenna for our time synch with Riverside. Total of four birds we need to talk to, but the toughest one's done." She patted the antenna mast; then took Elizabeth's offered hand to get to her feet. "If we can get all four done today, I'll consider it a good, productive day."

"Excellent! When can we phone home?"

"If I roll the dice right and the cards fall to me, a day or so." She motioned, "This is getting the wiring from the dish inside. I want to test the circuits; then solder the connections. Then we need to install the hardware in the racks, connect the phones and the terminals upstairs, and then the fiber to the neighborhoods. We're only at step one, we need to get to at least step three before you can report in to the Governor. Be patient, grasshopper, it's only the two of us."

Grunting, Elizabeth asked, "How goes the wabbit hunt?"

"Allison?" Karen asked.

"Supplies of the shotgun ammunition are almost depleted. Persons coming back have said that they are having difficulty finding the animals," she replied from where she was working on a mount. She bounced to her feet, "It is possible we have found and killed them all."

"Don't count your chickens…" Elizabeth said, then at Allison's blank look, she explained, "A chicken is a farm animal, raised for eggs and meat. The idea is don't assume you have a result too early, we've only checked, what, a third of the island?"

"True, but if we come up dry tomorrow," Karen said. "I think that will be a good thing."

Elizabeth grunted, "I'd say it's almost too good."

"Don't be a killjoy, and I didn't say 'no injuries', just none attributed to wabbits. We've had some cuts, burns, and one lost a finger. We also had a broken ankle, but Dr. Enrico is on the case." Karen started to collect her tools to move to another antenna pad, "Has anyone checked the corrals and barns on South two?"

The first and larger of the two southern islands was also the northern one of the two; it was the transport island, where they had come ashore from the ferry. It had a gravel strip running uphill for aircraft, and a fueling area between the aircraft facilities and the wharf. The (currently unmanned) control tower sat between South one and the main island, straddling the system of locks and bridges between the main north-south river and the lake to their west.

South two was a smaller island, where livestock corrals had been built. They were due to receive shipments of both hexataurs (the 'centaurs' with a horse's head) and the ox-like shonnen. While Riverside had a breeding program, there was a limited supply of hexataurs that were both of-age and broken to harness available to ship. Shonnen were another matter, there was a plentiful supply of them, but they were both very large and very dumb beasts, and thus almost un-trainable. There was also a supply of sperm and ova for horses, cows, goats and pigs, but a limited number of artificial incubators. It would be several months before those animals could be bred.

There was a bridge from South two to the southern mainland; this had been one area of concern about the wabbit infestation. A 'gate minder' had been appointed for both north and south, they were responsible for ensuring closure of the gates.

"What about the southern fields?" Karen asked, and Elizabeth moved to help her with a different, larger design of antenna. They held it in place while Allison hurried to thread wires through holes. Watching the former slave work, clad in only her glowing silver collar and belt (she had tossed her tunic aside due to the temperature and exertion), the former secretary and current town council-woman felt some … no, it wouldn't be proper, she told herself. "They're arguing about burning the fields again, even though we don't have plows yet," she replied. "Got them all? This thing is getting heavy."

"Two more, mistress," Allison replied, distracted. She fished around with her fingers through the small hole; then pulled, "Got them!"

"Thank god," Karen said, lowering the antenna onto its motorized mount. She wiggled it, and heard it click, "Bolt it down, Allison, then we can let go."

"Yes, mistress," Allison said, distracted, as she used a hex wrench. "One moment…" She moved to the last hex screw, tightening it, then stepped back. "Done with step … 18, mistress." She held up the printed instruction sheet, and proudly drew a small line through '18'.

"Oy, veh, my arms," Karen said, shaking them. "Thank you, Elizabeth."

"My pleasure," she said, shaking her own arms out, then moved on her inspection tour.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Mr. Rice?" Elizabeth called, and he poked his head out of where he was working. "Yes, Ms. Brandt? What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering when you were planning to do the survey on that northern installation?"

He put down his tools; "Angie Jourdain was looking to do a soil survey at the same time. The problem is that according to the overheads, it's several miles from the road and the dam. I looked at the ground there; it doesn't look like it would take one of our little golf carts. That means we either hike through the grass or wait until we get horses in. When they cut those trees out of the ground, they used force blades and heavy anti-grav, which we don't have. They also left a lot of potholes which need to be filled in if we're going to use them as fields, and the terrain is prime wabbit, mostly grasslands."

"So not any time soon," she said, somewhat disapprovingly; and made a note on her clipboard.

"Ms. Brandt, you are more than welcome to go yourself. However, until those grasslands are mowed or otherwise made safer to travel, I'm not going there without combat pay."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Wednesday, September 18, 2002: 05:52 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting: ****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"You're looking better, Miss Wayne," Poppy Pomfrey observed as Mattie entered.

"Thank you, a bit more sleep does help," she admitted, heading toward the coffee pot. Arthur entered, yawning, and she waited for him to get his tea before passing over a folded sheet of paper. "Remember our visit to my aunt and uncle in Metropolis?"

"Vividly."

"Maggie Sawyer will like to hear about this," she replied. "Headmistress, you know that I've had a price on my head?" Minerva nodded, and Miss Wayne continued, "The FBI wants to meet with us and the Italian Carabinieri, their national police, on Friday morning regarding that." She passed the sheet to the Headmistress, who nodded. "Severus, any objections?"

He raised his hand to summon the paper, perusing it silently before passing it to Pomona Sprout. "None on my part." Pomona nodded, returning it to Arthur and saying "Ten points a minute, now?"

He shrugged helplessly, "I don't know what else to do besides a silencing charm. They're in their own little world, nothing else is important."

Pomona shook her head, "The next occurrence, separate them permanently. If you still wish to assign a detention, Mr. Filch did say he could use some help planting some fruit trees," she said. "I'd suggest two weeks of that, have them report to me. We cannot afford to keep losing dozens of points because of two chatter mouths."

"Hear, hear," Harry Potter said.

"How goes the plan to get Ron to the altar?" Ginny asked.

"Mum of course was all for it, and the Twins and Charlie, along with Blaise and Draco have been cooking up plans." Harry looked around the staff room, "I might need to call in a favour or two."

"Let us know," Arthur said, surprisingly, and Mattie nodded.

"The latest from them requires two ghosts, one of which is Myrtle." Harry looked up, "Myrtle, are you here?"

"She is in the lake," the Grey Lady said, appearing. "Is it her specifically, or any female ghost?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Friday, September 20, 2002: 07:47 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Arrowhead lobby: ****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

There was a small buzz as Agent 'Smith' walked through an archway, accompanied by Mr. 'Wilson', the attorney. Archie, the white-haired front desk guard asked with a smile, "One moment, please, mate. Would you step aside wi' my colleague there?"

"It's quite all right," 'Smith' said as he started to reach inside his suit jacket. He froze as several handguns appeared, and Archie smiled gently. "We really must insist, mate." His nostrils flared, "Two guns an' a plastic baton. Now, we can do this here, in public, or in the security office, in private. Only one goes upstairs wi'out our takin' a wee little look, an that's the Queen." He gestured to the side, "Your decision, mate."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I'm FBI, and we have an appointment with Miss Wayne and Mr. Morton," Agent 'Smith' said.

"So y' do, mate," another guard agreed with a smile. "That's why we're bein' all friendly, like. However, you're not on the list for bringin' a gun in, an' there's too many ways to disguise people."

"We'll be late for the appointment," Mr. 'Wilson' objected.

"Not a worry, mate. Miss Wayne and Mr. Morton weren't that far ahead o' ye, we've called up for ye. Briefcases are clear," he added. "Naught but paperwork."

"Why are you … sniffing … things," Agent 'Smith' asked, curious.

"I'm a werewolf," one replied. "I was Bitten when I was eight. Miss Wayne's been right good to us, trusting her life to us. The powder and gun oil on your hands really stand out." He accepted the agent's two pistols, "Now, this is where the rubber meets the road, mate. Please note the numbers on the plastic locking tags; they match the ones on the receipt. We'll hold your kit here until your meeting's done. You come down, sign for them, cut off the tag and we're done."

"You mean you keep Morton's stuff here?"

"And Miss Wayne's as well," another guard said. He reached onto a shelf, "Like Jeremy said, they weren't far ahead of you. This box is Mr. Morton's, and this is Miss Wayne's." Mr. 'Wilson' looked in the clear-topped plastic boxes and saw an assortment of jewelry, wands, and half a dozen throwing knives. Numbered single-use cable ties closed them. "She doesn't like it, but she trusts us to do our job and keep her people safe." He set down empty boxes, one for each of them.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good security, Miss Wayne," Agent Smith said, as another security guard had escorted them to the proper floor, this one an attractive shorthaired blonde. "I can believe the only person that gets up here without escort is the Queen herself." He extended his hand, "You must be Arthur Morton. Agent Thomas Smith, FBI. This is Mr. Wilson, who has some documents you're going to like seeing."

Arthur rose, shaking their hands, "I believe this is in regards to Mr. Marone? How can we assist the Bureau?"

"It is indeed regarding Marone," Mr. Wilson said. "He has had my family on an extended 'vacation' in the Italian Alps now, and with your cooperation we can be free of him, and you will have the contract off you."

"I certainly won't complain, although it does give a certain notoriety to life," she agreed with a smile as she shook their hands. "It won't bother my relatives, either. What's going on, and who needs what?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Putting you and your family somewhere else as someone else isn't a problem, Mr. Wilson." Miss Wayne said later. "We've got four hundred billion stars in this galaxy. The problem for you is going to be walking the walk and talking the talk. If we cover you as a stevedore, you're going to have to know that trade, you see?"

"Certainly," he replied. "What about the hit team on Ms. Castellano?"

"We can DNA match her with a lifeless corpse without too much problem, although we'd have to call in a marker," Arthur said. "Pose the photo, print, and you're done."

"That would cause a serious crimp in her life," Mattie said. "I read the document signed by Marone and I see a loophole. It just wants her blood and injured head photographed on her desk. Marone sees it, signs off on it, you press charges for whatever, and hey, Benni Castellano recovered from her injuries; she's got a really good doc." Miss Wayne tented her fingers, "Agent Smith, I would appreciate your looking into having Ms. Castellano's sentence marked 'complete' and a restoration of all her civil rights. She's on probation with the Fourth US Circuit Court, if that helps. After all, even if unknowingly, she's helping you bag Marone, that's worth something."

"This is true," he nodded. "I'll look into it and get back to you." He turned to Mr. Wilson, "Have you thought about who and where?"

"These are virgin planets," Miss Wayne warned. "Even if you go as a lawyer, be prepared to get your hands dirty doing something else." She looked at Agent Smith, "I'd like to know the identity and photos of this 'hit man' that's going after her. I'm going to vet him, her, or them using my own resources, so Benni has advance warning, because she will shoot back."

"She's a felon, on probation, where did she get a weapon?"

"Agent Smith, she's from Gotham. Do you really want an answer to that?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, September 21, 2002: 16:28 (GMT)  
Thirday 21 Septus, 162, 25:56 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, Central Island, Town Hall:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Okay, screw it in while I hold it. Quick, please, it's heavy!" Karen held the large piece of network equipment in the steel rack while Allison quickly used her screwdriver. A last-minute wiggle and a final tighten, and it was in place, Karen gingerly letting go and stepping back with a sigh.

"We have missed last-meal," Allison said, rolling her shoulders. Karen sank against the concrete blocks of the basement wall, nodding in exhausted agreement. "Again. Last thing…"

"You said that an hour ago."

"Two, but this time I mean it." She found Allison's smock and tossed it to her. "We connect power to it and the laptop, and run a diagnostic while we sleep. Five more minutes?" Allison answered by finding the shipping box and the associated power cord, while Karen booted her laptop.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, September 21, 2002: 22:21 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Poland, Silesia, Zawiercie County:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Oh, man," one of the fellows, 'Kaz' said as they stopped on the hiking trail, hearing the rumble of thunder. "We'd better find shelter. That sounds like a nasty storm coming."

'Duke' nodded, "There was that old castle, like, twenty minutes ago. We can, like, use one of those little stone houses and crash for the night."

"Those were tombs, and, like, what if there are…" the lone girl objected.

"… what, like, ghosts?" Duke said with a sneer. "Wimp. Pussy. You comin' or not?"

As the five of them turned around, Angela muttered, "Yeah, so what if I've got a pussy? You try livin' with tits and a pussy, asshole."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Yeah, the castle's locked up tighter than Angie is," Duke sneered. "We'll have to take our dumps back there. I broke into one o' those little tombs, there's a roll of paper in the door."

"You are such an ass," she replied. "I am not your play toy. Get a fire going, there's plenty of wood." She picked up her lantern and moved off.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hey, if there are any, like, ghosts around," Angie whispered as she reluctantly sat on the edge of a brick tomb. "I'm like, really sorry to be doing this, but I really gotta go." The ancient iron door of the tomb swung in the still air, slamming into a brick propped to keep it open; Angie's eyes widened as she reached for the roll of paper.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, man, this just gets better and better," Angie said when she came back to their temporary campsite. "Not only do we use someone's tomb as a bathroom and this one to sleep in; but you're burning someone's bones! Oh, man, I really hope the local ghosts are forgiving types."

"No such things as ghosts," Duke said confidently, using a thighbone to poke the fire.

"Like hell," 'Kaz' said. "Ghosts are real, my little sister's seen 'em at her school in Boston. Besides, she's such a spaz, I've got her wand thing; she never missed it. She's so disorganized…"

"Debbie's going to be pissed when she finds out!" Angie told her brother as she perched on a tomb. "They're expensive; I sure hope you can use it, because I can't. When I was taking a dump, the gate tried to close on me…"

"Gravity," Duke replied with assurance. "It tried to close on me when I moved one of those slabs, the foundation's tilted or something. It's old enough for some settling, that's why I propped it open with a brick." He settled, his back against a tomb, and gestured with the bone, "We've got some stew heating, and some hot water."

The iron gates slammed shut, and a voice said, "Not only are you ignorant mortals who defile the tombs of my family, you have the gall to use their bones as common firewood."

"Still, two of them show some signs of proper blood, and the girl has at least the rudiments of courtesy," a silky contralto said, and a figure appeared in the shadows, raising a hand. The charred bones flew out of the fire, returning to their place in a tomb as the fire flared higher. Duke's eyes widened as an impossibly beautiful, white-blonde woman appeared in the shadows, wearing a tight, form-fitting blue dress and heels that dissolved like smoke. What replaced the dress was a large pair of blue-tipped wings with a spike tail and cloven feet, a black choker-style necklace with a red gem high on her throat. She took a step forward as Kaz whimpered, and Angie whispered, "Demon…"

"Succubus, to be precise," the demon replied. "You may refer to me as 'Lucille', and my current host has generously offered me shelter. However, _you_ he has not, you are no better than common house-breakers and thieves."

"And yet," the man's voice replied, "You alone, my dear, did apologize for the use." He appeared next to Angie, an aristocratic man with clothing two centuries or more out of date, and snow white hair. "I am not a mere ghost, although they did alert us to your presence," he continued; then smiled. "I am what you know as a vampire."

"I propose a little test," the vampire said to the terrified mortals. He raised his hand, and a wand flew to it from Kaz's pack. "You have stolen the wand of a witch, and yet you retain her blood." He reversed it, offering it to Kaz. "Simply open the door of the tomb. Should you be able to do so, you may stay the night in peace; under my protection, although without burning my ancestor's bones. When morning comes, you may proceed on your way."

"What's to prevent us from reporting you to the authorities?" Duke asked.

"My dear, foolish muggle, what makes you think they are unaware?" Lucille purred. She took a step back, gesturing.

Licking his lips, Kaz accepted the wand (Lucille murmuring 'Hold the other end, muggle.'), and waved it at the door, calling 'Open, sesame!'

Lucille giggled as Duke bolted, trying to pull the door open with brute force. He spun, "You're keeping it locked!" he demanded. "Unlock it, give us a fair chance!"

"It will unlock if you can use the proper spell, mortal," the vampire said, unruffled.

Lucille added to Kaz, "By the by, muggle, had you taken the opportunity to learn from your little sister, you would have a greater chance. The proper spell is '_Alohomora_', and should you be able to cast it, you may leave."

Taking a breath, Kaz pointed the wand and shouted, "_Alohomora_!" The gate quivered slightly, and he tried again, "_Alohomora_!" Once again, it quivered, and Angie grabbed it from him, "Gimme that! _Alohomora_!" The gate shivered, but remained firmly shut.

"Well, now," the vampire said smoothly, raising his hand and pinning Angie against a tomb. "A host must always see to the needs of his guest." There was a spark of hope in the intruders' eyes that quickly died as he turned to Lucille, "How long has it been, my dear, since you dined?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, September 22, 2002: 00:26 (GMT)  
Fourday 22 Septus, 162, 08:45 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, Central Island, Town Square:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"You two look beat to death," Professor Franklin said, as Karen and Allison sat down at their wooden picnic bench, each with a steaming mug of tea. Allison raised an eyebrow, but was too tired to ask about the strange phrase.

"It means 'overworked' or 'excessively tired', Elizabeth Brandt explained. "How are we doing? When can we phone home?"

"Literally?" Karen yawned. "My kingdom for coffee..." and she scrubbed her face. "We have all four satellites locked in and tracking, cabling is run from them to the equipment racks in the basement." She yawned again; then looked at Allison. "The humidity down there is something I'm concerned with, I want to see if we can cobble together a dehumidifier; that's just a fan..."

"I know what one is," she said. "The hotel rooms could be adjusted for the guest's comfort. Simply because I wear a collar does not mean I am ignorant or stupid."

The other three regarded her, then Karen nodded. "You're right. My apologies, I was making that assumption. Please remind me if it happens again." Allison nodded, and Karen continued, "Mr. Abdullah and his girl, I don't know her name, checked the power outlets on all four floors of Town Hall, so that's good." She slurped some tea; "We'll need to run phone and data cable, and bolt in some of the back end equipment. We'll get that done; then break for lunch. I'm going to get you started on running cable, while I get the servers up and running." Allison started to say something, but Karen held up a hand. "We have several different types, which you haven't been trained for - yet."

"If I am to serve as your assistant, would it not be logical to train me on these servers as well?"

"It would, however you don't know enough of the underlying structure of the software. It isn't something I can teach in an afternoon, and these must be done correctly," Karen replied. "I've already gotten as much of the work done as I can, this is simply knowing where to find and troubleshoot a problem." She took a gulp of tea; then looked at Professor Franklin again. "I could have been at 80 percent of 'plug 'n' play' if I had the details I needed, as it is, I'm about 40 percent. Now, I'm not blaming you, but the planning staff back on Earth. I'd like you to mention that in your reports, please, because there is no reason I can see not to have given it to us."

"What do you still need to do?" Elizabeth asked.

Karen held up a finger; "Physically install the equipment where it needs to go, which is what Allison and I will do, as some of them are heavy." A second finger, "Run cable between the different floors and rooms, and the basement." She looked over at Allison, "This is something that needs to be done, it's important, and you can do it at this point." The girl nodded, and she continued, "While that's being done, I configure the primary servers for our town – the DNS addressing servers, our mail and the telephone PBX servers, the receivers for the orbital radars, our firewalls and routers to direct traffic, database, file and web servers, arrange backups, and make sure they're all functional." She took a slurp of tea, "They have to be configured exactly, one misplaced or misspelled word means they don't work at all, or they don't work correctly, or fast, and you need to find that misspelled word to fix it."

"I see," Allison said, and Professor Franklin said, "I thought you just… I don't know, clicked on an icon in Control Panel or something." Karen gave him an eye; then said, somewhat contemptuously, "That's _Windows_©. Do you want things done right? In addition, some of us require more security, the medical people and our sheriff. I do not trust our security to Redmond, they haven't earned it."

She shook her head; then looked at Allison again. "Each of the small businesses will have a server for their records, which will need to be adapted and configured for each of them. At that point, we should be able to sit down and you can get those done, so if they have a problem, you can handle it."

Allison nodded. "That is acceptable. I know I must learn the basic part first. I just did not want to be …" (she waved a hand) "… excluded from knowledge."

"So… not yet," the Professor said, disappointed. There was a rumble of thunder, and Karen gestured up at the tent roof, "If you want to sit with a laptop in the rain under the antenna, you can do it now. If you see Mr. Roberts, you can ask him, my dehumidifier is just some copper tubes soldered together. It would save me time to chase him down and ask him." There was another rumble of thunder, and she said, "Hopefully we won't have roof leaks."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

John looked into his 'Mayor's' office on the top floor (a corner office, of course), and noticed the freshly installed power and computer outlets in the walls. '_Now all we need is furniture_,' he thought, seeing the boxed monitor, keyboard and mouse against the wall; then checked the other two 'Council' offices and their outer reception area. '_I wonder who decided to put the Town Council's offices overlooking the cemetery_,' he wondered, watching the rain come down.

Walking down the corridor, he peeked in offices. In a small room, there were empty shelves for supplies on the wall and half a dozen printers with different types of paper loaded; on the back wall was a locked cabinet, through the wire he could see multicolored wires and white equipment with multicolored blinking lights. '_I didn't know people still used impact printers_,' he thought; then started down the stairwell, only to see orange fiber-optic cables neatly stapled to the floor joists and running down the small wheelchair lift, where it joined others.

One floor down, the corridor outside the second floor computer office was filled with boxes, but dominated by another wall-mounted rack of computer equipment, this one with several blinking lights; a large wall-mounted monitor with multi-colored squares hung below it. "Good afternoon, Ms. Meyers," and Karen looked up from where she sat on the floor, and covered her yawn, then shook her head, "Sorry. What can I do for you?"

"Just taking a look," he replied. "That's a nice monitor on the wall."

"Status monitor, and no, you're not going to steal it," she said with a tired grin. "There's one in the meeting room upstairs for video conferencing, we haven't gotten to it yet." She groped for a printed checklist on a clipboard, "It got bumped down in priority, the server failed a diagnostic checkout, as did the web server. Hardware faults, we need to send them back. When I can, I'll email and get RMA's." At his blank look, she gave a tired chuckle, "Return Merchandise Authorization," she clarified. "Permission to send them back. I'm using my one spare server for the web server, that's more critical than video conferencing."

"All right," he said. "I was wondering where our desktop computers were."

"Should be installed, Allison checked off that floor," and she checked her list again. "Yep, they're installed," and she leaned back, "You were looking for a desktop unit like the one on the table, weren't you?" He nodded, and with a grunt, she got to her feet. "That's the backup server. Your computer (she finger-quoted) fits in an electrical box like this, which mounts in the wall, and is powered by the switch. Thirty bucks each in quantity, versus a PC like that at a couple thousand each. Yours is …" (she ran a finger down a list, then walked to the status monitor, tapping a tab to change the screen) "… this one here." She tapped a small yellow icon, which sprouted a small text box. "Powered but not active. Green means active, red means a fault, grey is nonfunctional, the unit is in the database, but not ready to go."

"What about software; like Word©, and Elizabeth's databases?" he asked.

She yawned again, then shook her head and said, "Sorry. I was given a budget for everything, software and hardware. I could burn most of it on things like desktop PC's, Office™, and Windows™ licenses, and have a much more limited network, or set it up this way. All of my projects when I've been allowed to do things my way have come in on time and under budget, I have no intention of breaking that winning streak."

"Okay, I can understand that," John said with a grin. "I've had to work with budgets before."

"Good," she said. "Anyway, the specs I had told me that the network cables were fiber, and in general, how they were arranged." He nodded, and she continued, "Because of that, ninety-eight percent of the PCs (she finger-quoted) are those data jacks, because most people aren't going to be doing anything more stressful than email and looking at web pages. At thirty bucks each, if you somehow spill tea on the in-wall box, we come in, yell at you, then swap out the box, which takes two minutes and a paper clip. That's much cheaper than replacing a PC that can run up to two thousand each, and would need data recovery, loaner equipment, and all that stuff. Your data stays on the server, you log in again, and start from where you left off."

"People do that, they spill drinks on their computers?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I had one user that had a hanging plant above her machine, and got upset when I moved it away. We had replaced her machine five times, and someone finally noticed the plant. Anyway, someone's working away, the phone rings, and the tea mug gets knocked over and splashes into the computer. What's more, people as a rule don't bother backing up, it's the 'won't happen to me' thinking." She gestured to the backup server, "You play on my network, and it's by my rules. You don't like that; you sign a release taking full responsibility. This is something I need to be a hard-ass about."

"Okay, I can see that, but the various databases and Elizabeth's accounting software are also on the server? It seems like a problem waiting to happen."

"We call it a 'single point of failure'," she said with a tired grin. Pointing to a cardboard box, she said, "I've burned two copies of each server's software. I'm keeping one here, one I'm sending to Felipe in Nueva Mexico, like he's sending me a copy. We've also made arrangements to trade monthly backups, in case a hurricane flattens either town. That's known as 'off site storage', by the way."

"What about people's personal laptops?" he asked. "I've got mine…"

"I'd rather you not use them," she said. "The problem with a personal machine being used for business is that the data isn't backed up, and when, not if, something happens to it, I'm going to be asked to fix it." He nodded slowly as she continued, "On Earth, that was enough of a pain in the butt – it was expensive and took a lot of time. Here, it's going to be even worse, we'll have to ship it back to Earth, which is two weeks each way, then they send it off for recovery, which can take another couple months."

"Ouch," he said with a wince. "How expensive is 'expensive'?"

"It's come down some, but the last time I needed to quote it out was about a year ago for one of the University's HR people, it ran right about a grand per megabyte." He winced again, "Yeah," she confirmed. "That was a small hard drive, four gig. A thousand megs per gig, and you've done the math. See what I mean by 'pain in the butt'?"

"Ouch," he said again. "That _would_ kind of blow our budget."

"Oh, yeah," she agreed. "All because she wanted to use her laptop, and had enough pull with the administration to get away with it." She eyed her tea mug, "The HR department got some overtime re-entering the information, and it did come out of her budget. I was able to recover some of her data using various tricks, but I don't have those available here." She motioned to her own laptop; "We currently have three and only three laptops on the network; Allison's, Sergeant Ross's, and mine. They're hardened units, mil-spec, because we need to use them in the field. Dr. Bujones, the vet, wants to be able to log in to the medical network from someone's farm. I've told her that she's going to have to wait; it wasn't on the original plan, although it should have been. I've emailed our supply people in Hamburg, asking them to quote out another couple units, so we can have a spare, and we haven't even discussed viruses."

"What about them, do we have anti-virus software?"

"These are all running Linux, so we don't really need it. I do have a scanning program on the mail server; the problem is getting updates. We can't download them; Hamburg does that and burns them to a disk for us, along with other software updates. We run into the shipping-time problem again; the two weeks from Earth. That's another reason for me to object to connecting personal machines, I don't know if they're clean or not. Someone connects an infected machine, I'll find out, clean it up and repair the damage, and I have, and will, bill people. My time ain't cheap." She took a sip of tea, "With my machines, I _know_ what's on them, and if necessary, I can wipe 'em and reload everything." Taking another sip of tea, she added, "If Ms. Brandt or whoever needs something different, they put in a request with a cost code; I get a quote. That's what Dr. Bujones did, and that's why the web server is critical; it's the front end for various databases and the accounting and inventory software. As we empty out the shipping containers, all Ms. Brandt needs to do is to stick barcode labels on stuff." Another slurp of tea, "That's why we've got a bunch of dot-matrix printers in that one room upstairs."

"I wondered about that. Aren't lasers less expensive?"

"Each floor has a multifunction network laser with an envelope feeder. What are expensive are the consumables, the toner cartridges and paper. Each of those toner cartridges runs $125, even for generic ones. A name-brand ribbon for the impact printers runs five dollars each, and by standardizing we can buy a case of generic ones for three dollars each. Ten reams of copy paper is $45, that's five thousand sheets; those same five thousand sheets in pin feed are $25." She handed him her clipboard, "There's nothing wrong with the output, and most print jobs are reports and memos, that kind of thing."

"All right," he said. "I expect you'll get a lot of requests for personal lasers, though. What about our phone system?"

"I already have," she replied. "Phones. Y'know, free software is just perfect for colonies. Anyway, the PBX for the phones are on different servers for both the town, and Town Hall, but for the small businesses, they'll be together." He nodded, and she stood, stretched, and walked over to the monitor screen. Tapping it, "This is the primary PBX for the town; that's this green box." A tap and a different screen, "This screen is the town hall network, our PBX is green, as is the fax printer." She yawned again, "Sorry. The outgoing fax server is on the PBX, it's digital, the incoming fax printer is just that, a printer. Where are my manners?" and she offered him the only assembled wheelie chair, taking back her seat on the floor. "By the way, I was rather rude to you earlier, I'd like to apologize."

"As I was earlier. Let's just accept our mutual apologies and say nothing happened." He walked to the screen, with a gesture asked permission. She nodded, and he changed back to the first, overall screen. "Is anything _not_ on the servers? It seems like a point of attack."

"Security, good question," she replied, settling back as he leaned against a table. "Two sides to it, physical and software. Physical security is handled by having a locked gate for the servers; Sergeant Ross and I have the only keys, I need to get a set cut for Allison." He nodded, she continued, "The backup server could be stolen, but it's got a bicycle chain on it to the rack, which would need to be cut, the office door has a lock, once again only two keys, and I want one for Allison. So, physical, needs improvement, but it's in process," she continued. "You've heard of HIPAA?"

"Something to do with health insurance, isn't it?"

"And privacy, security for the medical records," she added, leaning forward from where she sat on the floor to twist and stretch. "That's part two. Now, what I'd _like_ to do is have a smart card like some of the other sites are doing. That's getting your network access from your Gringotts Bank card, but when I proposed that aboard ship…"

"I remember that," he said. "There was almost a riot."

"Yeah. Privacy concerns; I can understand that. So, what I'm doing instead is Kerberos, and thank God I packed a copy of the software as a just-in-case. That's _almost_ single-sign-in-and-out, and for most people it will be. A little more complex setup to the network." She stood, walking over to the screen and tapping it. "Now here you have Gringotts, they're handling their own security, I just provide the connection." He nodded, and she pointed out another location. "This is the traffic control tower over at the top of the locks. You know they provide air and marine traffic control, they have radars and such?" He nodded again, "I've got a rack in their equipment room to forward data from the orbital radar, I've also got a couple of backup servers there, DNS and Kerberos."

"Okay, why over there instead of downstairs?"

"Three reasons: the building is concrete block instead of wood (she tapped a wall), it has a standby generator like we do, and if this server develops a problem, we are hosed, _nobody_ can get into the network, including me. By putting a backup server there, if this machine goes down, we can still get in to the network." He nodded, and she continued, "By law, both Imperial and Windfall, we have three places that need extra security: Sergeant Ross and law enforcement, Dr. Enrico and medical, and colony financial."

"Okay, let's look at medical, since you've mentioned it," he said. "I assume the others are identical."

"For the most part," she agreed. "Technical term, the _demarc_ is the point where my responsibility as a provider ends and yours begins; that physical connection." He nodded, "For someone like Mr. Jourdain or Mr. Rice, that's the router, he's responsible for his server, the software, backing up, all that kind of thing after that point. I can remote into that router, so I can disable him if he doesn't pay his bill. However, I can't get into his server without physical access, which he would know about."

"What would I know about?" Allison asked, coming in. She looked exhausted. "The ground floor is done," she said, taking the clipboard and hunting around for a pen. John gave her one, and she nodded; then drew a line through a number, taking a seat against the wall.

"The router and server configs, we talked about that," Karen replied. Allison nodded; then leaned forward as Karen continued, "Talking about security. Now, since I can get to the outermost router, there's an inner router, another firewall, protecting the inner network." She yawned, then shook her head, "Each one of the personnel there have a little USB stick, they've got their personal email encryption keys, a session key for login to their internal network, which is time-limited to fifteen hours, and a clinic key for file access. Dr. Enrico has the only master CD of his people's encryption files, which he has locked away somewhere. When they change personnel, we'll need to burn a new one for them, just like Sergeant Ross has a master CD of executive encryption files. After the election on New Year's, we'll burn a new one with the new people's files and break the old one. Just like he keeps copies of all the keys, and tracks them, Sgt. Ross has the only key machine."

She yawned, "So when you go see Dr. Enrico, he's logged in that morning, it will automatically log him out after thirty minutes of inactivity. You have your physical or whatever, he unlocks a terminal and enters your data, which is automatically encrypted and decrypted. He and his staff can read it, but if I were to try it without the right keys and pass phrases, it would be gibberish."

She yawned again, "I'll have to figure that out. Anyway, the web server has things like email and databases, various troubleshooting applications, repair requests, that kind of thing. Like I said, the one I've put in is a spare tire, so to speak. I need to get the main one fixed or replaced, but I've gone as far as I can with that for the moment." She yawned again, "Right now, I still need to get our wrist comm transceiver working. That's why I've objected to people going off campus, they don't have any way to call for help, or rather, they can call, but we can't talk to them. That's what I've been working on, medivac is a different problem."

"I appreciate it," John said. "For now, you are both too tired to see straight. I'm giving you five minutes to tidy up; I'm going to get blankets and Karl in here to keep an eye on you, you two need sleep."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Outside, he gave a whistle, calling "Karl! Come here, boy!" The German shepherd looked up, then got up, did a doggy stretch; then came trotting over to him. He ruffled the dog's fur; "I'm going to take you upstairs where Karen and Allison are, boy. You can keep an eye on them, okay?" The dog stopped to raise his leg on one of the porch's posts, then trotted up the stairs after him.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So… how goes communications?" Elizabeth asked.

"Paused, for the moment," John replied. "Karen and Allison have both been working twenty-five hour days, they could barely see straight. I put them both in the computer office with blankets from the emergency kit and Karen's dog Karl to keep an eye on them."

"They've really been driving themselves," Elizabeth reluctantly agreed. "This whole 'wabbit' thing, and the delays have really thrown off my schedules." She sighed, "I'll re-adjust my plans to give them more time." She took a swallow of her tea, "We've been working hard, but do you think Karen's a bit, I don't know…"

"You think she's slacking off?" John asked, somewhat incredulously. "I had to order them both to rest, her dog is keeping an eye on them." He took a sip from his own tea mug, "Having been rather firmly bitten trying to dictate tech to an engineer, I'm not going to argue with her planning or scheduling. I think she knows what she's doing, she's got enough notes, and she makes valid points regarding cost and security. It's like telling an attorney how to practice law, as long as it works, I'm not really going to worry about it." He cradled his mug of tea, "Enough about Karen and Allison. I understand there was an equipment proposal for mowing the grasslands so we can plow them?"

Elizabeth looked nettled, "Mr. Rice has this rather foolish plan for a thing to tow behind a team of shonnen, it can be used to supply power to other things."

"Well, let me go take a look at it, that sounds useful enough, and maybe we can sell them," John said. "Where are they working today?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

That evening, Allison rolled over, throwing her arm over Karen in her sleep. The brunette didn't stir, but her dog Karl burrowed into the middle. That woke Allison up, for a minute; she simply lay there, looking up at the beams supporting the top floor. A twinge in her gut suggested a suction would be a good idea.

Carefully working her way out, Karl looked up at her, she whispered, "I am relieving myself. Do you wish to?" He worked his way out of Karen's grip, and she held the door for him as they both trotted down to the ground floor and out. He stopped, raising his leg against a walkway support, and she sat on the steps, watching him. "I wish it was as easy for me," she told him softly. He looked at her, walked for a bit; sniffing the ground, then squatted against the low concrete wall. He regarded her, and she found herself talking to him.

"I was born a slave, Kaarl. An animal, like you, only in different form, and as you wear a collar, so do I. Do you ever want out of yours, or are you happy in it? Neither one of us can remove our own, but I can remove yours. Would you like me to?" He whined softly, regarding her. "What would you do with your freedom, Kaarl? Masters have told me all my life that I am unprepared for living with a dark collar, that it is foolish for an animal to dream of her freedom. I would have no way to feed or shelter myself, and yet…" She regarded Karl, "On the island, Kaarl, I heard tales of slaves that had escaped their owners, that were 'feral', that were covertly aided by other slaves. They had no more than their collars and belts (she gestured to her own body), with their owners having the advantage, and still they ran."

Karl came over to her, putting his muzzle on her knee, and regarded her. She reached over to unbuckle his collar, and he sprang away, frolicking and rolling in the dew-laden grass. Watching him, Allison had a slight smile on her face as she ran his collar through her fingers, playing with the small, colored metal disks that hung from it. Eventually, he came back, laying on the wooden walkway next to her. She leaned over to ruffle the skin of his neck, and he rolled over, legs in the air, tongue lolling out. She held the leather collar out, and he sneezed, in a 'not now, please' manner.

"As you wish, Master," she told him. "I shall keep this for you until you desire it again." She draped it over her own neck, turning to sit back against the wall of the building, right leg on the stairs, left bent at the knee. "My new owners, the Terrans, say I may earn a dark collar, that I may work toward my freedom. Mistress K'ren, at least, does not smell of lying, and in speaking to their other slaves, I think the other Terrans may be speaking truth." She reached up, buckling the leather collar on her neck so the tags hung on her collarbone. "In truth, Master Kaarl, a small test today, I asked for the key for the storage room below us, and Mistress K'ren simply tossed it to me without a thought. She has said there were only two keys, and she will have one made for me. We shall see, but that is encouraging, as is Mistress B'nni removing the bells from my breasts." She fingered a bare nipple, "Do you find strange, Master Kaarl, their obsession with clothing? I can understand protection from cold, and a danger such as the wabbits, but from rain or daily work? It makes no sense, and yet I can smell their discomfort when I go about such as I am. Oh, Master Kaarl, I am such a rebellious slave!" She smiled slightly, "I have decided, Master Kaarl, that as I wear your collar, and you are unencumbered by clothing, so shall I be." She fingered the metal vet tags, asking, "Are you complete? I must still suction myself, shall we go inside and resume our rest?"

He yawned, rolled to his feet, and walked to the door, scratching at it with a forepaw. She stood, holding the door, commenting, "I think I shall inquire of this examination I am to take…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, September 22, 2002: 07:23 (GMT)  
Fiveday 23 Septus, 162, 28:48 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, Central Island, Town Hall:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

_Brazos community log, Day 7_

_Fiveday 23 Septus, 162_

_We have been here a week, surviving an unexpected wabbit infestation, a few leaky roofs, and some surprises left by our builders. However, we are gradually expanding outward from our core. Today we took our first day off (at least a partial one), to rest, relax, recharge our batteries and give thanks for our survival. Our resident lay clergy cut cards for the honor, Mr. Abdullah, our electrician and sole Muslim, winning the cut. Speaking personally, it was a bit of a surprise when he called upon the Source as well as Allah, God and Jehovah, but I think fitting. _

_Thanks to Allison and Ms. Meyers hard work, we now have at least partial comms with the planetary capital at Riverside, and I will be able to upload these log files to them. There was some equipment that turned out to be non-functional, it has been re-packed and awaits shipment back to Earth. In the mean time, a secure storage area with chain link fencing has been constructed in the basement, which means we can empty the last bits of equipment from the 'Town Hall' cargo container. _

_Those containers arrived with us on a barge, and as we empty them out (so we can move them), we are working toward one that has a 'port crane' and other equipment packed inside. This is equipment for our cargo port, however when it was offloaded from the barge, other containers blocked access. As these are good, weatherproof steel containers, we want to move them to our 'warehouse' area. Ms. Brandt has been keeping an eye on our logistics, she is already complaining about running out of storage space in our modest warehouse. Personally, I think it's a mild case of empire building; she has gone in the space of a few months from department secretary to supply chief. She is one of those hyper-organized people that are absolutely necessary. She already has several requests in for Ms. Meyers' services regarding programming and databases, but will need to wait. She is not the only one in demand for IT services, and because of this, those two have been driving themselves to exhaustion. Yesterday, I ordered them both to sleep; I was fully prepared to have Dr. Enrico do so, but they complied without complaint, and slept like the dead._

_For now, we at least have overhead shelter (the roof leaks being fixed), even if it is temporary in Town Hall and the pub, our 'tiger team' of electricians, plumbers, masons and carpenters is now moving through the garden apartments for our single folk. We continue to dine on Army-surplus MREs at about 7 am and 21 pm (using our thirty-hour clock). Once we can move the 'bachelors' (including myself) out of the pub, it will relieve our housing pressure. This is good, on a personal note; I want to start trying a few brews using the local grains and yeasts. _

_Also on a personal note, I have spoken to Mr. Rice regarding renting space from him for my sign-making business. I showed him the ones I've made on Earth, reminiscent of pub signs with intricate routing work, as well as with inlaid stained glass. He agreed there is definitely a demand for signage, and suggested I speak to Ellen George, who had done some Tiffany-style stained glass art. She is definitely interested in this, as is Cyndi, Mr. Rice's new 'daughter', who picked up a pencil and started to sketch. Intrigued, I asked her to do a sketch for Town Hall's sign, and she produced a very attractive design. The girl has an entrepreneurial spirit, she left with Ms. George, along with a handshake deal with me regarding buying the more specialized tools required. _

_Overall, the 'little sisters' are starting to get over their experiences as hotel girls, and are tentatively showing some individuality. While alike as peas in a pod, and retaining their collars, they are starting to express themselves, although they do have a tendency to discard their smocks and work in the nude, something that bothers the more prurient. They remain somewhat 'gun-shy' around men, understandably I think, and as a result the men here have been treating them with an excess of formality. Normally, a father would think nothing of hugging, and being hugged by his daughter, or a brother to a sister, but while they will accept it, their body language screams their discomfort. We shall give it time, a few months ago these girls knew they were going to die as a meal for a beast, something that fills me, and most of the men I know with rage. They may be picking up on this latent anger and misinterpreting it. In the interim, for their comfort, I communicate with them either through or with the presence of, a female. _

_No deaths, births, or crimes to report. _

_Signed: _

_John Franklin, Acting Mayor_

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Benni Castellano read the latest report from Brazos, site 17, and leaned back in her chair. The delay in communications was explained, although they were not the only sites to experience problems with the wabbits. They had been fortunate to only suffer three total (human) deaths to the pests (so far). She added details from this report to her daily report to Christine, cc'd to the various mayors. Several sites had already come up with innovations, the Taiwanese at site 23, now known as 'Qing', had determined that after suitable boiling and refining, the wabbits' body fat made a suitable wax. So far, this was the only use found for the critters; their meat was poisonous and the leather from their skins required extensive treatment to be useful. Hunters had found the deer – analog herd animals to produce good meat and useful leather. She also found interesting the datum that several of the rescued girls seemed to have a knack for communicating with, and controlling dogs.

She yawned, saved her files and logged off for the night. While she didn't begrudge Christine her home leave (too much), she wanted her to get back, she wanted to do a bit of travel and see some of these sites for herself!

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, September 22, 2002: 06:35 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Poland, Silesia, town of Irzadze:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"I must say, my dear," the vampire said as he sat in the outdoor café, watching his people. "You have a most interesting nasty streak."

"Why, thank you," Lucille said, picking up her glass of ice water and sipping it. They watched the group of five young women in the early morning across the square as they resupplied for their ongoing hike in the Carpathian mountains. "I must ask why you wanted me to age them to their late teens, though. I was going to leave them as babes in arms."

"I suppose I still have some human weaknesses," the vampire replied. "I have not been dead as long as you have. Angela (he motioned to the least-pretty girl) will have enough difficulties with them, and I considered it sufficient to turn them all. She will, in time, adjust to her new-found abilities and be able to adjust her appearance to gain sufficient nourishment." He sipped at his own glass, adding, "She was also the most polite and respectful of my home, and was in a difficult spot." He cradled the glass of blood, "Leaving the others fully aware of what has happened to them, and yet being unable to discuss it with any outside their group should prove sufficiently horrible."

"As they spend eternity as young, beautiful, vampires…" Lucille finished, and vanished. Her host paused to leave sufficient silver for the waitress (who knew of him), and then vanished himself.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, September 22, 2002: 12:07 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Stephenville, Newfoundland, 2329 Maryland Drive:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Are you ready, Christine?" her father called from downstairs. She saved her work on her new laptop, grabbing her leather flying 'bomber' jacket (a present from Arthur Morton, sent to her home as a belated Christmas and birthday present), and ran downstairs. "Ready, dad," she replied, giving him a hug.

Returning it, he held her at arm's length; then crushed her into a hug again. "I swear, every time I see that … thing on your throat, I want to take a saw to it…"

"I understand, Dad, but that would kill me," she replied softly. "I've learned to live with it, and I don't know of any way to remove it." She gave her father another gentle squeeze, "Let's go, my instructor will be there, and time is money."

"Miss Wayne has lots of money, we only have one daughter," her Mom replied. Christine turned, pulling her into the hug as well. "And I've only got one Mom and Dad," she replied. "Have you thought about going back with me?"

"We've discussed it," Mom said. She regarded Christine; then said, "Oh, I'm dithering! Go on with you, you've got lessons!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good afternoon, Ms. Sullivan," Mr. Dornier, her flight instructor from Transport Canada greeted her at the airport, omnipresent cup of coffee in one hand, his clipboard in the other. He stopped her from signing in, "Let's take a short ride, shall we?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, that's a pretty one," Christine remarked on seeing a particular red-and-white floatplane with the Maple Leaf on the tail.

"I'm glad you think so," Mr. Dornier said with a chuckle as he put the clipboard on the dashboard of the golf cart. "Hold out your hand, please," and he dropped some keys into her palm. "It's yours."

"Wha… you mean… it's mine?"

"Yes, Governor Sullivan," he said with unusual formality, extracting a manila envelope from his clipboard. "Factory reconditioned, as the Otters are not being built new, with extended range tanks, turboprops, type certifications and the latest avionics." He passed her the envelope, "That stays with the aircraft, of course, and certified copies will be filed with Windfall's aviation and transport authority. I understand Transport Canada and the German LBA are cooperating in this." He shifted in his seat, "I hope you're prepared to work even harder, Ms. Sullivan, you'll need several additional ratings in addition to your general private pilot's license. Speaking of which…" he rummaged, then pulled out a white envelope with her name on it. "Your written test results."

She looked at him, he was … smug, and she tore open one end, extracting the letter. "I got a 48. A 48 out of 50! I passed!"

"Of course you did," he replied; then offered his hand. "Congratulations, Christine. Now let's get to work. First, the two questions you missed…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, September 23, 2002: 15:23 (GMT)  
Firsday, 24 Septus, 162, 06:48 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, Central Island, Dining tent:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Allison and Karen walked into the dining tent, followed by Karl, who seemed to have adopted Allison as a member of his pack. Seeing this, several of the other dogs lounging in the grass got up and came inside. Dr. Bujones came over to sit with them, ruffling the dog's neck and saying, "How are you, Karl, you fine looking boy? Why is your mistress wearing your collar?" She clearly loved her patients; it was mutual, Karl gave a happy whimper and licked her face.

Allison said, "Master Kaarl did not wish to wear his collar, and as he is unclothed, I decided I shall be also."

Still playing with Karl, the vet replied, "His collar has evidence of vaccination for various diseases, that's what the tags are. It's not a slave collar. He's a very smart dog, a very _good_ dog, but he's not intelligent in the same way you are, he can't reason that way. We need to put it back on him, or put his medical data on a hip implant."

"Can you get me a quote on that implant, Doc?" Karen asked. "He's a good dog, and I want him happy. Until then, Allison?" She reluctantly handed over the collar as John Franklin stood up, tapping on a glass. "May I have everyone's attention, please? Thank you. I do believe we have a quorum here; I count … seventy-three people here. Everyone agree with that?"

"Seventy five by my count," Sgt. Ross said. "I move we reconstitute as a committee of the whole."

"Second," Ellen George said. "Point of order," and she stood up. "The new girls may not understand what we're doing, so I'm going to ask everyone to explain things." She shifted, "What we're doing in a 'committee of the whole' is changing things so instead of just a few people making decisions, we're all equal, we all talk about things and vote on them. Now, when we vote in a minute, you have three options: Aye, which means you agree, Nay, you disagree, or Abstain, which means you don't care or can't make up your mind either way."

"Mistress…" Cindy, Ellen's new 'daughter' asked, "You are asking us to … vote?"

"Yes, and to think carefully about it. Not what someone else wants, but what you think is best," John Franklin replied. "It is perfectly acceptable to vote the other way than someone, and while you can argue with someone about things, you cannot force them to vote your way. Do you understand?"

"Sensei," Nicole asked, "We are slaves…"

"You _were_ slaves," Glenda Rice corrected. "Now you're free young women, you have a brain, we're asking you to use it." She looked around, "Call the vote, please."

"Those in favor of reconstituting as a committee of the whole, raise your hand or say 'Aye'," Sgt. Ross called, and Karen raised her hand, calling 'Aye!'"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Moving on to the next item," Professor Franklin said. "We've got about six weeks before our elections on Landing Day and the First of Primus, and we need to get that organized. We can get ballots printed at Riverside; we will hopefully have some additional girls as our new citizens. I was going to order three hundred or so ballots, which will need a week or so lead time. Now, down the road, we're going to need to set up rules for things like citizen initiatives and referenda… that's citizen sponsored laws, girls," he clarified. "Anyway, in order to have things ready to send to the printers, we'll need to have candidates and proposed referenda in by Octus 16th, that's four weeks from now."

"How many candidates?"

"We'll need three for the town council, and one we're going to have to name to the planetary Assembly, so four."

"Nominate Sgt. Ross for the Assembly!"

"Woah, there!" he replied. "First, as your lawman, I must remain unbiased and impartial. While I appreciate the thought, I must decline the nomination." He reseated his sombrero, "I'd like to propose that someone serving in government must resign their post in order to run."

Allison was startled when Karen raised her hand, "Objection to that last, Sergeant. They may not be able to afford to do that, we want the best people, not the ones with the most money. You know how long and expensive some of these campaigns can be. I'd say they can't double dip, if they win, they must resign one office in order to take that other one."

The Ranger pursed his lips, then nodded, "Good point. I resubmit my proposal as you've clarified, Karen. I'm sorry, Ms. Meyers."

"Second," Professor Franklin said. "All in favor?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Lastly, I'd like to get three or four volunteers to set up our voting arrangements for those two days. In the Town Hall storage, we've got two clear ballot boxes and some ink for fingers, but we don't have any formal privacy screens."

"May I… may I suggest something?" Nicole asked hesitantly. The professor smiled and nodded, and she continued, "You have said these are secret papers, none may know of how we decide."

"Until they are counted, in public, in front of everyone," the professor confirmed. "One vote per person, that's why we ink the fingers, and have clear boxes, so everyone can see there's no cheating."

"Ah," she said. She thought for a second, "Why not simply drape a cloth over our heads? It will pass light, but none can read what we write."

"Second the idea," Elizabeth Brandt said. "It's simple and cheap enough, use some white cotton or linen, and just wash and store them until next time. When you've finished marking your ballots, you fold them in half and drop them in the box." She took a sip of tea, "We need to get to work, I'll nominate Nicole to head the project."

"Second, and I'll volunteer for the group," Ellen George said. "There should be at least one person that's been through an election before, but Nicole's the one in charge."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, September 24, 2002: 10:00 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2****nd**** year Mathematics:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning, everyone, and Miss Canby, I want you over there next to Mr. Hammett, Miss Whitloe over there next to Mr. Morton. Those are your permanent seats, now."

"But we won't be able to talk!"

"Precisely," Arthur said. "I am just as tired of deducting points from you two as Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are of losing them. If you wish to continue your conversations, at twenty five points a minute, you may sit next to each other." He waited, rocking back and forth on his heels, as the two girls' respective housemates glared them down. "Very well. You have 166 hours in a week that you may converse in; the other two hours belong to this class. Now then, please pass up your homework …" he said, taking a step back, checking the rest of the roll. One of the students in the front row put the stack on his desk. "Thank you, Mr. Curtin," he replied. Riffling through it, then checking a list, he sighed. "Miss Canby, Miss Whitloe, your homework, please? It's not in here, and it's not on my list of emailed homework."

"I emailed it, I swear!" Miss Canby said. "Just before class! I was working on it at breakfast!"

"I see. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, and check for it at lunch, Miss Canby." He looked to the right, "Miss Whitloe?" He walked over to her desk; she was working on something, her pencil moving. Arthur leaned over, whispering, "Miss Whitloe? Homework is done _after_ class, not during it." There were some stifled snickers from the other students.

"At least she's doing it," Bill murmured.

"True," his older brother conceded. He reached over and held the eraser end of the pencil. "Miss Whitloe, I will also give you the benefit of the doubt this one time. Email this to me by midnight tonight, along with your other missing homework, and I will not take points. One second late, and I will not accept it. Is that understood?" She looked up through her blonde fringe of hair, and nodded. Releasing her pencil, Arthur moved back to the head of the class, leaning on a table. "I know some of you are wondering what use this class is, and will be in daily life. True, you may not end up a rocket scientist or engineer. Mr. Morton, can you discuss our neighbor, Mr. Meyers?"

"Oh, yeah," Bill said. "Y'see, he's the pilot for our ship, the _Olentangy_. They went out to Uranus over the summer to do some atmosphere mining…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Arthur sat at one of the tables in the common room, red pen in hand, correcting homework. Several pages dropped on top, and he looked up. "Done! Finished! Now why are you so mean to me?"

He leaned back, "Miss Whitloe, I did ask for these to be emailed, but…" he raised a hand as she started to protest, "I will accept these." He regarded her, "Why do you think I'm mean to you?"

"You keep taking points!"

"Because you keep talking, you stupid twit!" someone else said. "Morton's taken points from his own brother, why should he ignore you when you can't keep your bloody gob shut?"

"So you're going to give those points back?"

Arthur shook his head; "You need to earn them, like anyone else. Have the answer when I call on you, just like Professor Flitwick, or Professor Snape."

She shuddered, "I hate him…"

"He's not my favorite instructor either," Arthur admitted. "But while his class is difficult, if you pay attention and do things in a precise, methodical manner, you can get through it. He's simply holding you to _his_ standards, which are not that unreasonable."

"But all the different… things, and… and… firkins of this, and grams of that… I'm so confused!"

"Ah…" Arthur dug into his bag and extracted his potions book. Flipping to a page, he pushed it in front of the younger girl. "A firkin is about eight gallons, by the way. I try to keep a chapter ahead. I've gone through and converted everything possible to metric units; it makes things much easier." He dug into his bag again, extracting a set of sheets. "These are my potion conversion charts. I'm going to suggest, but not require, you do them by hand for practice, then check them with a charm."

"I'd like a copy of those, please," someone said, echoed by several people. Arthur looked around, then said, "Okay, they're spreadsheets. Send me an email, I'll send a copy to you."

Someone knocked on the door; Charlie got up and opened it, holding it for Mattie. "Hello, there! Arthur, you about ready for our patrol night?"

He checked his pocket watch, "Damn, got started grading and lost track of time. You've got it easy," and she snorted.

"Grab a jacket, we're supposed to check in with Hagrid." She wandered over to the financial section, spread out on the wall as Arthur put his things together. Humming, she casually plucked out some darts. "Not bad, not bad, but of course, my _completely random_ selections, made while I was waiting for Arthur…" she hummed again, carefully placing a dart on a closing price, then looking down… "Rolls Royce plc…" She straightened up, still humming, "Charlie, what's a mutual fund?" as the third dart went up and down, finally being 'thrown' at a particular fund.

"A basket of securities relating to a particular industry or interest," he replied.

"Excellent. If I were in class I'd award points," she said, still humming to herself as people prepared to rush the board. "We'll go over Price/Earnings ratios, capitalization, and all that other wonderful stuff tomorrow. Let you properly evaluate a security. She continued to hum, then asked, "Where are the foreign markets? American, French, Russian, Japanese? The orbital listings?" She waggled some of the remaining darts in her hand; then walked over to sit where Arthur had. "Hi, there," she said, offering her hand. "You must be Sara Whitloe. What do you think about your math class?" Her green eyes stared into the younger girl's as people started to look at the darts.

"I think it's a completely useless class, and it's boring, and I wonder when I'd ever use it," Sara said, surprising herself with her honesty. She then became a little nervous, this was _Wayne_, after all, and she'd just insulted her boyfriend's class.

"You use math all the time," Mattie replied softly, ignoring the insult. "You just haven't linked it to your life. When you're at home, do you do any cooking?" The girl nodded, and Mattie said, "There's math, if you have to multiply out a recipe. Ever do stroganoff?" Another nod, "Well, if you've got eight people coming over for dinner, but you only have half a pound of pasta, you'll need to figure out how much to pick up at Tesco's, how much meat, and spices, and how long to adjust the cooking times – that's all math that you'll use. It's not just mixing potions, Sara. It's also things like balancing your checkbook, so you know how much money you'll have for that stroganoff." Arthur came up the stairs, carrying his 'warbag', and Mattie broke eye contact with a smile, patting the younger girl's hand. "Think about that tonight, Sara." She stood up, gave a smile and handed the remaining darts to Charlie. "He sure knows how to show a girl a good time on a date," she said, capturing Arthur's elbow. He held the door for her, and they vanished into the corridor.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"…show you how to do that perimeter spell," Mattie said. "That's what Sprink uses on her nights of patrolling the halls."

"That's okay," he said, shaking his head and pointing to his eyes, then to a rather lumpy hanging tapestry. He maneuvered her next to it as he continued, "I think there's half a dozen of that kind of spell in the Huffie library."

She grinned, "That's interesting. I thought it was all cleaning spells, and charms to polish silver…" He twitched the tapestry aside, "Miss Canby. A little lost from Gryffindor tower?"

The second-year wailed, "Oh, god! You're going to take more points, aren't you?"

"Perhaps," Arthur said. "It depends on how well you do with my little quiz. First of all, what are you doing in the Hufflepuff corridor?"

"Late night snack run?" Mattie guessed, and the girl nodded. Shaking her head, Mattie 'tisked'. "Shame on you, hiding under a tapestry. You haven't learned the disambiguation spells yet, have you?" The girl shook her head, "I was supposed to meet someone here, but they haven't showed. I don't even know where the kitchens are!" she wailed.

"That's simple enough, come with us," Arthur said. "I could use a bite myself." He gestured down the corridor for the girl to accompany them, as Mattie said, "Now, in order to preserve our reputations, we didn't see you, and a Ravenclaw seventh-year showed you how to get in." Miss Canby nodded, as Arthur asked, "Now, as part of my quiz, we have a pint glass of milk, how many deciliters is that?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good evening, ma'am," Mattie said to the Fat Lady's portrait, who guarded the entrance to Gryffindor tower. "Just escorting a lost lamb back to the herd." She added her empty plate to Miss Canby's full one for the elves to handle, adding, "We're officially not here, you see."

"Do you remember how we got here?" Arthur asked, and the second-year nodded. He added his plate to the others, then saluted the Fat Lady, "Have a nice evening, ma'am," and turned to walk off.

She said "Um… Excuse me? Miss Wayne? Um… can I ask a question?" Her glance flicked to Arthur; she added, "In private?"

Arthur took a few steps away, and Mattie moved to lean on the corridor banister. The second year put down the plates and joined her, and asked quietly, "Um… Ma'am?"

"Just Mattie, please. What's on your mind?"

"Um…" She hesitated, and Mattie waited patiently. After a minute to gather her nerve, she started hesitantly, "Um, my big brother, he's with the 5th Para's, and he was injured, he said it was a roadside bomb…"

"I'm sorry to hear that. Go on, please."

"Yes, ma'am, er, Mattie. Well, when he was in hospital, he was visited, by… um, by members of a recruiting team for the Imperial Marines." She looked sideways at Mattie, "He was bloody well … excuse me…"

"I've used the term myself. He was severely injured, I take it?"

She nodded, once, quickly. "Bloody awful when I saw him. They tried to keep me from him, said I was too young, but, he's my _brother_!" She sniffled a bit, and Mattie passed over a hanky. She sniffled a bit, "He said he was in Afghanistan, he was driving the lorry, and..." She sniffled a bit more, "His right arm above the elbow, both feet…" She dabbed at her eyes, "The right side of his head was covered in bandages; I heard he lost his eye and the hearing on his right side… I _can't_ fail here, I've got to do my best so I can be a medi-witch and heal him up…"

"Did you talk to Madame Pomfrey about him? She may seem stern, but she's got a soft spot," Mattie said quietly. "Lord knows I've been in her care often enough."

"She said that she'd have to see him, but some things she couldn't fix." She sniffled again, "But that brings us 'round to the Marines again. They said they could fix him up, better than new, but he would come out of it … a girl!" She dabbed her eyes, "Why a girl? He's a bloke!"

"I don't know…" she replied. "Officially, we want women because of our life support and supply … You see, we figure that based on a hundred-kilo man. He breathes so many liters of air, eats so many kilos of food, and so forth. Women, on the other hand, average fifty to seventy kilos, so that automatically gives us an extra margin for reserve, because we eat less, drink less … you've seen the guys in your house really pack away the food, and you can barely finish one plate?" Miss Canby nodded. "If we figure for a hundred guys on a ship, but the actual crew is sixty guys and forty girls, that gives us an extra bit of reserve." She cracked a small smile, "Math, there."

Miss Canby sniffled into her hanky again, "Then why the Marines?"

"The recruiters do have a bonus for getting women to sign up…" Mattie said. "Someone may be trying to game the system. I'll look into it, but what about your brother?"

"He put them off, said the docs said he wasn't in any shape to travel, and had Mum ask me in her letter. I want him whole and healthy, but he's my brother, not my sister!"

"It is his decision, you know," Mattie said, and shifted as Miss Canby looked at her. "I'll send off an email, and I won't mention you or your family, but if he does decide, how will you react when you see her? If you think you're fighting through some rough seas, think about the decision your brother has to make." She reached out, "She, or he, will need your love and support no matter what. Think on that, all right?" Miss Canby nodded, and sniffled a bit, and Mattie bent down to pick up the plates. "Go on, get inside, and eat while you think. Let me know, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am," she said, as Mattie moved to join Arthur. Behind them, the girl gave the password, and the portrait swung open. Arthur cocked his head, raising his eyebrow, and Mattie shook her head. "Sorry. Girl talk."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, September 25, 2002: 08:18 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Paris, EADS design, meeting room #5:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

("Once again, management is late to their own meeting,") one of the designers commented quietly to another, who looked up from the game on his Palm Pilot™ and snorted. ("What else is new?") He said sardonically. With a sad whistle, his game ended, and he said, ("Damn, my battleship's sunk!")

They both looked up as the door opened, the appropriate junior Vice President striding into the room, dropping an expensive leather binder at the head of the table. ("What do you have for me?")

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

("No!") The VP shouted. ("We are to own, to dominate this market! This design is completely unacceptable! Start over, and this time, get it right!")

("If I may ask, sir, what exactly are you objecting to?") One of the senior designers asked. ("We meet all recognized international design standards, as well as the Interstellar Commercial…")

("The design specifications were clear enough! We must beat the Germans and Japanese! Time is critical! Do it over, I want to see detailed plans and a mockup in two weeks! You have already wasted my time with this crap. I am scheduled to present this to the Board on the eighteenth, and this time, I want it done right, or all your heads will roll!") He picked up his leather binder and stalked out, while the assorted designers and engineers looked at each other.

("That was a waste of two hours of my life,") someone commented.

("Do you think he's serious about firing us?") another worried, while another asked, ("Maybe if the labels and such were in French?")

("What a dick…") one designer commented. ("He wants to get this over with to look good to the board and his mistress…")

("Not in that order,") a female engineer said.

The senior designer who had asked what was wrong leaned forward. ("Look, people, we don't have to be worried. Worst case, we're fired and we go to work for Arrowhead or Greywolf. Brush up on your English, find a few Brits or Yank tourists to talk to.") People relaxed a bit, and he continued, ("Now, he gave us a deadline. Two weeks from today is the ninth, three is the sixteenth. He presents his brainchild on the eighteenth to the Board of Directors. On the ninth, we'll be having major problems, which will be resolved by the … fifteenth. Our plan, which he will be forced to present to the Board …") He started to sketch on the back of a memo. People waited, then he held the sketch up, assuming a very serious expression. ("Modular, cylindrical design. In line with standard galactic design; the keel is here, along the top, along with lifeboats, pods, and cargo shuttle docks.")

("They look like warts…") someone commented.

The senior designer cleared his throat, glaring at the joker, ("Aft is engineering, with the drive coils arranged in a semi-circle here, outside the main reactor to balance thrust.") By this time there were some stifled giggles, with some outright chuckles. The designer continued, a grin starting to play at his lips, ("Forward is an airlock, with life support in a separate, narrow compartment between the cargo bays and the berthing decks. At the forecastle, there is the command deck…")

("There should be a clear, hemispherical observation window at the … tip … of the command deck. For stellar observation and … navigation, of course,") the female engineer said, a naughty grin on her face. ("Also, the forward decks should be angled up, for…")

("Economical use of space,") someone rescued her. ("The galley is aft of the berthing deck, and below that is consumable storage, reached from a lift shaft. Modular approach, should a ship owner need to expand his cargo bays, he would just add in enlargement. An economical, 'plug and play' approach.")

("Or have specialty bays, for pressurized or liquid cargo, for instance,") the senior designer approved. ("He could gain length instantly.") He clapped his hands, "Groupes de travail du projet pour le pénis ..." (Workgroups for the penis project...)

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, September 28, 2002: 12:15 (GMT)  
Terra, Scotland, Nairn, City course, clubhouse:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Freed of the sweat of her match and freshly clothed, Mattie met Sprink and Amy Johnson outside the ladies' locker room. "Where are the guys?" she asked.

"Waiting for us at the dining room," Amy replied, linking arms with the other two witches. "Come on, I'm starving!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Excuse me," Mattie said when her phone rang, and got up, taking a few steps to the entrance. "Yes? Oh, yes…" and she listened, one finger pressed into her other ear. "Certainly, nine tomorrow morning? I'll see you then," and she thumbed it off, returning to her seat. "Professor Harry had a favor to ask for his aunt, I'm meeting them tomorrow for breakfast at the Leaky," she told Crystal, who made a note.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, September 29, 2002: 08:55 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Leaky Cauldron:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Mattie rose in greeting as Professor Harry approached her table; "Miss Wayne, I'd like you to meet my aunt, Petunia Dursley, and my cousin, Dudley Dursley."

The thin, rather horse-faced woman corrected him, "I've gone back to Evans, my maiden name, Miss Wayne," she said as she shook hands. "My divorce isn't finalized yet."

Nodding, she shook hands with the rather large young man, who said, "I'm staying with Dursley, all my school records and such are under that." They sat and he continued, "I've just one more class, then sitting the licensing boards and I'll be an architect. Another few months, I've already started nosing about for hires, but I've got a bit of a … he cleared his throat … checkered past."

They all sat back as Albus came by, poured tea, and left with a wink, Petunia giving him an eye. Clearing her throat, Mattie sipped her tea; then uncovered a small stack of file folders. "Mr. Dursley, I've had a chance to look over your history, and before you object, Mr. Potter did not provide any information beyond your legal names." They settled back, she continued, "I am aware of your checkered past, what you may not be aware of is I do not do any hiring, I have an HR staff for that. Professor, you remember Karen Bundy?" He nodded, and she continued, "Should you meet my bona-fides, I'll introduce you to her. I am a firm believer in the 'second chance'." Her gaze flicked to her professor, "Mr. Potter, I am certain you are aware of the stories going about school about your home life during your own school days. How valid are they?"

"For the most part, valid. I … did not have a happy home life, Hogwarts was my sanctuary; it still is, to a great extent." He sipped tea as his rellies looked ashamed. His aunt, Ms. Evans, cleared her throat and said softly, "My husband Vernon was, and is, abusive. He believed it was possible to 'beat the magic out' of Harry when he was left on our doorstep. I…" she paused, "…I favored Dudley over Harry, because he was mine, not my 'freak' (she finger-quoted) younger sister's son." She extracted a hanky from her purse, dabbing her eyes, "Harry, did I ever apologize for not standing up for you?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia; and I've accepted it. Dudders can look after himself, but you, I worry about you…"

"Tosh," she came back. "I'll survive; I'll go back to school, for secretarial work…"

"Mum…" Dudley said; then glanced at Harry. "I will not have you in a walk-up flat at your age." They had forgotten Miss Wayne, who cleared her throat. "Ms. Evans, may I ask what skills you have in the job market?"

"They are sadly out of date, but before I married, I did work as a … well, an office girl with a small firm. Doing typing, administrative, some bookkeeping and such." She took a nervous sip of her (now cool) tea, her nephew reached over to tap the mug with his finger to warm it up.

"I see…" Miss Wayne said. "You are aware that we are planting colonies on various worlds, and while we do have some modern conveniences such as electricity and satellites, we do not have global networks like the Internet. Nor do we have things such as power grids, each sub-colony has its own utility plant for water, power, sewage, and so forth." She glanced at her professor, "It's very muggle in a way; the wizards we have working there are undercover, for various reasons." She cradled her own mug of tea in her hands, "The technology level is roughly 1970's, there are again various reasons for that, such as using animal power for plowing fields. Also, there is no 'ivory tower', everyone pitches in and gets dirty in order to get the job done and get food on the table. You would be working shoulder-to-shoulder not only with people from other countries, but with rescued slave girls that we have bought, we are helping them to recover, to stand on their feet. They have different practices, different religions, different beliefs."

"One of the things Mum has always been best at is growing things," Mr. Dursley said. "Not only flowers, but fruit and veg."

"I do miss my garden…" she said softly.

"Could you take care of a wizarding greenhouse?" Miss Wayne asked softly. She looked at her professor, "Can you take her to see Professor Sprout, let them talk plants? We do have greenhouses going in that will require care, the witches and wizards do have other duties, as well as the muggle greenhouses for seedlings and the more delicate plants."

"I don't have a degree," she said. "One of my great regrets…" she added softly.

"I think they're looking for more practical knowledge, Mum," Mr. Dursley said. "Add in your office skills, I think you'd do well."

Miss Wayne looked at him, "We have a design office on Windfall, it is currently run by a very experienced girl who happens to wear a slave collar. Could you take her orders, her instructions, Mr. Dursley, or does her collar complicate things too much?"

"I don't think so," he said. "Of course, all I have to go on is what you just said."

"True," she admitted, and shuffled out some file folders. "We would also need to wait for you to finish your degree and licensing, Mr. Dursley." She distributed two file folders; "These are brief descriptions of each planet where we're installing colonies or sub-colonies."

"I'd want Donna, its as much her decision as mine," Mr. Dursley said, and Mr. Potter cracked a smile. "Get the ladies involved, mate, saves grief later on."

"I'm glad to see that your wife has you well trained, Harry." Ms. Evans said with a smile. "Marriage and fatherhood has been good for you." She looked at her son, "How far away is she? She came with us on the Tube."

"Bookstore down the street, mum," he replied. "This was a 'family' thing, she didn't feel right to be here."

"Pish-tosh," she declared firmly. "Once you get a ring on her finger, it will be official, for now, you have my blessings. I like that girl, Dudley, don't let her get away." She waved a hand, "Go, fetch her. We have decisions to make."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, September 30, 2002: 12:52 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2****nd**** year DADA:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Bill put down his books, looking up at the head of the class, where Professor Harry sat, his feet up, reading through some file folders and frowning. He tapped a pen against his temple, and for some reason, Bill asked, "Professor? Something wrong?"

Harry looked up, blinked, then said, "Oh, no, Mr. Morton. Thank you for asking." He put the papers back in the folders, adding, "My rellies are thinking of out-migrating to a colony world, and so far, two different ones look good to me. I was just thinking of questions to ask your brother, he was on one of them with Mr. Adams, while Ms. Tonks was on the other one." He put the folders aside, "There's a difference between reading about some place, versus speaking to someone who's been there." He glanced at the clock, "We've a few minutes; did your brother say anything about his trip?"

"Um…" Bill reflected. "I know I'd like to go myself, his pictures are beautiful. As far as the people, he liked most of them, but a lot of them, well; they went by the 'stuff happens' philosophy. The 'Will of the Source' he said people called it. I haven't had the chance to talk to Sprink about her two worlds; Arthur and Charlie were on Windfall. My sister Elena is still there, her ship's there, she's a shuttle pilot, she's emailed back, but it's… I don't know, different somehow than how she was. Arthur knows something went on, but he won't talk about it." He shrugged, "Does that help?"

"Yes, thank you," Professor Harry said as the bell rang and the last few people came in. He flicked his wand, and the door closed as he stood to check attendance. "Good afternoon, everyone. We're going to continue with what the Ministry calls 'dark' creatures. Last week we did werewolves, and as you may know, we have them in every house but Hufflepuff; he graduated last year. Did we have any more relevant questions before we move on to vampires? Yes, Miss Canby?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***


	3. 1 15 October 2002

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Chapter 3: 1 ~ 15 October 2002  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Tuesday, October 1, 2002: 04:43 (GMT -5)****  
****Terra, ****Grandview Heights, ****Morton home:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

_To: Mr. William Morton  
From: Dr. Martha Livingston  
Date: 1 October, 2002  
Subject: Ens. Elena Morton  
_

_Mr. Morton,_

_As you are listed as the emergency contact in Ms. Morton's file, I am writing to inform you of recent medical events… _

Maggie Morton read the rest of the email from the ship's surgeon on her daughter's ship, and thought for a moment, then clicked on the 'forward' button and typed an address. She heard the toilet flush down the hall, and considered what to tell her husband.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Tuesday, October 1, 2002: 10:21 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, 2****nd**** year Mathematics:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Twenty minutes into the class, and with no points deducted from any house, Arthur finished going over last week's assessment test. "Well, we have some strengths and weaknesses to address, but as I said, the test was to find out where we are. This isn't figured into your grade, so if you did well, or poorly, I'll be talking to you later. Also, since we have not lost a single point, we're going to leave the joys of simple arithmetic behind and move on to some basic geometry. I'd suggest you be ready to do some sketching."

He waited for a minute, then said, "I'm certain everyone here knows what an equilateral triangle is," he said, holding up a green plastic triangle, which he proceeded to toss over his right shoulder. "You probably also know what a square is." An orange square received the same treatment. "Regular hexagon." A larger yellow hexagon followed the other two.

Holding up a blue diamond shaped piece, "Can anyone who isn't Mr. Morton tell me the technical name for this?" A few hands rose. "Miss Appleton."

"A rhombus," the young Ravenclaw replied.

"Correct. A rhombus, like a square, has sides of all the same length and the opposing sides are parallel. But while a square must have four 90° angles, a rhombus does not. This means all squares are rhombuses, but not all rhombuses are squares." Popping out his wand, he used it to point out the angles to those who looked confused. He summoned the orange square and overlaid it, and there were some 'Ahh's of understanding. He continued, "Now, these are sometimes improperly called a diamond, after the playing card suit, or a lozenge. However, the lozenge usually refers to a rhombus with a 45° angle." He played with the two pieces, then asked, "Everyone got that? Okay, moving on."

"We now move on to a quadrilateral," and he spelled it with his wand. Holding up the red half-hexagon, he continued, "You will notice it also has four sides, but one of the sides prevents it from being a square by being longer." Once again, he overlaid the orange square, and waited for the sketching. "Now, for points, and once again Mr. Morton can't answer, why isn't it a rhombus?"

He raised an eyebrow and said, "Yes, Miss Whitloe?"

"Um… because only two of the sides are the same way?"

"How do you mean the same way?" he asked, and she demonstrated with her hands. "The term is parallel, but you're correct. Four points for Hufflepuff," he said with a quick smile, and she squealed, doing a little dance in her chair, then glancing at him. He ostentatiously looked away, and she held up her hands, "I got points! I got points!"

"Let's not get carried away, Miss Whitloe," Arthur said dryly. He held up a narrow tan spindle, "Why is this a rhombus ... Excuse me, please." He walked to the back of the classroom where Minerva stood, holding a quick conference. Moving back to the front with her, he said, "Mr. Morton, please join me, the Headmistress will be taking over." He rapidly stacked his materials, as did Bill, then held the door for his brother.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"What's going on?" Bill asked.

"Elena," he replied tersely; and then saw his sister coming down the stairs from her class, and Mattie coming down from hers. "Classroom 13," he called, and they nodded.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Here's what's going on," Arthur said, addressing his relatives. "You know what happened with Elena when we were on Windfall," and Mattie nodded. "She seemed to be handling it okay, she resumed her regular duty schedule, but she also continued drinking, and not just beer. She was hitting the harder stuff, primarily vodka, straight from the bottle. She showed up for a flight and wasn't able to operate the hatch, so Dr. Livingston grounded her. They've been trying to help her aboard the _Bucky_…"

"The 'Bucky'?" Bill asked with a snort of laughter.

"The _M/V Buckminster Fuller_," Mattie said. "Go on, please."

"Anyway, she's in bad shape, and Dad's listed as her emergency contact. They emailed, Mom got the email this morning, she forwarded it to Minerva, and here we are."

"Okay, I want to know what happened with Elena," Julie said, and Arthur sat back. Mattie gave him a minute; then said, "The capsule summary is that four of the Council Guards, known as the Blacks, tried to ambush and kidnap Arthur and I. They grabbed Arthur, Elena and I went to defend him, and one of the Blacks was killed in the scuffle by Elena's knife." She raised her left arm, and indicated, "In the side, right in the heart." She leaned forward, "For what it's worth, she's a combat veteran now, she's killed defending not only her passenger, but her brother. The others there, the ones that have been there and done that…"

"That have 'smelled the smoke' and 'seen the elephant' (Arthur finger-quoted), have been trying to help her. Primarily Russians, veterans of Afghanistan." He sighed, "They were trained for it, Elena wasn't."

"Which is to some extent my fault," Mattie said. "We should have anticipated possible attacks, and we've revised the training, but what do we do about Elena?" Bill handed her the email, and she scanned it; then sat back. "You tell me, she's your sister."

Julie was sitting there, stunned. "Elena… our sister Elena … she's killed someone…"

"In combat," Bill said, excited. "That's something I'd like to see!"

"No, Bill." Arthur said coldly, "You would not. This isn't a TV show or a video game. She was a living, breathing, person, someone's sister and daughter, who died a very stupid, ugly and unnecessary death. Think of one of us, your brothers or sisters dying."

Julie shook herself; "I'd like to see it, though. I want to … understand what's going on. Is it on tape?"

"It's on chip," Arthur said. "Professor McGonagall did say we could leave school if we had to."

"Okay," Mattie said. "You three go change to business wear, Arthur, you've got your pass card and such for the Intelligence offices at Canary Wharf?" He nodded; she continued, "You go change, I'm going to go pick up your Dad."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Tuesday, October 1, 2002: 05:36 (GMT -5)****  
****Terra, ****Grandview Heights, ****Morton home:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Bill Morton grumbled a bit when he heard the front doorbell; he was just fixing his morning coffee. Teela put down hers and said, "I'll get it." Her slippers flopped, he could hear her unlatching the front door, "Hey, good morning!" She called, "Mattie's here!" then, "Want a cup of coffee?"

"Thanks, I'm always up for a cup," she replied as she walked in the kitchen. "Sorry, forgot the time zones, it's … (she looked at the clock and winced) … early." She accepted a cup; "Professor McGonagall got your email about Elena; she pulled us out of second-period." She sipped her cup, adding, "Julie and Bill wanted to see the video of the incident, they were going to change and go with Arthur down to Canary Wharf, I came by to pick you up."

"Means I need a suit and tie," Bill said, rubbing his unshaven chin. He took a slurp of coffee as his wife came in, "The bathroom is free. Good morning, Mattie. You're here about the email?"

"Yes, ma'am," she replied. "We got pulled out of second-period class."

"Okay," Teela said, putting down her own mug as her dad left to get ready. "Please stop dancing around the subject, what's going on with Elena?" She glared at Mattie, who only glanced at Maggie.

"Elena was involved in an … incident with Arthur and Mattie on Windfall, and she's suffered some … problems as a result," Maggie hedged.

"Oh, that's helpful," Teela snorted. She glared at Mattie, "Spill."

Taking a sip of coffee, Mattie regarded the other girl; then gave an eye to Momma Morton, who nodded. "The Elders sent some of their Guards, known as the Blacks, to attempt a kidnapping of Arthur and myself. We resisted, and there was some … violence as a result."

"And…" Teela made a circular motion with her wrist, "Come on; talk." They heard the shower cut off, Maggie sighed, "Go ahead and tell her, I want to know the details myself."

"Okay," Mattie said, taking another sip of coffee, "Boiling it down, we arrived on Windfall, did our bio-surveys of the abandoned colonies, then went to the Island where the Elders ruled." Maggie sat down with her own cup of coffee and nodded; Mattie continued. "The Elder in charge of the Security Ministry, Paavue, decided to have Arthur and I arrested and questioned, so he sent four of his Blacks to do the job. As one of them said, if we cooperated, they would consider (she finger-quoted) giving the bodies back."

"You mean torture," Teela said flatly.

"Yes, the Blacks were experienced in it, and remember, the Elders have, or rather had, total power." Teela nodded, licking her lips, and Mattie continued, "Now, when this little announcement was made, two of them already had Arthur, Helen, who is Elena's co pilot, fired up her anti-personnel laser while Elena and I went to fight for our guy." She gave a brief smile, "Now, the Blacks were rather minimally equipped, but we had a hostage situation. They were head-breakers and door-kickers, not what we would call police or military troops. Also, Paavue limited the amount of equipment and training the Blacks got, most of them only had nightsticks and a rather arrogant attitude."

"Go on, please," Maggie said, leaning over the table, her coffee forgotten.

"Paavue was in command, he issued orders and expected them to be followed. If he told his Blacks to jump, they wouldn't even ask 'How high?', they'd just do it." The other two nodded as she continued, "So the situation is this, Arthur's a hostage, two Blacks are holding him by the arms, the leader is talking big, and they've got one other girl back in support. Big-talk turns and looks into Helen's targeting laser, burning out her eye, so she naturally screams, which serves as a distraction. I'm on Arthur's right; Elena is on his left. We each grab a Black, I take mine down, breaking her elbow, while Elena, who isn't as much a martial artist, grabs and starts to wrestle with hers as Arthur tries to help." She took another sip of coffee; then simply added, "Elena had a combat knife."

"Oh, my god," Teela said. "She … the Black was only wounded…"

Mattie shook her head. "Elena saved Arthur's life against a hostile force." She took a deep breath, "We should have anticipated something like this, but hindsight, twenty-twenty, you know. We were focused on pirates attacking in space, not an attempted kidnapping in a supposedly friendly location."

"The fourth Black?" Maggie asked.

"Taken out by one of the bystanders," Mattie replied. "This kicked off a minor … well, I wouldn't call it a civil war, especially since civilians weren't involved. The Blacks continued to follow Paavue's original orders, the nighttime kidnapping ones; we'd lay a trap with infrared, drug them and ship them off to our prison. They weren't authorized to change tactics, so they didn't." She sighed, "We took about three hundred of the Blacks that way. It wound up with a final standoff on the High Street, Paavue had finally pried open a store room and issued something more dangerous than night sticks. He had a repeating wooden crossbow and a Black with a fairly primitive flamethrower as a personal guard. We had an experienced sniper, one shot from his Barrett and no more crossbow. The flamethrower girl we tried to talk her down, into disarming, but she wouldn't, and when she aimed at someone…" She sighed, "At least it was quick, she didn't suffer."

"That's something, at least," Bill Morton said as he re-entered, taking a last gulp from his coffee mug. "Teela, you're not going to talk about this. Go get changed, you need to catch the school bus."

"Yes, Dad," she replied, finishing her coffee with a gulp. As she left, Bill asked, "I've got my passport, anything else I need?"

"You might want to pack a bag, Mr. Morton," Mattie said. "If necessary, I'll take you to Windfall."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 1, 2002: 09:12 (GMT)  
Orion Nebula, **_IMV Ngthsestr_**, Flight deck:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"… so that's how that should work out," Yael Miller said, sitting back in her command chair and sipping her tea. "Your deposition, the legal statement, takes the place of your actually having to be there at trial."

"He was young, and wealthy, will that not be a factor in his trial?" C'ari asked as she sat the helm watch.

"To some extent," Yael agreed. "It will mean that his parents will hire the best attorney … er, speakers of law that they can. Against that, he apparently has done this before." She took a sip of her tea, "My understanding is that even if he walks away without punishment, his family's social status and influence will have taken a lot of damage. I don't think he will, though, he used what is known as an 'unforgivable' spell on you…" A flashing light came up on C'ari's panel, and Yael took a step forward on her small bridge to look over the redhead's shoulder. "It looks like we've got company…" and reached forward to flip switches, bringing the small ship's weapons and shields fully on line. "Warm up the stealth field, and increase speed as much as you can," she ordered.

Resuming her seat, she flipped a switch, pressing a button, and an alarm went off. "Now hear this. We've got company closing in on us from aft. Arm yourselves and prepare to fight."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Tuesday, October 1, 2002: 12:47 (GMT)****  
****Terra, ****London, Canary Wharf, Cabot Square****:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

A cool breeze blew off the Thames, funneled by the surrounding skyscrapers and muted by the bushes and trees in the public square. Big Bill Morton sipped his coffee; the smokers and people finishing up lunch ignored them, while Crystal and Steve kept watch. "What next?" he asked.

"Up to you," Mattie replied. "If you want to go to Windfall, I can take you and Crystal with me, we have some ships there scheduled to leave there and return to Earth in a week or two. I should check into a couple things there anyway."

"Can we go?" Little Bill asked excitedly, and was flatly answered by his father, "No." He looked at Mattie, "Can you get back here in time?" She nodded as Little Bill groaned, and Arthur dialed his new cell phone, "Mom's cell phone, Dad."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I haven't been here before," Julie mentioned. "It's a lot bigger than it looks on the map, and that new place, it only has two clients on the sign," she said, looking at the almost-complete building.

"Only needs two," Mattie said, sipping her coffee. "We, the Empire that is, will be leasing it, and we should keep the coffee shop busy. Consolidation. Anyway, that lake is the 'Middle Dock', a few hundred years ago when this used to be one of the major shipyards. We're not as close to the Tube stations as some people would like, but a bit of exercise won't hurt them."

"And if _you're_ taking the Tube and walking, the brass can hardly complain," Little Bill said, and Mattie raised her eyebrow. "Politically astute comment, there, Mr. Morton. Maybe we should get you re-sorted for the Den." Bill shuddered, "No, thank you. I'm not that good a plotter."

"You can learn," Julie said, with a wink at Mattie, "You can work up to coups…" she was interrupted by her big brother, "It's arranged. Crystal and Dad will go with Mattie by Ring to Windfall. Crystal apparated home to pack a bag, she'll meet us at Hogwarts."

"Darn," Little Bill said. "I was hoping we'd get the whole day off."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 1, 2002: 13:32 (GMT)  
Orion Nebula, **_IMV Ngthsestr_**, Flight deck:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Greetings, _Ngthsestr_, this is your friendly neighborhood Lantern," a young woman's voice suddenly said on the bridge. "It seems like you've got a bit of company. What's your status?"

"Who… where?" Yael looked around for the voice.

"Right now, I'm outside your starboard personnel hatch with two passengers. If you could open and pressurize it, we can come aboard."

Jumping up, Yael crossed to the small engineering panel and did so, leaving the bridge. After a minute, she re-entered with three people, a middle-aged man wearing a slightly rumpled business suit, a young woman in her twenties, and a teenager wearing a green leotard and black tights. She took a seat in midair, folding her legs as Yael said, "Um, that's C'ari on helm, I'm Captain Yael Miller, and you're…."

"Crystal, rather superfluous bodyguard for Miss Green Lantern over there," the twenty-something said, somewhat sourly, and the man snorted, "Welcome to my life. Bill Morton, and an hour ago we were standing in London."

"Morton?" C'ari asked from the helm. "By chance, are you related to a Lord Arthur Morton?"

"That's my second son, although I don't know about the 'Lord' part. He's engaged to Mattie here," and he gestured.

"Than I must thank you, Lord Morton, for your son has given me my freedom," C'ari said, and bowed as well as she could from her position.

Clearing her throat, Yael asked, "What are you going to do about our stalkers? They've ignored our signals."

"Go talk to them," Mattie said.

Crystal sighed, and pulled her jacket straight. "Be right there, Miss Wayne. Can I borrow your loo to freshen up?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I don't know why you keep me on," Crystal grumbled. "With that bloody thing you can crack planets like nuts, you don't need me."

"Of course I do," Mattie replied. "I don't have enough friends that I can let a good one like you go. Besides, if you talk to Arthur, you'll find out I never wanted the thing." She waved her right hand, "And now I've gone and hurt its feelings."

"Hurt the Ring's feelings?" Crystal snorted.

"Yep," Miss Wayne replied. "It's at least partially sentient. We're here."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Bill Morton sat in the ship's common room, talking to some of the girls and getting an idea of what his son's summer trip had been like. One girl, a shorthaired platinum blonde had a British accent, but was strangely reticent to talk about that. A set of twins wore steel-grey hair, and the ship's owner was also wearing a slave collar. They were more open regarding that, becoming far more animated with their prospects of a 'dark collar'. He sat back and sipped his tea, this had originally been a smuggling ship, and the girls had to achieve the galactic equivalent of 'able seaman' to qualify for that dark collar. T'ara, the owner, clarified how she, as a nominal slave (and convicted smuggler) could still legally own the ship, even if she couldn't sign contracts. They seemed very positive about their future prospects, even if the two twins did argue like sisters, one being more hotheaded; the other coolly reflective.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Crystal watched as the Captain, a felinoid wearing what she understood as a common collar, took a swipe at Miss Wayne with his razor-sharp steel talons. She had tossed her the Ring, ordering her not to interfere with the fight under any circumstances. She sprang up, spinning over the Captain and landing on his back forward of his mid-limbs, her own blades on her hands. Crystal had no idea where she had acquired them from, the outfit she wore was skin-tight. She had simply reached under her arms and pulled them out, and the fight for the ship and crew was on. She had already seen blood from both combatants.

The off-duty ship's crew, including the slaves owned by the ship, watched along with her as Miss Wayne was bucked off, he spun and landed a gash on her thigh with a claw concealed in the tip of his tail, gathering a cheer from his crew and frantic betting as she spun on a hand, both feet hitting his side. Crystal heard the snap of bones, the Captain twisting in midair, taking another swipe with his left foreclaws. She pushed off, the lethal claws passing under her, and reached down, using the momentum to return to his back, just behind his forward shoulders. She reached down, pulling his chin sharply up, and placed her own claws on his throat, asking, "Yield?"

"Kill us. We shall not return to slavery," he said hoarsely.

"Did I say anything about that?" she panted. "I don't want you as slaves, we have shed blood in a glorious fight. You have stood for your ship and crew; I honor that. I simply asked if the fight should continue."

"You have me, take me and spare my crew," he replied, and made a mark with a claw on his dark-furred cheek. She released his chin, once again hiding her own claws, and climbed off his back, offering her hand. "We have fought together, I do not enslave those who have shed blood with me in defense of their ships and crews. Your honor is intact."

He stood, moving stiffly as a hand went back to touch his ribs. "A solid blow, and a good one. I regret to say my honor has my belly in the dirt since I was forced to accept this," and a foreclaw tapped his slave collar. "I restored my honor a bit, but I was forced by steel to watch as my mate was sold off as a toy. I killed the _s'a'nan'a_ at first chance, taking his ship (he tapped the deck) but as an escaped slave myself, I could not pursue her buyer." He stood as erect as he could, "Thus my honor lies in the dirt with my belly. Take me, spare my crew and ship."

Miss Wayne sat on the deck, wheezing a bit from exertion. "I see no dirt, but an honorable being whose path has been rough." She motioned with her head, "What of the ship's slaves?" Those lifted their heads from where they lay bound on the deck.

"They are titled to the ship, I do not possess the owner's wand. I remember well my own days as slave."

"Then perhaps we might strike a bargain to suit all concerned," Miss Wayne said. "Crystal, my Ring, please, and if you would call Yael and tell her 'Masada' I would appreciate it."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Masada? That's it?"

"That is the entirety of the message, mistress," C'ari replied. Yael huffed and sat, and Bill gently asked, "What does it mean?"

"Like that bloody postcard you see: '_Having good time, wish you were here_,'" Yael replied. "Basically, don't worry, we'll call later."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"When you raided a ship," Mattie asked, sipping her tea. "How did it go?"

"We killed only in self-defense," the Captain replied in a rumbling growl. "We took no slaves, what had we with need of them? No, we took only what the ship and crew required, Fuel, supplies, parts, and easily found tungsten. Our engineer would disable their weapons and engines to give us time to depart, and we would leave."

He eyed Mattie over his own mug of tea as she considered, his black eyes gazing into her green ones. "I see…" she finally said, sitting back and raising her mug, regarding him over the rim. "What will you do?"

"It is not my decision, but yours," he rumbled. "I wear a collar, I have lost personal combat; the ship is yours, as are the crew and slaves. I only ask that you kill me and spare them, they are all experienced spacers and will gain you a good price when you sell them."

"I would rather not sell anyone," she replied. "You said the slaves were titled to the ship. Would you free them?"

"I cannot do so, I wear a collar myself…" he replied, then at her gesture continued. "They have served me well, through some magic I might, I would, and wish them luck in finding a berth as they wear a collar." He put down his own mug of tea, "Once a spacer is collared, should they escape their owner, their ship, they have few resources, little choice but to sign with pirates and smugglers as quickly as possible. They must evade the slave hunters and the slavers, as well as their former owners and government. If they are caught, they are either killed slowly or placed on the market after lengthy punishment, to serve as example and remind other slaves of their place." He extended a foreclaw to run on the rim of his tea mug. "Now that has fallen to us, I ask only you kill me instead of my crew. They will gain you a good amount of tungsten when you sell them."

"I am inclined," she said slowly, "To allow you to prove yourselves. We have other pirates that we have captured; they have said the same. Some have bounties on their heads, yes; we could sell them or turn them in for tungsten. However, we have more need of experienced crew at the moment. We place some of our naval personnel in command, like the small mail boat you were pursuing. The system they were headed for could use a frigate for system defense. We are in the early stages of colonizing the planet." She ran her own index finger around the rim of her mug. "You would wear the System Governor's collar, but would otherwise be free." She turned to regard the mixed-species crew; "The slaves titled to the ship would be declared 'surplus to need' and then petition the Governor for their freedom. She would then decide."

"We might gain a dark collar, mistress?" a slender female wearing Enhancement and a judicial collar asked.

"You might. I notice you're wearing penalty brands and judicial tattoos. I don't think anything can be done about your enhancement, though. It would depend on the individual." She put the mug down with a decisive click. "Let's go get the Owner's Wand, and we'll give you until planet orbit to think about it."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 2, 2002: 01:01 (GMT)  
Seconday, 3 Octus, 162, 25:48 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, 'The Embassy':****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The buzzer was loud in the darkened room; Benni fumbled for the switch to silence it, then said, "What?"

"Sorry to wake you, ma'am," a voice said. "The mail boat just made contact, they'll be clearing the inner Belt and landing shortly, but Tracking also has another ship in trail of them. Emissions are frigate class; a warship." The voice paused; "They also picked up an Oan power ring, ma'am."

"Joy. Give me a minute to throw some clothes on, what did they say?"

"Yes, ma'am. They asked that Ensign Morton be available to meet them, I've passed that message on to the _Fuller_. She's coming down by shuttle, ETA about ten minutes."

Benni was pulling off her nightie, thankful that the connection was voice-only. "Okay, have her come up to the Embassy, I'll get some coffee going. Thanks."

"Yes, ma'am."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Helen asked, and Elena blinked owlishly at them. "Um … eight?" she giggled.

"Two." She turned her partner around, walking her to one of the rows of seats, sitting her there and buckling the belt as her co-pilot initiated startup. "Gunny, could you keep an eye on her? She's been at the engineer's hooch again. Doc Livingston gave me a sober-up, but I don't want her puking on my nice clean deck."

"Been there, got the t-shirt," Gunny Sink agreed, accepting the injector and slamming Elena back into her seat as she tried to stand. "Better she does it in some bushes dirtside. G'wan, get this bucket moving." Helen gave a sketchy salute, and Gunny Sink called, "Don't salute me, I work for a gaw-dam living!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"… Urrrk …" Elena gagged as she knelt in the grass, and Gunny Sink said, "Get it all out, Morton, that's a good girl. I wish we had one o' those gaw-dam wizards around to get rid o' the mess, though."

"It's bio-degradable, Gunny," Miss Wayne said to the older woman in the space-black uniform. The Gunny turned, giving a leisurely salute, "Ma'am, didn't hear you."

"Grass will do that," Miss Wayne replied, returning the salute. "I've got someone else to keep an eye on the ensign." She gestured, and Big Bill went to help his daughter as Miss Wayne continued. "Her father, and former US Navy. She'll be fine, I wanted to talk about some TDY with you."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Here's the situation, Gunny," Miss Wayne said as Governor Castellano sat down with them at the kitchen table, her mug clicking on the wood. "We've got two groups of semi-reformed pirates, an under-crewed frigate, and green Terran crews. We have the Owner's Wand (she waved the slim rod, then placed it on the table), which is the master key for the ship. Opens any door, enables or disables anything aboard. However, we're in need of experienced ship's crew, so I offered them a deal. We put some of our people on board, including Marines, for training. The existing crews are merged, and offered essentially their freedom, although they will wear the Governor's collar."

"How many pirates total?" Benni asked, picking up the Wand and examining it. It looked like a large flathead bolt with glowing LEDs, about ten inches long.

"With the group from before, around sixty or so. Frigate has a crew capacity of around fifty, there's twenty-two in this batch, including the ship's slaves. They're titled to the ship, so we mark them as 'surplus to need' by the ship's owner, which gets them off the ship's books as slaves, they can then petition the court (she jabbed her thumb at Benni) for their freedom. Some of them have judicial collars, what I was thinking is offering essentially the same deal as our rescued hotel girls. If they want a trip through the med-tank for whatever reason, that's part of the deal and the contract they sign."

"We can have three crews, Red, White, and Blue, like the Navy has with their boomers," Gunny Sink said, sipping her tea. "As the most hazardous part of the voyage is the trip through the Nebula, make that escort part of the training rotation. It also allows us to train with the enemy, so to speak." She thought for a minute in silence, "Yeah, I like it. If the pirates get squirrelly on us, we'll have the guns, but they're better off to cooperate. Similar ship's uniform, use a … silver bodysuit, though, and no stupid slave belt."

"Use some of them on the stations, too," Benni said. "Some of our current 'pirates' (she finger-quoted) want to stay dirtside for now. For each crew, figure twenty or so former pirates, ten Terran Navy officers, and thirty Marines."

"Full strength rifle platoon is 36, plus medics and the Platoon Commander, a butter bar, and Platoon Sergeant," the Gunny commented. "Three watches, we can use the medics aboard ship. Yeah, that will work. I'm in."

"What would the crews do off the ship?" Benni asked.

"If Red is on duty, White would be off and on liberty. Blue would be on deck and training, just like a watch rotation, only for… three months a watch. Nine months in the planetary year, and we've got a new year coming up in about three-four weeks." The Gunny finished her tea, "Take that long to get this set up, I think. Do some preliminary training, run people through the courts and the med-tanks, issue uniforms, that kinda thing. We want to make them somewhat uniform, now they're basically civilians. Run 'em through a quickie boot camp."

"Only problem I have with that is the off-duty crews," Benni said. "The pirates would be undisciplined, I'd rather have shorter rotations at first, a month for each crew, then extend it to three months after a year, three rotations. That should let us get a better feel for them."

"Screw the training schedule all to hell, though," the Gunny objected. "Yeah, we don't have a base to confine 'em to, and I can see the security aspects. Ah, hell, let's do this thing," she said, standing.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Let's take a walk," Bill told his daughter, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He was now dressed in a set of field grey fatigues and black combat boots; they meandered through the complex, taking the shaded paths as people walked around them. Winding up at the corral, they stopped as Bill looked on. "Whoa, those are big."

"They're called shonnen," Elena said, leaning on the thick walls next to him. The muddy, whitish skinned oxen ignored them, lying in the shade of the trees, calling to each other occasionally in their surprisingly high-pitched voices. She regarded the animals for a few minutes, and then told them, "I find it strange you came halfway across the galaxy because I've become a lush. A drunk. Come to take me home?"

"Nope," he replied. "Came to offer a shoulder if you need it, an ear to listen, and maybe some advice." He glanced sideways at Elena, who was studying the shonnen. "I've heard Arthur's account of the incident, Ms. Castellano's, and Mattie's. I've seen the recordings, and I'm not here to pass judgment. You know the Board of Inquiry reviewed what went down." She nodded hesitantly, still studying the shonnen. "I've seen your report, and quite honestly, I don't think it's accurate. It's not _you_, Elena. You've changed, and I want to hear it. There's a reason you've retreated into a bottle, you've never needed that kind of crutch before."

She was silent for quite a while, then said, "I see her. See her face. B'iana. The girl I killed. She was about my age; I could easily have been her. I see her expression, I see her terror…" She was silent, "I stuck a knife into her, into her heart, and I watched her die, Dad. It wasn't quick, like a gunshot. She … she could feel it." She reached down, drawing a knife out of her right boot. "This knife, Dad. And then, when Arthur said … well, he wasn't holding her, he wasn't inches away from her face …"

Bill accepted the knife; it had a long, slim blade with a serrated back. He handed it back, "You had a gun, why not shoot her?"

"I might have missed and hit someone else," she said as she accepted the knife.

"From a few inches? I doubt it," he replied. "Even a gut shot would have ended it."

"I … I know, but I was so mad, they had Arthur, he was my brother, and the blade, the knife just kind of … appeared in my hand, and then it was in her, and …" Elena's voice was almost robotic. "Mattie took her enemy out without killing her, why didn't I?"

"She has a lot more martial arts training than you do," Bill replied. "Let's break this down. The Blacks appear and say they want to take Arthur off and torture him to death. They grab him; they're now enemies, and he's at risk. What are your options?"

"You're not the first to go through this with me, Dad," she said, turning to look at him. "Get him back or let him go. It doesn't help when B'iana comes to visit me at night."

"Then perhaps we should go visit her," a voice said, and Bill Morton turned to see an extremely fit young man in field grey fatigues like Bill's standing at parade rest. "Hauptmann Hans Gruber, Herr Morton," he said, offering his hand. As Bill shook it, he continued, "Fähnrich (Ensign) Morton's commander. I have told her the same thing, perhaps she will accept it from you." Elena started to say something, and he raised a hand. "I have also told her that the responsibility for training and equipping personnel is the commander's, not hers. Therefore, the ghost is also my duty to dispel."

"I assume the training syllabus has been revised," Bill said.

Gruber nodded, "The locals may look human, but they are not. They are humanoid, slightly stronger than we are, but there are differences with internal organs, pressure points and such. That is irrelevant at the moment, I wanted to extend the offer to visit the girl's family." He nodded and moved off, and Elena watched him go.

Bill watched him also, then said, "Interesting offer. Seems like a nice enough fellow."

"Dad! Are you trying to set me up?" Elena said, exasperated.

Bill chuckled, "No, but I've distracted you. What's been going on here?"

"Dad!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

As their jeep moved up the gravel drive, they saw the farm's slaves watching them, and one ran toward the house. As they parked, Bill Morton saw the curtains in the front window move, and said, "They know we're here, they're probably wondering why." Beside him, Elena took a deep breath as Hauptmann Gruber knocked twice on the door. They waited patiently, and the door opened, the father looking out; asking "Yes?"

"We're here about your daughter, B'iana," Bill said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"_Noooooo_!" the mother cried, and the father leaped at Elena, Bill moving to block him. They struggled together, Bill telling his daughter, "Outside, Elena. We'll settle this, one father to another." He grunted, his foot slipping as Gruber jerked his head, Elena and B'iana's brother and sisters moving outside.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I'm C'iina," the daughter said, adding, "Talk." The daughter stood outside, breath mask over her face, arms crossed and stared at Elena. "What happened to B'iana?"

"Perhaps it would be best if you told us what you know, and we may proceed from there," Gruber said from the doorway where he stood.

"Very little," the son said. "We received her regular Fifthday letter of the 7th of Quintus, and then nothing. There was nothing in the code that indicated something special…"

"There was a brief mention of you Terrans," C'iina added. "She said opinion in the squad was split over you, the hardliners…"

"Like Mother," the other daughter added.

C'iina nodded, "Like Mother, who believe in the Wisdom of The Elders (they could hear the capital letters), and the moderates and unsure, like B'iana."

Elena could see C'iina chewing her lip under her breath mask, and didn't notice Gruber going back inside. She sighed, "Everything seemed to be going okay, we seemed to get along, and then the Blacks sent four of their troopers, including B'iana, to kidnap and torture Mattie and my brother Arthur. They said if we were good and cooperated, they'd _consider_ (she finger-quoted) giving back the bodies."

"Mother would say, 'I'm sure the Elders had a good reason,' C'iina remarked.

"The thing is, the other Elders didn't know anything about it, it was all Paavue's idea," Elena replied. "We couldn't just let them take Arthur, who they already had, so we fought back and …"

"And B'iana died," the brother said as Elena slid down the post she rested against.

"Yes…" Elena said, tears on her face. "She had my brother, she was going to kill him, and…"

The son took a few steps, "How did she die?"

"A knife … this knife … in her heart…" Elena said, drawing the blade from her boot. "She was in my arms, I could see her face, closer than we are now, I could see her sweat, her terror, she knew she was dying…" She closed her eyes, putting her head down on her raised knees and sobbed, and didn't even notice when the blade was removed from her hand.

"I should kill you," C'iina said, and Elena replied, "There are times when I wish you would." She raised her head, regarding the local who held her knife by the tip. "I killed your sister…"

"And afterward, what happened to her?"

"We…" Elena swallowed, "We asked her squadmates what a proper burial would be. Our ship's surgeon, our healer, tried to save her, but…" Elena took a deep breath; "We followed their guidance, even asked them to conduct the ceremony, and passed on what we had of her possessions to her Commander to get them back to you."

"None of which we've received," C'iina said softly. "We haven't even had a letter from Elder Paavue, and her pay hasn't come for over two months, and then when you appear today saying she's dead…"

"All of which we thought the Elders would do," Elena said softly. "It's the only proper thing to do, we have a tradition that the commander will write a letter home for a member of his unit that dies... we try to return the bodies of our military forces home if we can."

"Not let the families wait and wonder, or try to get news through the slave network," C'iina said. "They may have current news in High Town, but here on the farms, we don't." She regarded Elena and the knife for a minute; then extended the blade to the Terran. "What's been going on, and I find it very ironic that we have to get news from the enemy."

"I'm not your enemy," Elena replied as she slowly accepted the blade.

"You killed my sister. Even if it was in saving your brother, you still killed her," C'iina replied. "Talk, Terry. What's going on?"

"You know about the currency change? The first of the year it changes from iron based to tungsten based, like the rest of the galaxy. Seventy-two to one ratio," and the locals winced. "Whoever of the Elders, we think it was Daala, decided to base the economy on iron made a really stupid decision." She drew a line in the dirt with the tip of her blade, "It's like basing it on sand. An actual real conversion would be seventy-two _million_ to one, but we didn't want to destroy the economy."

"Thank you very much, Terry. What about Daala and the other Elders?"

"Daala lost a court match, a fight in High Town, and the court put a collar on his neck," Elena replied. "He's with Baasht, last I heard. Baasht sold out to us; he's in exile on his island. Zuunti was killed by a mob; Taaman and Paavue were captured in High Town."

"Mother's going to be _so_ pleased with that," C'iina remarked sarcastically. "What else?"

"No plague, and so no mask laws. We're reworking the planetary, or rather, the system Constitution, and we're starting to colonize, we, the Terran Empire."

"So if I understand you, Paavue tried to start a war with an interstellar empire?" the brother asked.

"And failed miserably, from what we've heard," the younger sister said.

"We tried to hold the casualty count down," Elena said, and regarded her knife, "Usually, in a war, one side tries to completely destroy the other. Fatalities number in the millions, not just two." She examined the knife, "B'iana was one. The other was one of Paavue's bodyguards, she held a flamethrower, a weapon, on someone in High Town." With her free hand, she cleaned the tip of dirt and slid it back into her boot sheath. "What else do you want to know?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

_To: Mom (home)  
CC: Arthur (school), Julie (school), Bill (school)  
From: Elena Morton  
Date: 1 October, 2002  
Subject: From Dad  
_

_Hello, everyone! _

_Dad here, I'm borrowing Elena's email account aboard ship. I've obviously arrived safely, and this is a very pleasant planet. Arthur, I'm going to need to talk to you. _

_Elena is physically okay, but she's having trouble dispelling the ghost of B'iana. We visited the girl's family, and it was traumatic, as they hadn't received any information from the Elders about her death. Elena seems a bit better for it; she spent quite a bit of time talking with B'iana's brothers and sisters, while Hauptman Gruber and I dealt with her parents. _

_As far as this system goes, Maggie, there's a neighborhood meeting coming up. I'd like to suggest that we invest in this system with some of the profit from our atmosphere mining. Other than that, I'd like to…_

Arthur was confident about what he'd reported on the fight his sister had been in, but knew that others didn't share his viewpoint. Still...

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Bill Morton found his daughter leaning on the shonnen pen's wall. He set a sealed flask of the engineer's hooch on the wall between them, leaning over to watch the huge oxen. After a minute, he asked, "This helps?"

"It helps the … memories go away," she replied, not looking at him.

He grunted, and was silent for a minute, then added, "You know, alcohol damn near killed your Uncle Rich, not to mention destroying his health, his military career and his first marriage."

Elena nodded, "Yup."

Bill reached over, turning the lab flask on the concrete wall. "Now, if you're trying to kill yourself, this'll work … eventually. It's not very efficient, though, and it puts others at risk. Still, if you're determined to go that route…"

"Dad!"

"What?"

"I killed someone!"

"Yes, you did." He looked over his shoulder at his daughter, "That person was attacking you. You reacted in self-defense. Furthermore, she had said she wanted to torture and kill your brother, your future sister-in-law and pretty much anyone else she felt like torturing and killing."

"You're saying I shouldn't feel guilty?"

"Yes, damn it!" He turned, "I know, the Bible says 'Thou shalt not kill,' but that's different!" He slapped a palm on the concrete, "Damn it, Elena! There's a difference between sticking a knife in someone on a city street for the hell of it, and fighting back. You're confusing the two, and you're picking the wrong example. If you're shopping with Teela and someone were to try to drag her into an alley, wouldn't you go help her?"

"Well, yes, but…"

Bill waved that off, "But me no buts. Same type of situation, you're defending someone. Yes, the details are different, but Elena, you have to find a better way to deal with it."

"Huh?"

"You're drowning in self-pity. That's crap, you know it is, and it needs to stop. You know, objectively, who is actually responsible for B'iana's death, but you haven't accepted that. Don't you think if you were guilty, _someone_ would have told you that?" She started to reply, and he continued, "If you still feel you've done something wrong, try to make up for it."

"I killed someone. How the hell do I make up for that?" Elena nearly shouted.

"Try saving a life, like your own," Bill said. "There's a difference between being remorseful, and being self-destructive. You can't undo what's been done; you can't bring B'iana back to life. But you can't do anything when you're hiding in an alcoholic fog." He pushed off the wall, and walked away from the shonnen pen, leaving her to think and study the clear fluid in the flask. She turned it around in her hand; then walked a few steps, dumping the 140 proof into the shonnen's water tank, and the flask in the trash. If she needed, if she wanted it, she knew where to go, but right then, she didn't.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Listen up, people," Gunny Sink said to the group of former 'pirates'. "Find a chair and claim it, we ain't got a lot of time." They took seats, the canids sitting up on the floor in front. Mattie stood behind them, against the wall, as Benni took over.

"Good morning," she said. "For the purpose of this meeting, you are all considered to be free. We have a frigate docked at the station, as some of you know. We have a deal to offer that we strongly advise you take. There are currently two hundred twenty three of you here. For those that accept, they will get their freedom as well as training as Imperial Navy crew. We are aware that most of you, if not all, are currently running, either as escaped slaves, or as wanted felons. What we propose is …"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Mistress, you propose we wear your collar; in exchange we get training?" one slave asked. "It seems that I'm simply trading one owner for another."

"My collar would be for legal purposes only, and as I said, with your judicial collar you would go before the court and explain yourself and why you're wearing it," Benni replied. "Based on that, I would decide to keep you in a collar, nullify your conviction, or whatever seems just. If you need to keep wearing it, it would be for a certain amount of time. A few weeks ago, I moved a smuggler from a lifetime collar to seven years. Based on continued good behavior, she can apply for a reduction in that sentence, and cannot be sold without her consent." This caused a ripple of comment.

"I might be completely free, mistress?" the slave asked.

"We don't have a way to remove Enhancement, although we do reprogram it so you're not forced to keep saying 'Master'. With that, yes, you would be a free female with a dark collar, we have several bred slaves that we've done that for." She tented her fingers, "The alternative to this way of gaining our trust would be a prison cell."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Wednesday, October 2, 2002: 06:08 (GMT) ****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Miss Wayne?" Minerva paused for a second, then asked, "Mattie?"

The girl continued to sleep, and Poppy Pomfrey waved her wand over her. "Exhaustion. What has the girl … never mind, I'll find out eventually. I'm putting her into the Infirmary for the day with some sleeping potion. Excuse us, everyone." With a flick of her wand, the Mediwitch levitated her, sniffing, "So much for getting adequate rest…" as she left.

"So, Arthur, did your father take care of matters?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "I got a quick email from him, my sister … well, the problem is temptation. There's a lot of beer on planet, the ship's got the traditional engineer's still, there are a lot of Russians and Germans with booze available, and she has to admit that she's got a problem."

"Speaking as an alcoholic," Harry Potter spoke up, "There is no such thing as 'recovered'. Everyone has to find his or her own tactic, I find I think of what Ginny would say (he turned to look at his wife, who smiled and took his hand), and that gives me the strength. One day at a time, that's what it boils down to, mate. I'll be happy to talk to her when she's next on planet."

"Thank you," Arthur said. "I appreciate that, sir." He took a sip of tea to cover his embarrassment.

Clearing her throat, Minerva rapped her knuckles, "Moving on, Poppy was going to cover the PE results, Narcissa, would you do the honours?"

"Certainly," the tall, aristocratic blond witch said. "By House, Gryffindor has the least numbers of students taking part in extracurricular sports. The most popular is of course Quidditch, but the muggle footy seems to be taking hold, as well as basket ball (she pronounced it as two words)."

"Both require a lot of running in all directions," Arthur said. "What about the runners and marathoners?"

"I am coming to that, Mr. Morton," she replied coolly. "Either sport is welcome, as it develops reflexes and muscle tone, although not the endurance that distance running does. There are still some students and faculty (she passed out lists to the Heads), who will do the bare minimum, if that."

There was silence as they were perused, after a minute; Minerva rapped her knuckles on the table again, "Thank you, Narcissa. Did Sybill grace us with her presence today?" She looked around, "Apparently not."

"She is also not showing up for her scheduled classes," Filius said. "Students are not showing up, leaving, or using her class for study time, as they did for Horace's History lessons."

Severus sighed, "I shall…"

"No, Severus," Minerva said. "It is not your responsibility, but mine." She took a deep breath, "This cannot go on. While I am hesitant to cast anyone out in the cold, cruel world, she did sign a contract to teach, not to drown her sorrows in cooking sherry. Moving on, Pomona? You had an inquiry from Miss Branstone?"

"Yes, on behalf of her elder sister Eleanor," the Herbology professor replied. "She had a problem with several plants that went with her off world, and was inquiring as to remedies and our consulting rates. That is what I thought we needed to discuss before I reply."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Thursday, October 3, 2002: 09:38 (GMT) ****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, 3****rd**** year potions:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Julie looked up as a long-fingered hand stopped her from adding the ingredient to her potion. "Miss Morton, should you include shavings of Monkswood at this point, what will happen?"

"Um…" Julie checked her notes, "It should turn light blue and bubble."

"You are two steps off," Professor Snape replied, his long finger tapping her textbook. "Should you add the Monkswood now, what will happen, Mr. Ramirez?"

"Exothermic reaction, _senor_," the Ravenclaw replied.

"Precisely," the Potion Master drawled. He flicked his wand, and Julie's half-completed potion vanished. "This is not like you, Miss Morton, to make such an elementary error. You have detention tonight, where you will brew the potion to my satisfaction. Clean up and assist Mr. Ramirez with his potion until the end of class." He moved off, and Tomas leaned over to whisper, "What is wrong?"

"Family problem with my sister," she whispered back.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Thursday, October 3, 2002: 15:53 (GMT -5)****  
****Terra, Columbus College of Art & Design:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The instructor paused in his rounds, checking the students and asked, "Are you sure you want to use that fellow as a model, Miss Morton? He's … not the best looking."

Teela looked up, "Positive. Not only is that Mr. Griplink, our personal banker in London, he's semi-related to us, a really nice guy, and most importantly, he's my client." She unclipped a digital print she had taken in London, and handed it to him. In it, Mr. Griplink stood before an open vault, smiling toothily and gesturing inward, while a dragon edged into the frame in the lower left. She accepted the photo back, adding, "Besides, there's a lot more of us that aren't super-models than there are the 'beautiful people' (she finger-quoted)." She scooted back, standing to re-clip the photo to her frame, "Gringotts is a wild place for a bank, and just because they're goblins and have dragons guarding the vaults…" Shrugging, she tapped the bank's newly revised logo, the gold square 'G' now with the additional text: '_Affiliated with Lantern Bank_' and a small green Lantern logo. "They're our interstellar bank, they have lots and lots of money; so if Mr. Griplink wants to be in the ad, I'll put him in."

"That's not the only ad for them, I hope," Mr. Minturn said.

"Nope," Teela replied, pulling two others out of her case. In one, an orbital collage showed space stations, ships, and a planet in sunshine, while the text read '_Thinking of moving out? We offer colonization loans_.'

The other ad showed a stylized ship with a glowing exhaust heading for a large field of asteroids, with the text reading '_Setting up a business? We can help with our new colonization loans_!' Teela shifted that one on her lap, "There's a lot of artistic license there. Grav drives don't have an exhaust, and asteroids aren't that close together." She shrugged and set the two back in her case as Mr. Minturn 'hmm'd, then moved on.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, October 3, 2002: 19:01 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 5 Octus, 162, 07:48 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, Shuttle pads:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"So, pray tell, o father of mine," Elena asked as she boarded the commuter shuttle behind Big Bill, "What am I doing assigned to you?"

"You are officially on TDY as my aide-de-camp," he replied, stowing their bags in the overhead compartment. He pulled his field grey fatigues straight, then sat down; then stood again to extract the straps from underneath. Elena helped him with them as he continued, "Governor Castellano gave me an official, though temporary assignment to the Riverside office; they need to get back on track. You are assigned to the Governor's office as an aide, which means you are out of uniform, Ensign. I've got an aiguillette (shoulder ropes) for you."

"Yes, sir," she replied.

As other people boarded the shuttle, Bill extracted them from his binder, "Right shoulder, please." As she put the golden ropes on her naval uniform, he said, "The office there has gone off track. We are supposed to assist the secondary sites in getting crops in the ground and their infrastructure built. Instead, in the absence of Governor Sullivan, they've just been going in circles, generating a lot of bureaucratic bull and demands for daily reports. That has to stop, we find the problem, fix it, and when Sullivan gets back from her home leave, we hand a smoothly running office over to her." His new aide nodded, and he continued, "Just to cover bases, we've got admin powers, but not judicial. Those we still need to refer to Governor Castellano. I'm speaking with her voice, and you're speaking with mine." He gestured at her new shoulder ropes, "Don't be hesitant to lay down the law, kick butt, and fire people if necessary, and I'll back you.

"Understood, sir," she nodded. "I may need to travel."

"Than you do," he said. "Touch base with the civil authorities, you'll be dealing with them in order to cut through the bull. Our mission right now is to get crops in the ground and food on the table. If you need assistance in financial matters, Gringotts has offered the use of their accountants. I'm going to use them to audit the Governor's books while I kick some butt myself." The shuttle's engines started to whine, and he added, "One other thing. You get more done with honey than vinegar. Kick ass when you need to, but don't be the REMF. You're there to help them, understood?" She nodded as the shuttle shivered for a moment, then he glanced out the port, and they were airborne.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You can't go in there, master," the secretary said, standing in Big Bill's way. "That's the Governor's office; he ordered us not to interrupt him."

"I have an official appointment from Governor Castellano," he replied, holding out a hand, and Elena put a binder in it.

The collared slave blinked, "Another one, master? I don't understand." He looked at her, and she clarified, "Master Haak'n has a document from Governor Sullivan, master. She appointed him to replace her when she went back to Terra."

"Then I suggest you call Governor Castellano to confirm my appointment as Acting Lt. Governor. Speak directly to her. You," he addressed the other secretary. "Call the local sheriff and ask him to send someone over. I'll wait." He assumed the parade rest position, as did Elena, and waited while the first secretary dithered, then hesitantly picked up the comm.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I gave orders not …" the man said, turning from where the dark-skinned slave girl was bound. She whimpered through her hood, and he stood there, hand holding the whip while a brazier glowed near him. Big Bill rocked on his feet, "Mr. Haak'n, I presume. I am Acting Lt. Governor Morton. I believe you are in my office, and I would like to know what you are doing."

"She is an errant slave, a mere female, and needs discipline," he replied. "I have a letter from former Governor Sullivan resigning and appointing me in her place. Now get out of my office!"

Bill turned slightly, "Sgt. Perry, were you aware of this?"

The Mountie shook his head, "No, Sir. I've confirmed your letter of appointment. Mr. Haak'n, if you have yours I'll check it and sort this straightaway."

"That seems reasonable," Bill said affably. "Mr. Haak'n, if you'll pass that letter over to Sgt. Perry? I'll wait."

"It's classified," the man snapped. "Get out of my office, I have work to do!" The bound slave whimpered where she lay, stretched on the rack.

"Really?" Bill asked. "Well, Governor Castellano would certainly know about something like this. Sgt. Perry, there's the comm, why don't you give her a call…" As the Mountie moved to the desk, Haak'n threw the whip at him and made a break for the door, only to meet Elena's shoulder block and leg sweep. He went down hard, the Sgt. throwing her a pair of handcuffs as he waited for the Governor to answer.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Rather poorly planned on his part," Bill said later as he and his daughter disassembled the rack. "You'd think he would anticipate we'd check this."

"He was flying under the radar, dad," Elena replied. "He browbeat the secretaries into signing things from 'The Governor's Office', and he could fake Governor Sullivan's signature, which is how he got a dark collar. He was stealing tungsten and waiting for a ship going out of the system. His bad luck he couldn't talk his way into a med-tank to rebuild his … (she cleared her throat) … equipment. One wasn't available. Pass me that wrench, would you?"

Bill flipped the adjustable wrench in his hand, passing it through the wooden frame. "Well, it looks like Christine didn't lay down the law, so I'm going to have to do it, and be a little over the top." He turned his own ratchet wrench as she braced the nut, "I'm a little more upset that her staff collectively let him pull this off. They should know by now the human position on torture: We don't. The minute he installed that rack and threw a slave on it, that should have been a sign that something seriously wrong was going on."

"Once Sgt. Perry completes his investigation, we're going to have to examine every bit of paper that went through this office. Now, that shouldn't be too long, and I can understand his wanting to get out of his collar before Christine came back."

"Makes sense," he agreed. "I'll mention it to Sgt. Perry and refer him to the Gringotts accountants." Elena pulled the last nut loose, and he asked, "Ready to lift? On three. One, two, three…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Elena straightened her uniform (as did Bill) after pushing through the small gap in the hedge, and knocked twice on the unmarked door in the brick wall. "Ms. Branstone? Ms. Laval? Are you in?"

There was the sound of a bolt being thrown, and a dusky-skinned girl wearing a collar with blue and green lights looked out through a small window. "I'm Marie Laval. What do you want, we're busy."

"I'm Ensign Morton, aide to Acting Lt. Governor William Morton," she replied, and Marie looked down the path as Elena continued. "Governor Castellano asked us to stop by, and mentioned that you two were the in-house witches." She added, "I have brothers and a sister at Hogwarts."

"Explains how you saw through the wards," Marie said, unbolting the door. "Come in, we've got fresh coffee."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"That explains what's going on with the Governor's office," Big Bill explained as his daughter (and aide) took notes. "Our objective right now, while the Mounties do their investigation, is to find out what we need to do to get seed in the ground and bread on the table. Where do you two stand?"

Eleanor looked at Marie, then at Bill. "We've got some accelerated growth potions we're brewing, and trying to figure out best placement and large-scale brewing. Some of them take dilution in water, some require a precise dosage, and some work best on trees, others on veg, others on bushes and vines." She took a sip of her tea, "We also have some that can be used during the life of the plant; others are starter potions."

"Also, some have a limited shelf life, and if you over-fertilize with some of them, it will have the opposite effect, killing the plant," Marie added. "We've also got some plants that will grow best as seedlings; we have two greenhouses; one is for wizarding plants like irontip; the other is for the muggle plants from the seed packets, which I understand your wife sent Governor Castellano, and is our cover operation." She took a slurp of coffee, then set her mug down. "We've got some irontip and bloodvine plants that are ready to seed, we're working on packaging and instructions. Tomorrow we're going to meet with one of the local machinists on a towed planting gizmo."

"Would you like to see them?" Eleanor asked.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Careful, there," Marie said as Bill leaned forward to look at the hanging bushes. They were rooted in foam blocks, which were hung on wooden frames. "We've got different spells running to check how they do during hot summer, a brutally cold winter, and other climates. They're hanging to let us monitor the root system."

"Makes sense," Elena said. "Only some are flowering, though."

"That's how they seed. The ones we're planning for the different sites are dwarf varieties," Eleanor said. "Edge _carefully_ by these, our production plants are behind those, they're optimized for seed, these aren't. These are more than pretty ornamental hedges with nasty thorns; they are what the colonies will get. They'll grow up to about five or six feet."

"They do smell nice," Bill said, edging sideways along the path.

Behind him, a plant snapped at his leg, and Elena asked, "I understand shonnen use these as scratching posts?" She leaned forward to examine a thorn. It resembled a cast iron pike tip, about two inches long, and she took a step along the gravel path, dodging the snapping flower. "What about the bloodvine, and the tunneling wabbits?"

"The bloodvine can be trained to, um, _appreciate_ certain pests," Eleanor replied from where she stood next to the wall. "Our understanding of the wabbits is they tunnel down to hibernate." She untied a line on a cleat, lowering another hanging frame from near the greenhouse's ceiling. She tied it off; moving toward it. It had a complex root system draped over an aluminum frame; "You do that by watering it with a dilute blood solution from the target pest. In this case, we've gotten live wabbits and bled them. While it won't ignore other prey, it will prefer wabbits."

"I understood the wabbits were dangerous to capture and approach," Bill asked, looking at a clipboard that hung from the roots' support frame. The roots were easily twenty feet long.

"They're not particularly intelligent, though," Marie replied. "More cunning than anything else. Put some fresh, bloody meat in a tubular trap, they'll run down it; then you just arrange the tube so they're stuck at the end with their throat exposed. The docs are working on an antivenin; we just slit the throats of their test animals." She moved toward the hanging roots, poking at them with an aluminum tube; the roots moved. "These will invade the animals' dens, when we package the seeds, we'll include some wabbit blood and instructions. Cut it ten to one or so, and use a sprayer to apply it."

"With a plowed, graveled 'death strip' (Eleanor finger-quoted) on either side of the barrier, that should be proof against any land-based pests." She used a sprayer on the plants; then raised them back toward the ceiling. "There are also other small animals, like foxes and such, this should serve to keep them out of the chickens."

"Insect pests?" Bill asked as Elena made notes.

"We don't know yet," Eleanor said hesitantly. "We don't want to kill off bees, they pollinate, but we also don't want mosquitoes. We don't know that much about the insects yet."

Bill nodded. "Okay. Let me see what your proposed packaging is."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Everything sounds good," Bill said in the small 'office' in the back of the greenhouses. He took a drink of his fresh coffee, "Now, what can I do to help you two out? Supplies, equipment, that kind of thing."

Marie traded glances with Eleanor; then said, "We'll take a rain check on that. Once we figure out quantities and so forth, we'll probably need larger scale brewing equipment, but that can be covered under chemistry and brewing beer."

"Brewing beer or whiskey probably wouldn't be a bad cover, either," Eleanor said, then glanced at Elena and blushed, "Er…"

"I'm trying to dry out," Elena commented. "What about those, um, charms in the bottles?"

"Totems," Marie corrected. "We could do those with industrial wands, but the drying charms aren't that difficult to do. We could do batch spell-casting on some marbles or muggle desiccants, but we're still experimenting. We're also thinking about offering a deposit on the containers, like soda bottles."

"Okay," Bill said, and gestured at the fairly small office. "Will this be large enough for your brewery?"

"Probably not," Eleanor said. "We'll need to expand, but once again, we'll take your marker on that. What about wizarding kit in the Grand Catalog?"

"We'll find out," Bill said, and Elena made a note, asking, "Could you use someone like Professor Snape? A Potion Master? Arthur and Mattie say he's tops in his field."

"We've already inquired about consulting rates through my sister," Eleanor replied. "Perhaps down the way a bit an assistant wouldn't be a bad idea, someone good with both potions and Herbology. What about financing the building expansion?"

Elena made another note, "We'll check with Governor Castellano." She looked around, "Anything else?" She closed her binder, "Next stop, sir, is the shops."

"Ask for Mr. Phillips," Eleanor said. "He's the supervisor over there, he's a bloody good bloke."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Friday, October 4, 2002: 08:03 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Arrowhead auditorium:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Moving to the microphone, Mattie tapped on it, "Good morning, and let's get started. I've got a few announcements; then hopefully we'll have time for a few questions. First, a bit of good news, one of the women on Titan Base had a pair of twins, a boy and girl. Parents and kids are healthy and happy, and we wish them all the best."

There was a bit of comment on that, and she continued, "Second, as several of you noticed, we're redesigning the basic duty uniform along with the curriculum at the Corfu training base." She removed the microphone from the podium, joking, "This is my one chance to be a fashion model." There were chuckles, and she put a foot on a chair, "The boots remain the same, with the exception of built-in knife sheaths," and she switched the mike to the other hand, running a hand along her knee and lower thigh, "White leggings like I'm wearing for the Imperial Navy, black for the Imperial Marines. Field grey fatigues for the garrison troops on the ground, I took advantage of a German army surplus sale." Putting her foot down as people chuckled, she continued, "There is a turtleneck bodysuit underneath, gold for command, like I'm wearing, red for ship's services, blue for sciences, grey for training. I'd like to add that the leggings and bodysuit constitute light armor, each person is also issued custom-fitted combat armor." She indicated the black over-dress, "This would be normal duty wear for shipboard, standing a port watch, that type of activity. Duty hash marks on the right sleeve for both enlisted and officers, and we are including prior service." She indicated a diagonal bar next to the left cuff, "The band indicates your duty posting. We are also bringing back the fruit salad on the left breast due to high demand. The guys have a similar style of uniform."

Changing hands with the microphone, she indicated her belt. "I know some of you practice martial arts, and have heard of the kyu method of colored belts. Going from low to high, there's yellow, orange, green, blue, brown and black. We have worked up a combination technique and will be training all of our personnel. They will be expected to maintain proficiency, just like they are expected to meet physical fitness norms. Naval personnel will be expected to achieve at least an orange belt, Marines and Intelligence personnel at least a blue belt. What differentiates this is that we can anticipate going hand-to-hand with other species, including canids, felinoids, and much larger humanoids, who don't have their organs in the same places."

"Zoom in on my belt, please," and she gave the cameras a few seconds to do so. "Technically, I'm out of uniform, as I'm not wearing the normal duty sidearm, and I haven't yet qualified for my TEMP belt, so it should be white. That's Terran Empire Martial arts Program. However, I do have five black belts in various disciplines, so that's what I'm showing; a black belt with five white vertical stripes on either side of the red buckle. The red buckle indicates instructor status, and that's because I teach classes."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

In Hogwarts, the 'Royalty class' participants watched the news conference, Bea theatrically gulping, "Oy, now I need to learn that too?"

"You can do it," Arthur answered confidently. "I've got a green belt in Karate. I don't know what Imperial Intelligence's training curriculum is going to be; they're revising it now. I do know that it starts with basic Marine training."

"Shhh! They're continuing," Sprink said, conjuring popcorn.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"… the training syllabus will be extended. We're also working on designing bolt-on weapons modules to convert standard cargo and personnel shuttles to troop transport and attack shuttles in case a spacehead should turn hostile, we can then supply and extract personnel under fire." Mattie said. "As part of our design work for military spacecraft, we're also looking into fighter and transport designs, like helicopters."

"You've said the Solar Guard is like the Coast Guard," someone called.

"I'll get to questions in a minute, but even the Coast Guard sometimes needs to call on heavier firepower than a 9mm pistol, especially if the fishing boat refuses to heave to for boarding," she replied.

Putting a hand up, "Excuse me," and put down her mike, turning away and opening her cell phone. "Can I get that on my machine here?" some of the journalists heard, and then she moved to the laptop connected to the projector system. They watched her log in to a different site, a banner flashed 'Imperial Intelligence Operations' and then she unplugged the monitor. She worked on the screen for a moment; then said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a foreign starship loading in Guangde County, that's on the east coast of Red China. They are…" she stopped talking, then reconnected the monitor. A satellite view came on, centered on an area about a hundred meters across. In that, an alien could be seen talking with a portly Chinese official holding a clipboard, pallets of goods were stacked up, being loaded and offloaded, while a chain of female slaves waited, kneeling naked in the sun. The two finished their conversation, the Chinese bowed, and the alien made a negligent wave to the slaves as the official turned away. The lead girl, Chinese in appearance, shouted something, and the official turned, replying casually, then brushed her off with a wave of his hand as she replied. The alien produced a remote, pressing a button, and the chain of slaves spasmed in agony, several rolling over to show their hands cuffed behind them. Their new master let the torment go on; then flicked the switch again, dropping it in his pocket. The official watched this calmly, then turned to walk off.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Arthur Morton watched the press conference, seeing the ship's crew kicking the slaves and dragging them to their feet, moving them into the ship. He pulled out his mobile phone and speed-dialed her number as a small picture appeared of Ms. Wayne at the news conference, talking on her cell phone as the last of the chained, captured Chinese slaves were shoved aboard ship. She switched to another call on-screen, and he said, "Mattie? We need to shut down Operation Spider, right now!" He waited as she replied, then said, "I'll handle it. You need to send an email as to why." He nodded, watching as the ship's slaves appeared, distinguishable by wearing a tunic. They manhandled the pallets of goods, while a forklift appeared, taking the goods the Chinese official had bought and moving off.

He thumbed off his phone as Beatrice spluttered, outraged, "That's … they're … they're selling their citizens! That's …"

"I wonder what those other goods were," Sprink asked; then looked at the Princess. "Oy, I know it's an outrage an' all, but there's not much we can do at the moment. Mattie will try to intercept that ship, an' we'll try to rescue those slaves, but I'm wondering what tha' Chinese bloke was buying an' selling besides those girls."

"Good point," Arthur agreed. "Unfortunately, we can't know unless we intercept that ship and can read the paperwork."

"I'm also wondering how they got through the blockade and in-system," Harry said. "Shh. She's back." He un-muted the sound and the pictures reversed, Miss Wayne saying, "…try to rescue those girls, but as for me, I'm outraged by the callous indifference displayed by the Chinese official in simply selling off his fellow citizens. I know that I'm going to go home and go through my closet and my house and take back anything that I have that was made in the so-called 'People's Republic of China'. If you're as outraged by this as I am, you'll consider doing the same thing, and if enough people do it, it will hit those businesses that deal with Red China right where it hurts, in their wallet."

"There's more than one China," someone called.

"Yes, there is," she agreed. "The Republic of China on Taiwan, they're a democratic, peaceful, honorable society that I am sure are just as outraged by the actions of the mainland as we are. Remember, they also work with the same environmental laws we do in the West, I'm pleased and honored to call them friends. Still, I'm going to take those Red-Chinese produced products back to the places I got them, and if they won't accept the returns, I'm going to burn them."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Friday, October 4, 2002: 10:00 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, PE class:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"You're back just in time, Miss Wayne," Professor Croft said as she came running up, barefoot. "Take a minute to put your shoes on and we'll begin."

"Sorry, all my running shoes are made in Red China," she replied. "That leaves my school shoes and boots, and my dress shoes, so I'm going to be running barefoot until I can replace them."

"What does where they're made matter?" Lara asked.

"It was on telly, those bloody arses are selling their citizens to off-world slavers," Sprink said, sitting down to pull off her own shoes. With a flick of her wand and a quick '_Incendio_' they were burning as the others in the class whispered about it. "What about those boots you bought on Eunomia?"

"I'll have to check those, I forgot about them," Mattie replied, doing her stretching. "Fifteen kilometers barefoot should be fun."

"When were you going to go return your stuff?" Sprink asked.

"Got a meeting tomorrow morning, I was going to floo down after that."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Foolish girl," Madame Pomfrey said as she treated Miss Wayne's feet. Those feet were propped over the railing at the foot of the bed; the Mediwitch was about to continue when she saw the girl was sleeping, hugging a pillow underneath. Poppy considered that for a minute; then used her wand to remove a callus; "I'll tell Severus you won't be in class next period."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Friday, October 4, 2002: 12:34 (GMT)****  
****Terran system, **_SGS Gdansk_**:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Well, who do we have here?" Captain Frankowski asked his tactical plot, leaning back in his command chair. "I do believe it's that smuggler that we heard was lifting off from China."

"Why don't we go take a look?" his First asked. "We were planning on exercises with the _St. Petersburg_, and he is heading for the dock with the _Wisdom_."

"Let's play with his head a bit," the Captain said, and turned toward his comm station. "Frank, call over there and ask their tugs to reverse course, like they're building the ship, instead of tearing it apart."

"I'll get some shuttles off the ground from Copernicus heading that way, and call the _St. Petersburg_," the First said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You see, Captain," Frankowski told the smuggler later, "You're not running your transponder, so we don't know who you are, and you're flying in restricted space. I'm going to have to insist you heave to for boarding. We don't know what kind of cargo you might be carrying. It might be dangerous drugs like Grey Ecstasy or chocolate, or weapons, or anything else on our Class II list." He sat back and sipped his tea, "The one our perimeter buoys transmitted to you. Like, oh, slaves. It's illegal to transport, buy, sell, or possess slaves in this system."

"These are free females!" he replied, and behind his back, several of the slaves shook their heads 'No'.

"If that's true, then I must wonder why they are wearing lit collars," Frankowski replied calmly. He caught his First's thumbs up, and continued, "You will, of course have proper documentation on the freeing of those females for my Marines that are right now at your airlocks. I suggest you open them…" there was a muffled pair of booms. "Well, I guess you're too late." He sipped tea as an armored Terran Marine entered the smuggler's flight deck. "While you're explaining yourself to them, we'll just … keep an eye on matters from here."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Terran Marines!" the Chinese girl heard, and she screamed in joy through her gag.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Captain," the Lieutenant leading the boarding party said, "We have found evidence of the smuggling of not only illegal drugs, but you have shipped the equipment to manufacture Grey Ecstasy to your Chinese contacts. You are also in the illegal possession of slaves, some of whom are Terran citizens abducted against their will." He took a step back, drawing his handgun, "You are under arrest for the enslavement and transport of Terran citizens, possession of slaves, as well as conspiracy to manufacture and distribute Grey Ecstasy."

"One other thing, sir," a Marine said. "Paperwork says he's behind on his mortgage."

"I'm sure our friends at Lantern Bank will appreciate knowing that," the Lieutenant said with a smirk.

The smuggler finally found his tongue, "How dare you! Comrade Won assured me that everything was legal; there was no system defense force! I demand…"

"You will _demand_ nothing, Captain," the Lieutenant said, raising his handgun to the smuggler's eye. "You and your brother, your First Officer will _receive_ legal counsel, paid for by the Empire, and a trial. You will not speak to anyone until you speak to your counsel." He cocked the handgun, "Please, Captain. Resist arrest. It will be my pleasure."

The smuggler eyed the weapon, not a needler, but something with a much larger bore. Deep inside, he could just see a golden cylinder with a dark grey, flattened end. He was sure it would be much more damaging than a needler, and swallowed, hard, before dropping his head and raising his hands. The young officer took a step back, and one of the armored troops pulled him away. He heard someone say, "Lieutenant Livenkov, we…" as he was hurried down the passage.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, October 5, 2002: 06:10 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 6 Octus, 162, 14:57 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, dining tent:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

There was a loud whistle from the river, and Herr Otto flipped open his pocket watch. "Ach, right on time," he said. "The Packetboat _Wagner_, saluting the flag, we shall see her in a few days ourselves." He put the watch away, looking about, "Mein Damen und Herren, I believe we have a quorum; I count one hundred thirty three. Do you concur, Herr Ross?"

"I do indeed," the Ranger said. "I move we reconstitute as a committee of the whole, transact business, and then get something to eat."

"Ach, I second the motion," the German Postmaster said. "All in favor?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Herr Snaplink, the budget report?" Herr Otto asked, carrying on as chairperson.

The goblin banker and third member of the current town council stood up, "As you know, we are currently running a budget deficit until the first of the year, when the tax rates apply. This is one reason for our emphasis on generating viable revenue." He gestured at printouts on a table, "You see the current monthly budget. Once we receive our draft animals, we can then get seed in the ground and revenue in the vault." He nodded and sat down.

"Thank you, Herr Snaplink," Otto said. "Frau Doktor Bujones, where do we stand regarding our draft animals?"

The Cuban veterinarian stood, "We are currently scheduled to receive eight shonnen and a dozen hexataurs, as well as assorted Terran livestock such as horses, cows, pigs, goats, and chickens. South Two Island is set aside for the livestock, we also have facilities for breeding programs and medical treatment." She took a sip of her tea, "We have some of the new girls that will accompany the shonnen and hexataurs; they have been trained in their management and care. That has been the major cause of the delay, getting sufficient people trained. They will also be training us in their routine management." She started to take another sip, then thought better. "One thing the larger animals will need is shoeing, I have dimensions for the shonnen available. Somewhat related, I understand that we have rescued another 482 hotel girls, and Elder Baasht had a slave farm with several thousand girls. I'm sure we'll be getting a share of those girls as well." There was a murmured reaction, and she continued, "Our own group of 'little sisters' will help with those girls as well. I understand some of the former hotel girls were rescued from the actual feeding trough, so be prepared for psychological distress." She sat back down, and Sgt. Ross's enormous mastiff, Shannon wandered over and put her head in the doctor's lap. She whined, and got a slice of bacon as a reward for her mooching.

"You stole part of my thunder," Professor Franklin said. "Anything else regarding our farm livestock?"

As the vet couldn't stand up with Shannon's head in her lap, she continued from where she sat. "Just that we want to track genetics, so each of the larger farm animals, goats on up, will have an entry in the planetary stud book database." She ruffled Shannon's head, "As well as our friends like Shannon, here. No unauthorized breeding, please."

"Herr Professor, government relations?"

"Nothing much, just that there's an Acting Governor named Morton while Governor Sullivan is on home leave," he replied. "He's been brought in to sort out the snafus in her office, we may see him or his aide. Karen, what about Infrastructure?"

"We've finally got everything cabled and wired properly, we're starting to roll out the business servers, for the individuals with personal comms (she waved hers), we've worked out a way to forward your phones to the comms. It's about an eight step process, though, we're going to have to write software to simplify and make that more reliable." She took a sip of her tea, "Also, Doctor Bujones, I got an email that your laptop had arrived in the mail boat from Earth, it should be on the _Wagner_, along with a gizmo to let you link to your files from your veterinary wagon. I'll let you know when I need you for the setup."

"What about the stud databases?"

"Give me the contact information for those, please." The vet nodded, and Karen continued, "Aside from that, Herr Otto's family has been handling the port and the mails, such as they are at the moment. However, when we start to see more traffic, we're going to need people specifically trained for those jobs, as well as things like fuel and large cargo handling, containers, the locks, the airstrip and air operations." She held her mug in both hands, "I got an email from Riverside; Transport Canada is handling that type of thing, along with DHL. They're going to be offering classes and licensing sometime next year."

"Why Canada?"

"They have a lot of isolated communities, like Alaska, but Alaska has more roads." Karen shrugged, "They had the expertise, like the Mounties."

"Speaking of which," Sgt. Ross said, "We've taken over that slave farm the doc mentioned, and once we've gotten the slave girls out, we're going to be converting it to a combination prison and training facility for law enforcement and the security services. Several of the Blacks, the Elder's head-breakers and door kickers want to be trained in proper police work, and they also want the local cops like me to go through training on system and 'federal' law, so we're all on the same page." (He finger-quoted.) "As such, I'm going to be away for that training, I understand we're getting some lab equipment and trainers from the FBI and Scotland Yard."

"A little off topic, but thank you," Karen said with a smile. "Returning to infrastructure, I understand the pellet press is working?"

Chuck nodded, "Yes, and the associated wood chippers. We can use the mulch as either feedstock for the pellet press and the stoves, or on the gardens. I'd like to see a specialized truck or wagon of some sort to get the mulch to a central storage area, and we want to have some way of collecting and storing the ash, it can be used in concrete."

"We've got winter coming up, do we have enough stoves?"

Bob spoke up, "They're not that complex to build, cast iron and heavy gauge steel, some fans and a control board with an ignition source. We can ship in the fans and control boards, and build the other parts locally. Don't forget, we're going to have to put them in the barns and chicken coops as well, but the water heaters and various melting pots are more complicated. Once the weather warms up in spring, we can redirect the mulch for ground cover and build our supply of pellets back up."

Elizabeth Brandt said, "I mentioned I'll need a concrete or gravel pad there for the containers, we can extend that for the pellet press."

"Gravel is an import item, like bricks," Angie Jourdain said. "If you can pour your concrete pad without using gravel, rain water will work through, it's a lot more eco-friendly."

"Thank you," Elizabeth replied. "Regarding supplies, we can finally access the last few cargo containers. Once those cranes, forklifts and so forth are extracted and assembled, we can move the containers and make proper use of them for storage. I'll need stairs, decks and lifts built for them, as well as interior shelving, heating and air conditioning, and lights. Fluorescents will do." She ruffled a sheaf of notes, "We have ten Terran months of MREs available for a population of three hundred. We'll need to build that back up as quickly as possible."

"Will people be living in those containers?" Angie Jourdain asked. "If not, why air condition them? It seems a waste of the community's money. I can see lights and shelves, but anything temperature sensitive should be inside your warehouse."

"End of the fiscal year," Sgt. Ross commented, people laughed, and various people leaned over to explain to their 'little sisters'.

Chuck waved a hand, "Excuse me. Those fuel pellets have a specific humidity rating. Once they're produced and bagged, they're going to need to be in low-humidity storage if you don't want mold, mildew and other problems."

"Another point," Karen said, "There may be equipment that we'll need to keep at a certain temperature or humidity in those containers. If we're going to wire them for lights, why not cut a hole in the back and drop in a window A/C unit? I don't think they cost that much, a couple hundred each or so, and better to have and not need it."

"Depending on how they're placed, we could run ductwork and tie them into the warehouse's A/C unit," Chuck suggested.

"Get some pricing, please," Angie replied, and the Ranger asked, "What about construction?"

"We've got the metalworking and carpentry shops up and going to a limited extent," Chuck Rice said. "We wanted to get them going first because we've got some modular furniture and equipment we can then turn out and people can screw together themselves. Don't get me wrong, there's still a lot of work to do, but once this big hurdle is over, we can take a breath or two." He held his own mug of tea in his large hands, "What's left to discuss? The election? Nicole?"

The former slave licked her lips nervously; then stood, "We have ten days until the date we must send our list of persons and issues to the printers. I have received ten questions, Mistress Ito has said they are legal, and fifteen persons have said they will serve." She chewed her lip, "With the news of additional girls coming… perhaps we should print additional lists?"

"Assuming we have those 7500 or so girls divided among the sites, that's around three hundred each," Karen said. "I'd say print six hundred ballots, that should give enough for everyone and some spoiled ballots."

"There's a price break at 750," Professor Franklin said. "Move to increase the order to 750, second?"

"Second," Chuck Rice said. "All in favor? Opposed? Looks like the ayes have it, Nicole. Please increase our order, hopefully we'll have the people in time."

"Lastly, health and morale," Herr Otto said. "Herr Doktor Enrico, your report?"

"I will be happier when we can get fresh food, and start doing canning of our food, instead of relying on military rations," the Cuban physician said. "I am starting to see some mineral deficiencies in some people, not to worry yet, but I am keeping an eye on it. Aside from that, I have nothing to report. Mr. Abdullah?"

The Islamic electrician had been elected to chair the rotating council of lay priests. He stood and said, "Generally, morale is good, and will improve when we have crops planted and livestock available. The wabbits remain a concern, but finding a use for their body fats, and the success of various traps has helped to address that. Several of the 'little sisters' have asked about getting their friends purchased, we have had good fortune in most of those cases. I would suggest arranging travel back to Port Lincoln for them to meet their friends and help with their acclimatization."

Bob Jourdain looked over at Nicole, "You asked about a couple of your friends, didn't you?" The girl nodded; Angie leaned over to hug her, "I don't see a problem with that."

"Thank you, mistress," she replied softly.

"Is there new business?" Herr Otto asked, and waited. "If not, Herr Abdullah, will you close the meeting with a prayer?"

People stood, and he said, "Allah, most kind and merciful, we know as Jehovah, the Source, and by many other names. Please bless our undertaking, show favor on our labors and kindness in our hearts. In your names, we pray…"

There was a moment of silence, then "Amen."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Saturday, October 5, 2002: 07:38 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, Classroom 17:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Petunia entered the classroom as her nephew held the door for her. It looked like a typical classroom with a scattering of student desks, tables against the walls, chalkboards with partially erased words, and pin-boards with a few notices up. On a table were carafes of coffee and tea. Behind her, Donna entered with Dudley, who commented, "I expected it to be … different, somehow."

"Look up, Dudders," Professor Harry said with a small smile. They did, and saw various floating candles supplementing the light from the high windows. They moved to fetch tea and coffee and found seats, and he said, "Aunt Petunia, you remember Ms. Wayne (they both nodded), the blonde bloke next to her is Mr. Arthur Morton (he nodded), who is Miss Wayne's fiancé, Ms. Tonks, and Mr. Adams. This is my Aunt, Petunia Evans." They nodded, and he continued, "You've narrowed the colony selections to two places, Windfall and P'wheel. Ms. Wayne and Ms. Tonks went to P'wheel, while Mr. Morton and Mr. Adams were on Windfall. Mr. Adams in particular worked with the design office on Windfall, Dudley."

"Ah, thank you," he replied. Harry nodded, and Mr. Morton said, "My father is pinch-hitting for Christine, I mean Governor Sullivan, while she's on home leave." He took a sip of tea, "How are you regarding office politics?"

"Somewhat out of date," Ms. Evans replied, somewhat nervously sipping her tea. "I haven't needed to use those skills since I was married, although there was some politics in the neighborhood garden clubs."

Mattie looked at Sprink, then said, "Governor Sullivan's responsibilities include the defense and development of the system. It's a binary system, and she could use a chief of staff. She's got a pair of secretaries, who are rescued slaves. My reports are that those two girls are somewhat out of their depth; what the Governor's office needs is someone to take care of the day-to-day operations, keep development going, build up the infrastructure, both planetary and space-based, sort out things like tax collection, law enforcement and so forth." She took a sip of her own coffee, "The Lieutenant Governor is a … shall we say retired businesswoman, she's got the Ministry of Trade on her plate in addition."

"On the other hand, P'wheel is pretty much built up," Sprink said. "We need to send people to check the machinery and install an orbital cargo station, which is being designed by the office on Windfall."

"I don't think I can wait that long," Petunia said. "Last night I had a call from Vernon, he's found me. I spent the night in a hotel in Mayfair."

"That's not good," Sprink said, and Harry raised his voice, "Dobby?" His house-elf popped into place, and he asked, "Dobby, could you go to Aunt Petunia's flat and pack her up? She's going to be spending some time with us." The elf gave Petunia a glower, then nodded and popped out. "He still hasn't forgiven you, Aunt Petunia."

"Only right, I haven't forgiven myself," she said. "However, I can't stay here."

"There are rooms available in Hogsmeade and in the muggle village," Charlie replied, adding, "If you don't mind pub rooms." He took a sip of his own tea, "The muggle rooms would be just like you expect, although since we're in Scotland, the weather will be a bit chiller. However, if you're going to take the offer on Windfall, you'll need to get to London for briefings and whatnot. You can either take the GNER train down, or stay in a pub in Hogsmeade and floo down to the Leaky. They're used to muggle rellies of Hogwarts students; that's what I recommend."

"The Leaky Cauldron?" Ms. Evans asked. "That's where we met a week ago?"

Ms. Wayne nodded, "Floo from Hogsmeade to the Leaky, then take the Tube from Charing Cross to Canary Wharf, that's the easiest way to get there." She took a sip of her coffee, "Were there any further questions, Ms. Evans?"

"Not for now, thank you."

"Than I'll have Karen give you a call to set up an appointment. Does Mr. Potter have your mobile number?" He nodded, and she continued. "I would suggest; if you haven't already, setting up a Gringotts account. The galactic economy is based on the tungsten gram, they'll have to convert back and forth to Euros, Sterling, and so forth." Ms. Wayne turned, "Right now, the _Manhattan_ and our cargo ship, the _Nevis_ just delivered a load of colonists and their equipment to Windfall. Once they finish offloading, they're going to break orbit and return here with our other colony ship, the _Dover_."

"When are they expected back?" Donna Thomas asked.

"It's about two weeks each way in the convoy," Charlie Adams replied. "The _Manhattan_ and the _Nevis_ left Earth September first, they arrived at Windfall around the fourteenth."

"I understand they're ready to break orbit, if they haven't already," Ms. Wayne said. "Karen will give you the details, but you'll have an allowance of 550 kilos for personal cargo, clothing, books, pictures, and so forth. If you have any cubage left over, you can donate it to a pool."

"Pack about two weeks worth of clothing for your cabin, and it's not a luxury liner," Charlie added. "You'll be bunking with someone, a shared cabin, and I'd have something to occupy yourself with."

"How's the food?" Dudley asked.

"Replicated," Arthur replied. "You can tell it's not fresh. It looks and tastes fine, but there's something … better about fresh food. Think microwave versus freshly made, if that helps." They nodded, "One other thing, Ms. Evans. How are you with a handgun?"

"I've never touched one in my life," she said disgustedly. "Filthy things."

"I'd suggest you learn, ma'am." Arthur leaned forward. "If you take the job as Governor Sullivan's Chief of Staff, you might be traveling. This is a virgin planet and there are predators with both two legs and four."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Saturday, October 5, 2002: 08:23 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Finchley Rd. Marketplace:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Emerging from the Tube station, Mattie re-oriented to Charlie's pointing arm, and headed toward the mall's entrance.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Time to do some marketing, guys," she said quietly, as she watched the BBC satellite crew set up their truck and the rain canopy, while the reporter adjusted her appearance in a small mirror. She moved closer, and waved at the large figure in blue and red that gave a small thumbs up. Moving closer, she called, "Superman! How are you?"

"I'm fine, Miss Wayne," he replied, and the startled reporter spun around, grabbing her microphone as the cameraman picked his up. She moved closer; asked the reporter, "Tasha Meadows, isn't it?"

"How… yes, that's right, she said. Mattie gestured toward the mirror, "Go ahead; finish up." Superman passed her a styrofoam cup of tea from the camera crew's insulated jug as she put her bags of returns down, saying, "You remember my fiancé, Arthur, and these are my best friends Sprink and Charlie."

"Of course," he replied, leaning forward to shake their hands. "What are you doing here, returns?"

"Red Chinese returns, and we've got some information about that smuggler." (Ms. Meadows perked up at that.) "Turns out he was carrying Grey Ecstasy."

"Oh, nasty, nasty drug," Superman said, then turned with a smile, "Ms. Meadows! Ready when you are."

She whispered instructions to her cameraman, who flicked on portable lights, as she waved Mattie to where she wanted her. In the background, they could see the mall building across the parking lot, Superman moved to stand in the background. Tasha did one last check, then got the nod from her producer as the camera's red light went on. "This is Tasha Meadows, here at Finchley Road Marketplace with Damiyo Wayne and Superman, doing a return on Chinese merchandise."

"Thank you for remembering that title, Tasha," Mattie said. "I would like to clarify that this merchandise that is made in sweatshops in the so-called 'People's Republic', under horrible conditions. Those workers are paid pence on the pound, breathe polluted air, drink chemical-laden water and are restricted to only one child. On the other hand, we have the Republic of China on Taiwan, a democracy with clean air and water whose people are paid a living wage, and that I've been pleased and proud to call friends."

"So why the returns?"

"I'm sure you've seen the video of a Red Chinese official selling some of his citizens into slavery. Well, Tasha, everyone needs to make up their own mind, but for me, I'd rather not do business with a company who deals with slavers and drug dealers."

"You mentioned a drug called 'Grey' before we went on the air…"

"Excuse me," Superman said. "It's actually called 'Grey Ecstasy', it has a one-hundred percent addiction rate, and is manufactured by a rather…" his expression twisted, "…horrible method. Certain chemicals in the brain are extracted under torture, and the longer the torture goes on, the more potent the drug." He looked disgusted, "In one of the more unique twists of biochemistry, rage on the part of the male subject turns out a better, so to speak, product than torturing a female."

"They were doing this on board that ship?" Ms. Meadows asked.

Ms. Wayne shook her head. "No, Tasha, but we found invoices, bills of lading, chemicals and so forth. They sold the equipment and supplies necessary to Comrade Provincial Governor Won for tungsten and slaves; in return Comrade Won received gold and assorted other equipment, including a slaver device. He shipped out three and a quarter liters of Grey Ecstasy."

Superman winced, "That's quite a bit. I'll have to look into it. What happened to the smuggler?"

"He was sadly misinformed by Comrade Won as to the existence of the Solar Guard," Ms. Wayne said with a small smirk. "He was intercepted by two of our Tigerfish-class corvettes, they took him to the Eunomia base, where we'll get depositions and he and his brother will stand trial."

"How likely is it they'll be released on license?" Tasha asked.

"I doubt it, even if they're found not guilty, Lantern Bank is foreclosing on their ship. They've missed several payments. The rescued slaves will be offered resettlement." Mattie turned as Superman shifted, then said, "Excuse me," and vanished.

"Anything else you'd like to tell us, Ms. Wayne?"

"I need new running shoes," she replied with a smile, lifting up a bag. "These are made in Red China, and I'm planning on running in the London Breast Cancer half-marathon on the 19th. Aside from that, we're building a large shipyard in Copernicus crater, as some things are easier to do in gravity than they are in zero-gee, like laying carpet, painting; that kind of thing. This goes along with Greywolf's own shipyard and the orbital yards. The only other thing is that we're expecting the arrival of three of our colony ships within two weeks, so they'll probably leave for Windfall and P'wheel around the end of the month."

"Mr. Morton, you've been rather quiet, anything to add?"

Arthur leaned forward, "Just that the Terran Navy and Marines are recruiting. One of my sisters is in the Imperial Navy, and even if you're retired service, you might want to give them a call."

The camera focused on the reporter, "Thank you both, and thanks to Superman, wherever he is. This is Tasha Meadows, reporting for BBC5 Live." The camera's red light went out, and Tasha tossed her mike to her producer, heaving a great sigh as she shrugged out of her BBC blazer and into a jacket. "That's over, and thank you, Miss Wayne, for showing up. I can never get to your news conferences."

"Come to ours," Sprink said, passing over a business card. Tasha's eyebrow rose; "Ms. Tonks. Do you mind sitting down for a little one-on-one later?"

"I'm a bit cramped for time today," she replied. "I'd also like to talk about our new distribution center and colony on P'wheel."

"Maybe doing a little location work?" Tasha asked.

"This is on background," Arthur said, and Tasha nodded. "P'wheel's about 2300 light years away by convoy, in the M7 globular cluster. That's three weeks each way just to get there, add in another day or two to work in and out of the system. Bounce it off your boss, and it's not going to be five-star quarters, either."

"P'wheel's an island planet," Charlie added. "Chains of islands, each of which they've leased to someone for trade. Ours has some existing buildings like dams, but we don't know what shape they're in."

"When I was there," Sprink said, "They looked a little run down, a bit shabby. Plaster chips off the corners of the walls, that type of thing. We're sending an engineering ship to find out what shape the kit's in. We also don't know about the biology of our particular island, the water and power, that type of thing. We'll have to install farmers, as well as a trade station in synchronous orbit, an' we've got about ten months to get it done by contract."

"We've got a pre-fab station designed, and we'll start building the modules in Copernicus," Charlie added. "Then we load the modules into the _Nevis_' holds, when they get to P'wheel all they need to do is bolt the different sections together in the right order." He shrugged, "Easy as pie, we've got other modular designs for things like extraction and fabrication." Checking his watch, he added, "Now, we really do need to get moving."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, October 5, 2002: 10:00 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 6 Octus, 162, 18:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, docks:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Elena looked up at the sky, following the flight of the shuttle, and sighed. When those last few shuttles docked, the four ships were due to break orbit. Three (the _Nevis_, the _Dover_ and the _Manhattan_) would leave for Earth, while the _Buckminster Fuller_ (known as the _Bucky_) would join them as far as the entrance to the nebula. She would then join a convoy heading toward Mangione and then on to P'wheel. She watched until the craft was a single, reflective pixel against the heavens; then it vanished. She watched for a minute longer, sighed again, then turned to go back to work.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, October 5, 2002: 10:00 (GMT)  
Windfall orbit, **_M/V (A) Ben Nevis_**, Bridge:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

A skinsuited Gloria Alvarez strode onto her bridge as four bells sounded for the forenoon watch, her helmet under her arm. "Mr. Murdock," she addressed her First Officer, "I have the conn."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied as he surrendered the Command Chair to her and she racked her helmet. "Last shuttles are docking now." He stood to the side as she read over the status board. "Computer, ship's log; supplemental. I have assumed the conn, this date and time. Until further notice, all personnel will be in skinsuits. Alvarez, end." She looked over at her Comm officer, "Inform current section leads that when they signal ready their personnel are released to quarters for skinsuits. Fifteen minutes each."

"Oui, madame," Lise de Galais replied. "Madame Parkinson reports _La Fuller_ is ready in all respects, she urges us to 'Get the lead out,' her words, madame."

"Very well," Gloria said as her board updated. She studied it, nodding. "Shuttles are secure, post-flight maintenance starting. William," she turned to her First, "You're released to quarters for your skinsuit. When you come back, cover Ms. de Galais' board while she climbs into hers, please."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and disappeared into the lift.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Aboard the _Fuller_, Gisele sat the helm watch, Captain Komatsu behind her. Five bells sounded for 10:30, and Pansy turned. "Captain, the _Nevis_ reports ready in all respects."

He grunted. "Good. Signal yellow alert and pass tactical command to the _Nevis_." A bell clanged and yellow lights flashed as he said, "Computer, ship's log, supplemental. We are on yellow alert, and have passed tactical command to the _Nevis_ until we reach the convoy. Ready in all respects for departure. Komatsu, commanding. End." He turned to the helm, "When they signal ready, helm, take us out."

"Aye, Captain," she replied. "Receiving the signal now, breaking orbit."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, October 6, 2002: 12:09 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Hufflepuff table:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Oh, that's good," Arthur said, looking at his laptop. He took a sip of blackberry tea, "I got an email from my dad on Windfall; all the ships have cleared the nebula safely. Captain Alvarez' three ships will be joining a convoy heading toward Tosul, while the _Bucky_ will be joining one going to Mangione, then on to P'wheel."

"That's a relief," Sprink said, cradling her own teacup. "I'll let Amy know. Now, mate," she addressed Mattie, "What's this about you talking to Sybill Trelawney?"

"I've been having some … dreams," she confessed. "I was looking for a book on dream interpretation when I bumped into her. We sat and talked for a while, I'm wondering if her flightiness is due to some form of drug addiction, with all the different teas and incenses, and the lack of ventilation in her classroom. I mentioned it to Madame Pomfrey when I went to see her about something else."

"Might be," Charlie commented. "Care to share the dreams?"

Mattie picked up and cradled her own glass of orange juice; "It's a feeling of … contentment with very domestic scenes. Several kids, grocery shopping, different houses, the whole white picket fence and soccer mom bit." She took a gulp of juice. "Weird, isn't it? Almost like June Cleaver," and glanced at Arthur.

"Why don't you talk to Ginny, and maybe her mom?" he replied, then changed the subject. "For Citizenship class, we've been talking about the British criminal court system, and I'm confused. There's different muggle courts, and…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good afternoon, Mattie," Ginny said when Mattie located her with Sirius and Molly near the lake. She was talking to Julie, Arthur's younger sister as she watched the kids play. "It's such a beautiful day, I thought I'd get the kids some fresh air," as she leaned back on the beach blanket.

"If I'm interrupting something…" she started, and Ginny waved her over, conjuring a blanket for her to sit on next to Julie's. "Not at all. We were just talking about family."

"Reading my mind?" Mattie asked as she dropped down to sit on the blanket, legs out in front, leaning back on her hands.

"That's Harry's thing, I'm glad I'm not an Occlumens," Ginny said, and Julie nodded. "I've got enough headaches, thank you very much."

"Wanna trade?" Mattie snorted, then flopped back to stare up at the sky. "Gawd, there are times when I'd like to just chuck it all. Maybe that's why I've been getting these dreams." She looked at Julie, "You ever see any of those 'Beaver' reruns? You know who June Cleaver is? The whole 'white picket fence' bit."

"I may be a pureblooded witch, but I've seen some of those myself," Ginny said. "Doing nothing but the 'happy housewife' routine would drive you starkers within two weeks."

"But… I've seen you, you and your two, and it seems so … idyllic, and I know I'm going to have kids, and…" Julie snorted, "We both know better. I remember when Carson was born."

"You're conveniently glossing over the nappie-changing, the feedings at two in the morning, the weight gain, sore feet, stretch marks and the painful boobs," Ginny said. "Yes, it can be wonderful, but let me assure you that no matter how good a husband you have, and Harry's one of the best, it still comes down to you. Mum was so pleased to be able to get out of the house a bit when I went off to Hogwarts, and even with the new headaches for her business, she absolutely loves it. That reminds me, she wanted to see you, and Julie, I'm sure she can help with your problem." She cracked a grin, "That's what Mums do." She sat up on her own blanket, "Dobby?"

The little house-elf popped in, "Yes, littlest Wheezy? How may Dobby serve?"

"I'm going to take Julie and Mattie to see Mum. Could you let Harry and Severus know, and take the kids to Harry?" The elf nodded, and Ginny stuck two fingers in her mouth, "Molly! Sirius! I'm going to go see Gran, and I'll bring you something." The two kids screamed happily, and Ginny said, "Dobby, one other thing. Could you steal one of Arthur Morton's shirts from the laundry? Mum was thinking about a jumper for him, and wanted the sizing."

"Yes, mistress littlest Wheezy." He popped out, then a second later, popped back in, handing a folded, freshly laundered shirt to Julie as Mattie and Ginny climbed to their feet.

"A Weasley jumper?" Julie asked.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Isn't this kind of … stereotypical?" Julie asked when handed a pair of knitting needles. Mattie was examining her pair, musing, "I wonder if you could hide a wand core in these?"

"Possibly," Molly told her guests. "To both questions. Yes, it might be a stereotypical female behavior, to knit, but I've seen quite a few men do it too." She took a sip from her teacup; "I know Hagrid knits, and even Severus, bless him, will pick up a pair of needles and do a few stitches when he visits." She waved a finger at Julie, "Knowing him, I wouldn't dare mention it to him."

Mattie just shook her head, "I'm sorry, I just can't get around that picture. I know you said you do it to relax and clear your head, but I do that when I run. I can break down my problems, think about what to do about each one, and watch the scenery change."

"Then again, you can't do it while you're stuck in a waiting room, or on an airplane," Julie said. "I know the ships have treadmills, but I can see how this could be useful, like for socks."

Molly laughed, "Albus taught Ginny and I both to knit, he's always complained of cold feet. People always gave him books, when he really wanted socks; that castle is so drafty in the winter." She leaned forward, "Right on, dearie, this is how you start. Take some yarn, it doesn't matter what colour. We're going to start with the simple potholder, and while we do that, we can socialize, get to know each other better."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Once they had arrived back at Hogwarts, Mattie pulled Ginny aside, casting a privacy spell. "May I ask a somewhat personal question?" At her nod, she continued, "Molly and Arthur have both been good to me, I was wondering if there was something I could do for them? No charge. Like their mortgage?"

Ginny smiled, "Thanks, that means a lot. No, the Twins are handling the mortgage, and before you ask, Mum and Dad could afford it now, with the royalty income and the business. Harry's taking care of remodeling the Burrow. I know it looks a little shabby…"

"It looks comfortable and lived in," Mattie replied. "I've grown up in a museum of a house where guests steal the silverware, it's … sterile. I like yours better, with the rattling pipes and the ghost in the attic. I'm not afraid to put my feet up and eat in the kitchen." She grinned at the older girl, "Let me know if I can help," she repeated.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 8, 2002: 07:55 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, Politburo meeting:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

("… continues to insult us!") the Foreign Minister said, leaning forward on the conference table. ("Now, not only are we called bullies, but also slavers, murderers, and drug dealers! It is outrageous!")

("What concerns me is that Wayne has video to substantiate what she claims,") Li, the Propaganda Minister said. ("We have been calling it faked, and the persons appearing in it actors. How do we know it is real?")

("It is,") the MSS director replied. ("A way to dispose of dissidents and other trash without the long-term expenses of a prison camp. The Grey substance also sells for a very high price on off-world markets, so the males turn a profit for the state. As for the females, we already have far too many of them, so for the minor cost of a collar, they may also profit the state.") He shrugged, ("In addition, we have been exchanging the metal tungsten, an industrial metal of which we have much, for gold with the off-world traders. For them, the reverse is true; tungsten is a coinage metal, while gold they have much of. The only real difficulty was negotiating an exchange rate. Each of them wanted a different one.")

("All well and good, comrade,") the Minister of Trade said approvingly. ("Still, I believe we may accommodate a few off-world scum in one location, but…") the handle to the door rattled, and voices were faintly heard through the excellent soundproofing. The handle rattled again, the door inching open, and the voice of the guard captain was heard. ("Please, comrades, the Politburo must not be disturbed! They deal with weighty matters…")

("I am sure that they will wish to consider this,") a deep voice said in perfect Mandarin, but with an American accent. ("Please stand aside, comrade captain, we do not wish to hurt you.")

"Let's stop jackin' around with this guy," another voice said in American English, and there was a green glow, the door swung open, and several figures entered. Comrade Li stood up, ("What gives you the right to interrupt our meeting!")

("Who are these foreigners?") The elderly Chairman asked. ("Guards! Arrest them and take them away! We have business to conduct.")

("If I may,") a black-haired woman dressed in a revealing outfit said. ("I am an ambassador…")

("You are a cheap whore, I will not hear the words of such,") the Chairman wheezed. ("You insult me, leave my sight, female, and peddle your body elsewhere.") He waved a hand in dismissal as she stiffened in outrage, turning, ("I still do not know who these men are.")

("The one in blue and red is known as Superman,") the MSS director said. ("The tart is Wonder Woman, the dark one is Green Lantern, one of several on the planet, and the one in red is known as Speed.")

("Flash, actually,") the man corrected, tapping his right temple. ("If my translator is working correctly.")

("It is,") Superman said. ("We have come to ask you to eliminate this trade in both Grey and the export of slaves.")

("Superman?") The ancient Chairman mumbled. ("I seem to remember something of that. Were you on the Long March with us?") He nodded, ("An old comrade, then. Give him a light sentence.")

The Minister of Trade coughed, then asked, ("What care we with your requests? You stand against a great profit to be made. Leave us, and do not return until we summon you.")

("I may be a female,") Wonder Woman said. ("I suggest you study these newspapers to see what your customers are saying.") She took a stack of newspapers from Superman, tossing one down in front of the Trade Minister. ("_Liberty Times_, Taiwan's largest newspaper. Page five.")

("Again, I say, what care we?") the Trade Minister said, pushing the paper away unread.

("Perhaps you might care about others?") Superman said, tossing newspapers in front of each Politburo member. ("Seoul. Tokyo. Manila. Singapore. Cairo. Jerusalem. Tel Aviv. Cape Town.") As he continued to toss newspapers, Wonder Woman added, ("For those papers that are not Chinese in origin, the advertisement is also printed in Chinese. Page five, as I said.")

Superman continued with ("London. Paris. Bonn. Berlin. Mexico City. Havana. Toronto. Montreal. In the US, there are copies of the _Daily Planet_, _New York Times_, _Los Angles Times_, _Detroit Free Press_, and of course _USA Today_.")

("We know what our customers are saying,") the Trade Minister said. ("They are most pleased with the quality of our goods and the timeliness of our delivery. Now take this foreign trash with you when you leave.")

"When you leave the meeting," Green Lantern said in English, "Look at Tiananmen Square. We returned some of your property. Let's go, people. They're not interested, let's not beat our heads on a brick wall." They turned, leaving the stacks of newspapers on the table in front of each member. The frustrated guard captain looked in, the director of the MSS saying, ("We are well, comrade captain. Arrest those foreign interlopers.")

("They have already flown off, comrade minister,") he replied. ("Through a window, except for the one in red, he ran off.")

The director of the MSS asked, ("What have they left in the Square, comrade captain?")

("I do not know, comrade minister. May I make a radio call?") With a wave, he received permission, and a minute later, said, ("There are a number of metal objects arranged in the square, comrade. Several dozen, I am told, including four with orange plastic netting wrapped around them. Are they satellites?")

("They are. Thank you, comrade captain,") the director of MSS said, and the PLA captain left, closing the door. He took a sip of his tea, ("Comrades, I feel certain that Wayne has enlisted the over-muscled cretins we just saw in her cause. I propose we deal with her permanently.")

("I have already offered commandos …") the Defense Minister said.

("Yes, comrade, but using uniformed troops in another nation's territory might be interpreted incorrectly,") the Foreign Minister replied. ("Let us save that option; instead use plainclothes troops. We may abduct and transport her here, where she may properly recant her misinformation.")

("We already have such a plan in place, as well as appropriate personnel in the area.") The MSS director replied. ("All we need is the authorization to proceed, comrades.")

("In that case, I propose we authorize such a plan,") the Foreign Minister said. ("We may keep the use of PLA troops as a fallback plan. Comrades, what is your vote?") Hands were raised, and he turned slightly, ("Comrade, you may proceed.")

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 8, 2002: 16:45 (GMT)  
Thirday, 9 Octus, 162, 07:58 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, docks:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Oh, I'm missing you already!" Angie Jourdain said, sniffling a bit as she hugged Nicole. Bob Jourdain gave her an awkward hug, kissing the top of her head, then asked, "You have enough money? Clothing? You have barely anything…"

"I have enough, I plan to study during the trip. I wish you to be proud of me," she replied softly.

"Oh, honey, we are…" Angie said. She turned as Herr Otto, as the Portmaster as well as the colony's Postmaster (the postal boats were operated by DHL) called, "All aboard! Come, we shall take very good care of them."

Nicole picked up her small bag, gave her new family a tentative smile, then turned, walking across the floating wooden dock, then turned and ran back for a final hug. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, shook back her short hair; and then marched up the gangplank. The last Bob and Angie saw of her was her giving her ticket to the ship's purser, who gave her a key, then she vanished up stairs. "Oh, Bob…" Angie sniffled, then turned into his arms.

"Turn around and smile," he advised. "The girls are watching from the top deck, you don't want to have her hear about you crying." Angie gave another sniffle, then turned and waved back to the girls, although she didn't see Nicole. Herr Otto gave a salute to the bridge as he pulled the gangplank off with one of his sons, while two of his new daughters were removing the ship's lines from the bollards. With a final whistle blast, the _Wagner_ pulled away from the dock, precisely on time.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 8, 2002: 16:52 (GMT)  
Thirday, 9 Octus, 162, 08:05 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, **_IMMS Wagner_**, top (sun) deck:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Panting slightly, Nicole arrived on the top deck as the riverboat started its large red rear drive, the water turned white as the boat fought the currents, and headed upriver. "Oh, I'm too late…" she moaned softly as they could see their new families walking toward the wooden ramps leading up, while Herr Otto and his family started to wrestle the offloaded cargo onto carriers. She waved, and a few people waved back, but she didn't see HER family wave.

"Do not be troubled," Alison, who worked in the pub, reassured her. "They will be well, as we will be, and just think of our joy when we have rescued our friends." Nicole undid the belt of her smock, using the hem to wipe her tears. She sniffled once more; then took a deep breath. "You are correct, and I am being silly. Still, I hope to have a reunion with Master Frank from the _Scythe_. He was the first that considered me a person, a free female, and addressed me as such." She took another deep breath, "Perhaps I shall be fortunate, and lure him into my bed. He was much too honorable to take me when I was part of his cargo, and he has ruled out his shipmates. He needs a female."

"I find it interesting that many of the Terran males are hesitant around us," Alison said as she leaned on the starboard rail, watching as the _Wagner_ entered the first lock chamber, and deckhands secured lines to the small engines running on rails alongside. They watched as the riverboat's crew worked efficiently, Alison commented, "Do you remember when you interviewed me in Port Lincoln?" Nicole nodded as they watched, finally saying, "There were several I placed on riverboats. Do you wonder if…"

"I am pleased to see I am not the only one. I love my new place, and I keep busy," Alison said. "However, I sometimes think it would be nice to see something new every day. Still, there is attraction to knowing in advance… Oh, I am not explaining it well!"

"For me, it is learning new things," Nicole said. "How to work different types of metals, and working to tight, repeatable standards. How things operate, and work together, and discovering why they do not." The breeze flapped her open smock, and she pulled it off, folding it and poking it through a rail. She turned slightly, watching the lock gates close, and said, "I now come closer to understanding why something works, like how those thin beams can close those heavy gates." She drew her sidearm from the holster attached to her belt, and tied to her upper right thigh. "I know what the parts do in this, one of my projects on this trip is to design the way we might reload the projectiles easily, in a small space, and at the lowest cost." She slid the gun back in, standing at the rail dressed in her collar, belt, holster and sandals, while Alison pulled her top and skirt off, folding them and placing them on a bench behind her. They stood there in silence, listening to the birds and watching the activity on the lower decks. With a sigh, Alison finally said, "We should make productive use of this time, profitable time."

"We should," Nicole agreed.

Neither moved.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 9, 2002: 02:38 (GMT)  
Mangione System, **_M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller_**, Bridge:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Five bells had sounded for 2:30, and a few minutes later Captain Komatsu appeared on the Bridge. Second Officer Dana stood, but the Captain waved him back to the Command Chair. "First time in this system," he commented. "A new port for us, and no harbor pilot." He sat at the un-manned comm station, and donned a headset to play back the ship's log entries. He grunted to himself when finished, then racked the headset. "I couldn't sleep," he confessed, and stood to get a cup of tea from the replicator, asking "Anyone else?"

"No, thank you, skipper," Peters, on the helm said. "I'm good."

The Captain nodded, and called up the ship's passage plan. "We're running a bit early?"

"Fair winds aft, sir," Dana said with a small smile, and Komatsu chuckled slightly at the Swede's joke. The blond officer continued, "We received a seven kilo refund on leaving the convoy, even with buying updated charts. We've also been in touch with the system Portmaster's office, and we're currently heading for Buoy 27, which is where the convoy to P'wheel and beyond is assembling." The Captain nodded, sipping his tea as Dana continued, "Six and a half days there, but we lose the time we gained by having to wait for the outbound convoy. We've filed an updated report with London and sent an email to Parkinson's office informing them of our arrival, and of course, received mail too."

"That means I have some," the Captain said with a small grimace. He finished his tea and stood, "I'd best get to it, then." He stood, recycled his teacup, and left the Bridge.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 9, 2002: 08:21 (GMT)  
Thirday, 9 Octus, 162, 23:08 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, **_IMMS Wagner_**, top deck:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Nicole climbed the steps to the top deck; they were scheduled to dock in 'Polonia' shortly. Ahead, she could see the lights of a colony spread out and reflecting along the edges of the lake, and as they grew near, they could see people standing, waiting for the riverboat. Colored lights flashed on posts, if she leaned over the rail slightly she could see the deck crew putting out white cylinders on ropes – 'Bumpers' she reminded herself.

The top deck itself had several people standing and watching, and Nicole waved at the crowd, who waved back. Below, she could see the deck crew standing by with ropes, ready to toss them ashore. She jumped, startled when the whistle blew, the lines flew, and they were pulled the last few meters to the dock, precisely on time.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, this looks good," one of the new girls, 'Dania' said as she entered the small cabin. Like the other five girls, she carried minimal baggage, which she dropped next to the open bed. A compact fresher was positioned along the outboard side, then three bunks on either side; a small social area with a table and chairs and the door to the passageway. The cabin (excluding the fresher) was about four meters wide by six long (12 x 20 feet); the boat's eighteen-meter beam was designed to fit through the standardized twenty by seventy meter locks.

"Simply climb up either end," Nicole said. "There are two meals scheduled, at ten and twenty hours, and a mid-day light meal of sandwiches that we ate on the top deck. Before the food hall…"

"Forward of the mess hall," one of the other girls corrected. "I am from Nueva Mexico, and helping to build these boats, and so I have learned some of the terms. They call the left 'Port' and indicate it with a red light, if you are facing the front, or 'Bow' of the ship." She smiled, "There is a small room, or 'cabin' for sending letters that is placed just forward of the mess." Nicole shot a glare at her, who said, "I regret the interruption, but it is a fascinating area of study, and we are already designing and building some of the common parts of the ships. The Terrans have many traditions and customs, as they are also from a water-world, although they have several continents." She clapped her hands, plopping on a bunk. "Tell us about you!"

The new girl took a seat on a bunk, like Nicole she wore a judicial collar and slave belt (the other girls did not wear belts), and said, "My new owners are…" she stopped, blushed, then said, "I meant family."

"We have all said that," Nicole said. "The Terrans are understanding, but using the term does irritate them. We have also been trying to discover why our Terran males are hesitant to touch us, especially in the absence of Terran females. I asked my new… (She chewed her lip.) … My new male, and he changed the subject, he did not wish to discuss it, nor did his female, his mate."

"I have noticed the males, the Terran males will occasionally gaze at my collar and become angry," the Nueva Mexican girl, 'Connie' said. "They will curse quietly and at length, then stride off, and strike a wall repeatedly. I do not understand this either, it is only my slave collar."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 9, 2002: 10:47 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Paris, EADS design, meeting room #4:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

("Once again, management is late. Their time is more important than ours, we can sit here for forty-five minutes, it is not a concern.")

("What else is new?") He asked, when the door opened, the appropriate junior Vice President striding into the room. ("What do you have for me?")

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

("No!") The VP shouted, pounding his fist on the table. ("I have said before that our goal is to own this market! This design must be able to be shipped interstellar! It is too large for current holds!")

("Then possibly a modular approach? That shipping requirement was not in the original specification…") the lead designer said.

("The company has decided to create an export market, the change order was sent to you earlier. Why was this not acted upon?") The VP demanded.

("We have not yet received that change order,") the designer replied, glancing around the table to head shakes. ("We shall need to redesign the hull's stress loading, control runs, power distribution…")

("As long as you have the plans and a mockup for my presentation on the eighteenth. You have already wasted my time, this time it will be done right!") He picked up his leather binder and stalked out, while the assorted designers and engineers looked at each other.

("That went well,") the designer said dryly.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 9, 2002: 23:21 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 10 Octus, 162, 08:08 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, **_IMMS Wagner_**, top deck:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Nicole climbed the stairs to the top deck, her small bag with her notes in her hand. She noticed that several of the other girls had the same idea, and were studying in the early morning light. Claiming a chair (the tables were occupied), she removed her sandals, wiggling her toes as she arranged her feet on the ship's railing.

"Fair morning, mistress," one of the ship's slaves said as Nicole was arranging her notes. "Would you care for a beverage?"

"Being addressed as 'mistress' sounds strange when it is addressed to me," she replied, and the girl grinned. "I know, mistress. I am still adjusting to the idea that I am being paid for my labor." She held her datapadd against her chest, "The star's light will become hot before too long, mistress. I would suggest a cool beverage, to maintain hydration."

"Perhaps in a short time," Nicole said with a smile. "I have several problems to solve, I wish progress on them." The girl nodded and moved off, and she arranged reference books on her crossed legs, while her sketchpad was braced on her belt.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Greetings," Alison said, and Nicole looked up from her work. "May I join you?"

Nicole gestured to an adjacent chair. The other former slave settled in, glancing to her right, studying her, and asked, "May I ask a personal question?" Nicole nodded, and she continued, "Your hair was shorn, you still wear a slave belt as well as a judicial collar and penalty brands. What do they reference?"

Nicole studied her, "When I was purchased, we were told we were to be sacrificed to the great god Hoki-Poki," and Alison nodded. "When I was first collared slave, I fought, they had to force my neck into the machine, that gave my first penalty brand, others for disobedience and disrespect to masters." She gave a wry smile, "I was not a good slave; I was punished often. I believe the masters were glad to sell me to the Terrans. I remain surprised they did not simply kill me, but even if a private master had purchased me, I would have fought that collar. I did not wish to be a mere female slave."

"Yet that is what we are, female and slave," Alison replied.

"Yes, we are what the Terrans call 'livestock', a domestic animal. Or at least, we were."

"Our Terrans do not consider us such, my new owners were unhappy to see me leave."

"I am beginning to think that they do not consider us slave, as domestic animals," Nicole said. "Yes, they bought us as slaves, but they do not require us to repay their costs, and have encouraged us to speak our minds. My own…" she chewed her lip. "If not owners, then what? Use-masters? I am unsure. The only orders I am to obey are regarding my health and safety in work, and they are reasonable orders. I am to wear protective equipment, and while they are distressed at my reluctance to wear clothing, they allow it."

She reached down to her glass, which sat on the deck, and took a sip. "However, that does not tell the tale. I was part of the cargo, and the ship was forced down by an attempted theft, the ship's engineer tried to make. He would have sold us all to pirates, Master Frank and the others fought him." She waved a hand, "While the ship was being repaired, work parties were created, I was on one such. We had landed the ship on the main continent, where Riverside is." Alison nodded, and took a sip of her own drink as the other girl continued. "The ship's Third Officer was in charge of my work party, the Terrans had not removed our feeding gags, as they were necessary. We were clearing land near an abandoned farm, which was the local slave handling area. We found three dead male slaves, still locked in their cage. When the time was right, I struck and bound our use-mistress, thinking the other slaves would accompany me in our bid for freedom."

"Yet you are here, and alive," marveled Alison. "You received a very light punishment!"

"I did," Nicole agreed, and touched the iron collar riveted on her neck below her galactic collar. "The other slaves did not wish to compound their crime by accompanying me, and bound me to wait for masters while they attempted escape. They were recaptured and caged, and Master Frank drove the wagon." She was silent, thinking back; then shook herself. "I fully expected to be tortured to death, as did the other girls. Instead, I received only a shearing, judicial collar, and penalty brands." She smiled slightly, "Master Frank did not want to brand me, but I convinced him to do so, offering to brand myself if he did not. In truth, they did not hurt particularly, and I hope to see Master Frank again, and convince him to take me."

"He is a most attractive male; I wish you good fortune," Alison agreed, and sat back, sipping at her beer. "What do you research?"

"My first project for my new owners," Nicole said as she sat up, excited, her books dropping to the deck. "As you know, we are becoming low on ammunition, Master Bob has given me the steps required to create and load them. I must first determine the hardness and other properties of certain alloys, and which we might fabricate for the lowest cost. Then the metal must be shaped to specific tolerances, and finally the components must be assembled safely. We must then test them, and revise the procedure, and duplicate it for the different sizes, and do it all in a limited amount of space. It is fortunate that the process is generally done in groups, as that means we might need only to change certain parts of the machines." She bounced slightly in her chair, "Oh, it is such a fascinating project…" She grinned broadly, "A year ago, who would have thought we would be sitting here, watching the planet pass by, collared slaves actually _armed_ with weapons, and be entrusted by our owners to go and do for them?" She gave a small squeal, "What is your task?"

"Master Franklin wishes me to learn what I can about the brewing and distribution of beverages," Alison replied, holding up her beer stein. "I am to get pricing and information about existing beverages, study the public houses where we stop to determine their procedures and how we might duplicate them, the things they do well, and do poorly. He believes that I should not have problems with this, as we are not competing directly with the houses, and they will wish to know the same information." She took a swallow, "If I am turned away because of my collar, I am also to note this, as it will be a penalty mark against them." She held up the stein, "This ship has several different beers, and I would find useful another opinion."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Alison and Connie watched in silence as Nicole carefully worked the small laser cutter around the block of wood, perspiration working its way down and around her safety goggles. With a flick of her thumb, she switched it off and carefully replaced it in the case, looking up to see the two of them, along with the ship's serving slave watching her.

"What are you doing, mistress?" the slave asked, placing a stein of cold water in front of her.

"Gratitude," Nicole replied, taking several large gulps, then set the stein down. "These are called dies, and can be made in several different sizes. This is for illustration, though," and she picked up one of her prize possessions, a .50 BMG round she had received from Master Otto. Holding up the large cartridge, she tapped areas with her stylus. "All of the rounds have several parts, the case, which goes from here to here, the bullet, which usually has a lead core and is the part that strikes the target, in our case the wabbit." The other two nodded as she flipped the round, "This central disk is the primer, which is a small explosive, and sets off the powder, sealed inside, which propels the bullet." She replaced the precious object in her case, pulling out the individual components; the powder in a small tube.

Glancing at Alison, who was nursing a fresh liter of beer (this one a different color, she noticed), she continued, "The shotgun rounds are designed differently, they have a smaller metal case and small spherical bullets in a stiff paper case. We are also looking to merge the two in a design that will kill the wabbit but not destroy the body." She took a deep drink of her water, finishing it off, and the ship's slave whisked it away, only to return a moment later with two replacements. "Are you only a serving slave?" Nicole asked.

"No, mistress, I also serve on the deck crew, and taking care of cabins," the girl replied. "You were speaking of dies."

Nodding, taking a long gulp of water, Nicole sat back. "A tube of metal is inserted in each of these holes," she started. "It is bound in place with this clamp, which cuts the groove at the end while flattening the base. It is then cut to length by a laser, and then this end swings in, narrowing the end and holding the tube open while this probe (she flipped the assembly 90° on end) punches this hole for the primer in the base. The clamp opens, the case drops into this small tank of water, which cools it and keeps it from deforming and oxidizing, and the cycle is repeated. To change sizes, all we need do is change these three dies, which are made of strong steel."

"That is amazing, mistress," the serving slave said, wide eyed.

Nicole chewed some ice from her stein, "I still have several problems," she admitted. "If I have a block of metal, or metal pellets, how do I form the cylinders? I can buy metal in that form, but I do not know if that would be more expensive than making it. I cannot have seams, they would form a weak point."

"You shall discover it, mistress," the ship's slave said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Later that evening, Nicole sat straight up in her bunk, "I am a fool!"

"You are a fool, then. Go back to sleep."

"I need only create a rod of the appropriate composition, I can then bore it with a laser!"

"You are a fool with a rod and a laser. Go back to sleep."

She settled back, but didn't return to sleep.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, October 12, 2002: 09:12 (GMT)  
Terra, Inverness, City course #5:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"What'cha reading?" Mattie asked as she tied her golf shoes while waiting for their muggle team-mates to find them.

Amy Johnson looked up from her laptop, "It's something Arthur passed on to me, '_Standard Design Elements of Spacecraft_'. If we're going to be building our own ships, I need to know this."

Brushing her golf skirt back, Mattie joined her on the bench. "One of a bunch of things I haven't had a chance to read yet. Yeah, you need to be familiar with that, but your design and operations people are the ones who need to KNOW it. Especially if we're standardizing things like control board layouts."

"Good point," Amy agreed. Two girls came up to them, "Team twelve?" They got a nod, and continued, "I'm Melissa, and this is Dawn."

"Amy and I'm Mattie, and this is Crystal," she replied, standing up to shake hands. "Crystal is my bodyguard and big sister;" she handed her wand and Amy's to Crystal. Melissa's eyes went wide at the sight of them as she continued, "Want to do the traditional wager?"

"What's that?" Dawn, an Asian girl asked.

"Ten pounds each, winner buys the drinks at the 19th hole."

"I'm in," Amy said, handing her tenner and Mattie's to Crystal, who collected the money.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So, like, what do you do, besides being, like, wizards?" Melissa asked, popping a bubblegum bubble as they waited their turn to tee off.

"Witches is the actual term," Amy replied. "Wizards are guys. We both have small side businesses."

"Duh," Dawn said, who had been busy on her mobile. "I've been looking you two up. You," she pointed to Amy, "are the CEO of Greywolf Transport, and you…" she pointed to Mattie, "You're the bloody Queen."

"She doesn't look like the Queen on telly," Melissa objected, blowing another bubble.

"Forgive her blonde moments," Dawn said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

On the par 5 third hole, Jeremy waited with Arthur, leaning against the golf cart as Theo, one of the muggles they were partnered with in Team ten, addressed the ball. He swung, and Alex winced as the ball headed for the trees. "Mate, you're going to need a bloodhound to find that one." Arthur looked at Jeremy and Steve, his bodyguard, and the three of them laughed.

"It wasn't that funny," Alex said, putting down his own ball.

"Sorry, inside joke," Steve said. Theo returned from bagging his own club and asked, "Arthur, you're tight with the Queen, got any news to share?"

"Aside from she doesn't like to be called that, those Chinese girls their government was selling off as slaves?" he replied. "They're being debriefed at Eunomia, the Red Chinese have issued threats (he glanced at Steve); they want us to return the ship and 'all property to their rightful owners' (he finger-quoted)." He shrugged, "Mattie issued a press release that said any slaves were returned to their 'proper owners', themselves, and the ship and the two brothers that were running it were behind on their mortgage, so they've been turned over to the local branch of the affiliated bank: Gringotts."

"Oh, nasty," Jeremy said. "Don't mess around with the bloody goblins and their money." He chuckled, "Oh, that is just … evil. I know they were looking for a ship for themselves, and this gives them one, all strictly in compliance with the law."

"Goblins?" They waited in silence as Alex set himself and swung, the ball going about 200 yards, then drifting right toward a stream that wandered through the small grove of trees. He breathed out in relief as it landed in the rough, just off the green. Theo continued, "Next thing you'll say is that elves don't live in trees. Honestly, goblins?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

On the short par three fifth hole, Amy swung from the red tees, driving her ball down the center, only to have it hook left with a gust of wind and settle on the brink of a sand trap just off the green. "Nice shot," Dawn said as she set her ball on the tee, studying the lie of the hole. She adjusted her stance and swung, her ball not going nearly as far. "How the hell do you get an 8 iron to go so far?"

"I work out, we both do," Amy replied, shoving up her sleeve and showing off a bicep. Melissa popped another bubble from her gum.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I must say," Albus said as he selected a wood from his floating bag of antique clubs on the third hole, "This is a most enjoyable activity." He watched as Minerva swung, it going straight down the fairway. "Good form, my dear."

"Why thank you, dear," as she flicked a cleaning charm on her club. Mr. MacCreevey, the Lancaster school's golf instructor put down his own ball as his wife asked, "Mr. Dumbledore, what did you say your handicap was?"

"Oh, I'm not very good," he replied. "Fifteen or so. I just enjoy the fresh air and exercise." Liam MacCreevey swung, and Albus continued, "I've only been playing golf for, oh, since I was a lad of fifteen or so. Excellent shot, sir, I must say."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So what else is going on with you and the Queen?" Theo asked after Arthur tapped in his putt for a birdie on the tenth. He walked over to the ball washer, drinking from the water fountain before replying, "Personally? None of your damn business." He dropped the club in his bag with a little more force than required. Alex held up his hands, "Wait a moment, there, mate. Not asking for the juicy details, but you know what school gossip is like."

"Yes," Jeremy said. "Professional locker rooms are the same way, a bloody lot of gossip, no matter which sport." He raised his hand, "No, not golf for me, Quidditch. I thought I'd be playing with Amy today."

"We're not good enough for you?" Alex said with a smile. "You've both got fine looking birds, if you don't want to share details, that's fine." He changed the subject, "My pa was looking at the moon through his telescope the other night; he saw a good number of lights and whatnot on Copernicus."

"We're building a shipyard there," Arthur said after Theo took his stroke. He gestured with his hands, "Ninety some kilometers wide, almost four deep. It's stepped, the inner ridge is twenty wide by a kilometer deep, so we can dig and get out of the radiation, and the temperature is stable underground at about seventy Fahrenheit."

"What about at L4 and L5? He's seen those too."

"Some things are easier to do in zero gee, you don't need huge cranes," Jeremy said as they stood by the golf carts. "Moving sections about, welding them together, that type of job can be done by one bloke in a control cab with robots."

"Don't forget, the disabled can do that," Arthur added. "Mattie's got veterans from World War II on up working for her."

Jeremy nodded, "Other jobs, like interior painting, are easier to do in gravity. The moon provides enough to work in, paint stays in the pot, but once you've got a section done, you move it to the orbital yards."

Steve got on the back of the cart as Alex nodded, "Makes sense. How do I get a job up there when I graduate?"

"I've got some of Amy's cards, I'll give one to you next hole."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So, like, those Chinese girls? The ones that were being kidnapped, like?" Melissa asked as Mattie lined up her shot on the eighth hole. Dawn held up a finger, and Melissa popped her bubble, "Like, sorry."

Mattie nodded, refocused on the ball, and tapped in her putt for four. She fished it out as Crystal replaced the flag, replying, "We took depositions from them, then since most of their families are dead, they had nowhere to go. Several of them signed up for either the Imperial Army, Navy or Marines; they train together for the first eight weeks, then go into unit training." She waited while Dawn took her shot, then added, "Now we need the ships to put them on."

"I've been thinking about taking the training myself," Amy said as she lined up her putt. It stopped an inch short of the cup, and she snarled something, both Mattie and Crystal said, "Language!"

Dawn asked, "Huh?" and Amy blushed, "I just said a rather nasty phrase." She tapped her putt in for five. "We do need the ships, we've got the yards building out for civilian designs."

"Our warships would have a number of common elements with Amy's civilian ships," Mattie said as they walked toward their carts. "We also have several problems, primarily due to the drives." She paused to wash and dry her golf ball, "I hate the thought of having to import engines, but the jump field is a problem we haven't cracked yet." She took the 'shotgun' position as Amy put the cart into motion.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So the shipyard you're building…" Alex started again. "What can you tell us? Pa's been looking for steady work."

"There's two," Arthur said. "Copernicus, which would be primarily underground. Pretty much like working in a big, enclosed room, except you obviously have different gravity, but the same mass." He raised an eyebrow, explaining further, "If you have a hundred pounds of steel in your hand, it's only going to weigh sixteen pounds when you pick it up, but if you drop it, it's going to create a dent worthy of those hundred pounds. Think of hitting your thumb with a tack hammer versus a carpenter's hammer."

"Makes sense," Theo said, and glanced at his classmate. "We should take a welding class, mate."

Alex grunted, "It's not like building a submarine, though."

"The cruiser we brought back, the _Wisdom_?" Arthur replied. "Her hull is only half-inch steel, enough for internal pressure. She's got compartments, but they're not all pressure-tight, so if she gets holed, whole sections can lose air."

Alex nodded, "Poor design, I assume we're fixing that little error." Arthur nodded, "So … one was like being inside a big room, the other was …" he circled his hand as a prompt.

"Some things are easier to do in gravity, even minimal gravity," Arthur said as he crouched, lining up his putt. He stood, tapping his putter, then watched as it stopped on the lip of the hole. With a small curse, he tapped it in for a six. Fishing his ball out, he moved away to the ball washer, drinking from the water fountain. He waited in silence as Jeremy's putt curved slightly, he also cursed and tapped in for a seven. "That sand trap hurt you," he mentioned.

"I'm not a bloody mole," he replied, dropping his putter in his bag. Theo tapped his ball in, taking a drink as they waited for the people on the next hole to finish up. He dropped his putter in his bag, saying, "I can see that; I would think painting in zero gee would be a bloody pain."

"You'd have to mask off consoles and whatnot, then set off some paint grenades, I would think," Jeremy agreed. "Much easier to simply leave the consoles in the boxes, do your painting, then install the consoles and other kit."

"This also means that we can build in sections, run all the cabling and so forth to a central distribution compartment in each section, then connect those compartments," Arthur said. "We build those sections at Copernicus, then boost them to orbit. That's the other part of the shipyard; we've got crews inside those sections, connecting them together. We've also got people in the control pods (he held up a golf ball), shaped like these, about eight feet in diameter." He moved it around, "Most of the vacuum welding is done by robots, but there's places and situations they can't handle. Those are hand welded; then everything is checked and painted. Having the _Wisdom_ available has been a godsend, not only what they did right, but what they did wrong." He dropped the ball into his bag, "The others are clear now."

"Ah, right. Thanks, mate," Alex said as he eyed the eleventh hole. He wet his thumb and gauged the wind, then selected a club. With a 'thwack', and for a change, it went straight down the fairway, edging close to the flag… and dropping short. "Bloody hell," he cursed. "I thought I had that one."

"You can still birdie," Theo said, lining up his own shot on the par three. He swung, then danced back, waving his hand, "C'mon, c'mon… YES!" he shouted as the ball went in. "Ace! I got an Ace! Yes! Woo-hoo!"

"Congratulations!" Arthur shook his hand; then said, "We'll sign your card as witnesses."

"That does mean you buy the drinks, mate," Alex reminded him.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Amy and Crystal both looked up and ahead on the course, Crystal commenting, "Someone's happy up ahead." She listened a bit more, "Ah. Apparently someone did a hole-in-one."

"That's like, so cool," Melissa said as she lined up her shot on the ninth hole.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

("Are we prepared, comrades?") The team leader asked in Mandarin. ("We were forced to let Morton pass, we may collect him later once we have Wayne in custody.")

("Yes, comrade. With the other player scoring a hole-in-one, it shall be easy to pass Wayne the drugged beverage. We shall simply say this is part of the traditional celebration.")

("The taste of the cola will also hide the knockout drug,") the third added. ("Once she is down, we shall claim it was heatstroke, and bring her into the back to rest and await paramedics. At that point, we shall use the portkey to bring her to our safe house, and then on to Beijing.")

("Wayne is the important one, though, comrades. She has embarrassed the People's Republic, and for that, she must pay the penalty.") He regarded the other two, both young witches. ("If we may collect Morton, well and good. He would be useful leverage against her. If we cannot, (he made a throwing-away gesture) he is expendable, as are the rest. They approach! Quickly, positions!")

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I could use something," Dawn said as they finished the hole and approached the snack bar on the 9th hole. The small pavilion had a set of benches overlooking the back nine, with ceiling fans going to cool players, a small fountain burbling into a basin, and a view of several fountains jetting water into water hazards. One of the course employees, a young oriental woman, approached them, "A player has scored a hole-in-one, and is buying sodas for everyone playing in celebration," she said in excellent English. "Please give this token to the girl at the counter." She moved off to repeat this to several other golfers, and Mattie joined the queue for a free drink.

"Ah, this hits the mark," Amy said as she relaxed on the bench, while Mattie said, "I can never get cookies this soft, mine are all hard." She raised an eyebrow at their questioning looks, "What, I know how to cook some things! I'm just not that good a baker." She took a long gulp of her soda, looked at it, then said, "It must be something in the water," and got up. She took a few steps, then grunted and collapsed.

"Oh, my!" the employee said, moving to check her, moving an eyelid back. "It must be heatstroke! Please, stand away, let us get her to where she can lie down while we call paramedics." Two other employees appeared, one young man and another young woman. He started to roll her over and pick her up; Crystal said, "Just a minute. You don't move someone that's injured."

"Paramedics have been called," Dawn said, waving her cell phone. "They're right down the road," and in the distance, they could hear approaching sirens.

"But we must get her out of the sun and heat," the young woman said. "In the back, next to the ice machine will be much cooler…"

"Like, got you covered," Melissa said, appearing with a sopping bundle. "Ice in a towel to, like, cool her down."

("The plan is failing, we must seize her! Attack!") the young man said, drawing a wand and pointing it at Melissa and her bundle of ice. '_Avada Kedavra_!' The green bolt hit the bundle of ice, exploding it and knocking Melissa against the wall. Amy transformed, leaping at him, while Crystal hit her panic button, then fired a stunner at one of the other Chinese agents. Transforming herself, she howled.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Arthur, Jeremy, and Steve looked up at the howl, Jeremy transforming and starting to run, while Alex asked, "What…"

"Werewolf howl," Arthur said shortly, catching his wand from Steve. "That's Crystal. Stay here. Mattie's under attack," and he started to run. Theo looked at his classmate; then took off after him.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Liam MacCreevey looked up at the weird, ululating cry, asking, "What was that?"

"The danger cry of a werewolf," Albus said, dropping his club. "She is calling the pack. Minerva?"

"Ready, Albus," she said, drawing her wand, and together they vanished with a crack.

"Werewolves?" His wife asked. "Come, our students may be in danger!" she headed for their golf cart.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

An alert went off, and the dispatcher looked at the message on her screen; toggling her mike. "Dispatch to SWAT. Personal alarm for Wayne. City course number five, GPS has it the ninth hole clubhouse, paramedics already enroute there for a heatstroke case. Handle code three."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Liam swore in Gaelic, but the golf cart wouldn't move faster. Behind them, they could hear more sirens drawing closer, there was the honk of a horn, and an ambulance appeared, driving past on the fairway.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Arthur studied the patio, barricaded with overturned picnic tables. One of the Chinese girls had been stunned and fallen outside the barrier. Jeremy had crept up, eying the scene through a gap between tables, while Steve, also in his wolf form, had dragged the girl back behind the SWAT truck.

Jeremy returned, than with a pop, accepted a clipboard and started to sketch as Arthur moved over to see what he drew. The Chinese girl was searched and revived as the scene commander discussed the situation.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The white telephone on the wall rang again, and Chen started to pick it up. ("No, comrade! They wish us to surrender!") Wen told her, and obediently, she dropped her hand and resumed her place, crouching behind a sheltering wooden table. She peeked out through the gap between tables; then glanced at their four hostages. Wayne and the two female werewolves that had attacked continued to breathe deeply, unconscious, while ice-girl, whose towel full of ice had been gathered so nobly, moaned in pain; her face and chest bloody, the back of her head lying in a small pool of blood on the concrete. She said, ("Perhaps, comrade, we may offer to let them have the injured girl. It would …")

("No. Let me think. There is a way out of this. Perhaps if we keep Wayne and kill the others, they are disposable…")

("Comrade, I realize you are in command,") Chen started delicately. ("However, I have spent much time here as part of my cover as a university student.") He said nothing, and she continued, ("Comrade, you have recently arrived from Beijing?")

Wen nodded, ("I was honored when Comrade Dai summoned me to assume command of this cell. It is a great privilege to be asked to serve the Party and the State, even if it is against the Lesser Enemy. Successful completion of this task will increase our standing in the Party.")

("Of course, comrade.") She rolled her eyes, which he did not see. ("We all work for the success of the Party and the State. I do not criticize, but I point out that you have not spent much time in the West,") Chen said delicately. ("Western attitudes are somewhat different than in Beijing.") She held up a hand, ("I merely point out a difference, comrade. Killing them un-necessarily would anger them, possibly to our mission's detriment. In addition, note that Wayne has contact with persons like Superman, who will not be pleased if the others are killed.") She shuddered, ("Comrade, I beg you, do not be hasty regarding someone who can destroy planets with a single blow.")

("The Kryptonian has been dealt with by others,") Wen replied softly. ("That is another's part of Comrade Dai's plan, not ours. Now be quiet and let me think, girl!")

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Comrade Wen cursed softly. This was not going according to plan! They should have been able to seize Wayne, bring her to the back, and vanish with her. It should have taken no more than a minute or so once she collapsed! Now, however, he was barricaded with Comrade Chen, holding hostages while he looked out at armored vehicles labeled 'Inverness SWAT'. What was worse, they had tried to apparate out together with Wayne, and encountered wards that blocked that spell, as well as the portkey. He had checked his own wards, and now peeked out, conjured stone barricades sheltered the police from his spells, and he could see an old, white bearded man conferring with a younger man with messy black hair. He had tried the killing curse again, only to have the old man calmly raise his wand and a stone column blocked the spell.

("Can you get out with her?") He asked Comrade Chen.

("No, comrade, we are surrounded.") She replied. ("We can try bargaining our way out …")

("They have Hae,") he cursed. ("We would have more options if she were with us.")

("She has been captured,") Chen replied pragmatically. ("Comrade, we must be objective and face facts. We must…")

("…surrender?") He asked in surprise. ("That is defeatist, comrade! The situation may still be recovered; it is up to us to discover a way. The Party and the Ministry have trained us well, we are superior to the enemy.")

Chen cleared her throat, ("Comrade, the plan was the work of Comrade Dai?") Wen nodded, and she continued, ("I do not criticize such a senior member of the Party, but I understand it has been several years since Comrade Dai served the State in the West?")

("What of it, girl?")

("It is possible that our understanding of the parameters of Comrade Dai's plan was incomplete,") she said delicately. ("For instance, you have twice used the killing curse today on a person.")

("What of it? We are State Security, and they are only peasants,") he replied, honestly puzzled. ("They do not matter, only our duty to the State.")

("Comrade, they will regard this as attempted murder, a most serious matter,") she said, and he looked at her, uncomprehending. ("Comrade, you are thinking as if we were still in Beijing, but we are not, we have committed several serious crimes, they undoubtedly have photographs and have identified us by now…")

("Comrade Bae would never betray the Party!") he exclaimed.

("Comrade Bae would not have had a choice, comrade. A suitable truth drug, she would talk regardless of her party loyalty. That is a matter of biology.")

His breath huffed out as he sat back, his wand loose in his hand. ("You know what Comrade Dai and the Ministry will do if we are known to have failed,") he said softly.

("Hai, I know,") she replied. ("We had a simple, workable plan of Comrade Dai's which we have executed to the letter, so we cannot be held accountable for the failure.")

("We will, you know,") he said morosely.

("However, comrade, I have a plan,") Chen replied. He looked at her, eyebrow raised, and she continued, ("With the cooperation of the British, if we are known to have died, the Ministry will not retaliate against our families. They will grieve, but will be rewarded, as it is known we are heroes to the Party, having given our lives for it. We may then assume other identities, and get on with our lives.")

("False documents and such? They will want more than Wayne for that,") he rubbed his chin, thinking. ("We may give them, with much reluctance, Comrade Dai. He is safely in Beijing, so there is no risk to him.") He thought a bit more; ("We can be killed while attempting escape, when the building collapses on us. Wayne may break a limb or such, but is otherwise healthy.") He sighed, ("I see no other option. While I am willing to sacrifice my life for the Party…")

("We are not eager to do so,") Chen agreed. ("Let us strike the best deal possible.") She stood, sighing silently in relief, and went to the telephone on the wall.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, October 12, 2002: 16:05 (GMT)  
Firsday, 12 Octus, 162, 11:18 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, **_IMMS Wagner_**, top deck:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The ship lurched, causing Nicole to look up. The banks of the river, which had steadily retreated, had vanished into a wide expanse of brown water. She could not see the far shore; the near shore was rapidly receding. She turned as the serving slave whisked away her empty beer stein, asking, "Another, mistress?"

"Where… what?" she asked.

"We have moved from one of the smaller rivers in the east to the major, central river, the Amazon," the girl said. "The jolt was crossing the currents, the river averages five kilometers wide and between sixty meters deep at the edges to eighty meters deep at the center. We will be in the center of the river until just before we arrive at Riverside, where we will need to move to the western bank." She looked at a ship's chronometer; then spoke to the group. "At twelve hours, masters and mistresses, you will need to retrieve your life vest from your cabin, we will be giving instruction on what to do if you go over the side. You will not be physically strong enough to swim to either bank, and it will keep your head up and afloat." She smiled, "Who requires another beverage?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, October 14, 2002: 07:47 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, History class:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning everyone, and welcome back," Professor Lupin said as his eyes flicked over the class. He put aside the class roll, "Let me get your homework back, and Miss Wayne?" He smiled gently, "Check your addressing on your email. I don't think I was supposed to get something for Professor Trelawney."

There were some chuckles, and he held up a hand, "In her defense, she sent it at three am yesterday when she was in the Infirmary, so I think that's a reasonable mistake. However, it did give me a good idea, and no, there wasn't anything 'interesting' in it. It was a dream diary, which we've all filled out." He waved it off, "As you know, there are certain tipping points in history. Her particular one involved a 'what if' question, specifically relating to her trip back in time and a conversation with you, Miss Bundy, and Miss Yates."

"I doth believe I remember that," Anne said, turning to look at Mattie. "'T'was aboard the _Yates_?"

"Yes, with the power converter." She winced and moved in her wheelchair, left leg held out straight, encased in a heavy cast.

Anne nodded vigorously as she asked, "Shall I tell it?"

"Aye, but I shalt comment as I doth require." Mattie nodded, "Most of you should remember my future great-granddaughter, Cassidy Yates, when she visited." Julie nodded with the others as Anne smiled faintly. "The ship was parked outside the Great Doors as we worked on it, and Anne was one of the very few, faculty or students, that dared go near it."

"They did'st call me a foolish Gryff for my courage," Anne remarked. "Still, 'twas a wonderous thing to behold, an' now, when I hath gained a greater appreciation of it…" she shook her head. "I doth miss my conversations with Alfred."

"He's on Windfall, he'll be back when he's ready. In any case, Cassidy and I were installing some power converters we had picked up and Anne wandered in and started to help. While we were working, Cassidy asked a question."

"She doth bid me to ask a simple question: 'Why?'. 'Tis very effective," Anne put in. "At the time, we were discussing water mills, and the question arose, 'Did the water freeze in the winter?' to which the obvious answer." She smiled; then said, "Cassidy dids't then say, 'Welcome to the Industrial Revolution,' as I realized the answer."

"You had this thunderstruck expression…" Mattie said with a chuckle. "However, Cassidy wasn't quite accurate, but she was coming at it from the 24th century, and history was never her strong point. However, just about all the pieces were in place four hundred years earlier, so the 'what if' becomes: 'What if the steam engine and the Industrial Revolution had happened around 1400 instead of 1830? Where would we be?'"

"What pieces were in place?" someone asked.

"The working of iron enow to produce a steam boiler, gearing, though of wood, not iron," Anne replied. "The only things necessary woulds't be a form of crankshaft, and the recovery of steam through a condenser. Once those were discovered, a steam engine could have been placed anywhere needed to produce work."

"We thus have a tipping point in history, one in which two of us were fortunate enough to not only observe, but be a part of," Professor Lupin said, reclaiming the conversation. "There have been a number of these in history, the success or failure of certain endeavors. What if the Spartans had broken and run at Thermopylae? What if the Gunpowder Plot had succeeded? What if General Burgoyne had captured Philadelphia during the Colonial Revolution? What if Louis XVI had escaped the Terror in Paris?"

"What if Mattie Wayne had not brought back galactic technology?" Julie Morton asked, and Mattie turned to regard her. "What if she had stayed in the fourteenth century?"

"'T'would have been most difficult," Anne said. "She dids't struggle constantly not to reveal the future to us, which we dids't understand, even though 'twas most frustrating for all. She dids't e'en yell at us once that she desired to inform us, but dared not."

"Cassidy said the same thing," Mattie added. "She obviously knew my family history, when I mentioned the death of my father…" she paused for a moment, then continued. "When I mentioned that, her head snapped around… Apparently, that had greater significance for her than it did for me. However, secrets of the future were revealed, for instance MIT is still in existence and going strong in Cassidy's time."

"I am grateful that I was able to attend this past summer," Anne said softly. "For the first time, I truly felt … stretched. I was challenged, and t'was a wonderous feeling."

"Have you considered a British school, like Cambridge or Oxford?" Professor Lupin asked; then waved his own question off. "We're getting off track. What I'd like you to do, and we'll make this part of your final to give you plenty of time, is to take a tipping point and speculate on 'What if?'."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, October 14, 2002: 04:15 (GMT)  
Seconday, 13 Octus, 162, 07:28 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, **_IMMS Wagner_**, top deck:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The ship's whistle sounded, causing Nicole to look up. She saw another riverboat; identical to the one she was on; with white paint and a yellow band with a red stripe on the twin exhaust towers. She heard the other boat's answering whistle, and carefully marked her place in her reference book before standing and waving at the other boat. The girls on the other boat waved back; she heard a 'thumping' noise from the landward side of the boat. She walked over to that side, and saw the boat's crew putting out the white bumpers, the boat approaching a dock with brick overhead arches. A large white sign read 'Riverside'.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Elena watched as the two riverboats approached the dock, the _Mozart_ in front, while their tickets were for the _Wagner_. She motioned to that end of the dock, and pulled their luggage cart while Sgt. Perry kept his hand in a 'come along' grip on Haak'n's elbow, staying behind the yellow safety line on the floating dock. The boats seemed to be closing much too fast, but the dock crew didn't seem to be concerned as lines were tossed and snugged to cleats. The dock master glanced at his pocket watch, she heard him say, "Ach! They are ten seconds early!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"… either stay locked in the cabin or you can come with us," Nicole heard a male say, and turned to watch two uniformed Terrans bring a collared male slave up to the top deck. He wore pink lights on his collar and a pink tunic; the Terran male continued, "I don't want to stay in that cabin, so here you are." An ankle chain was fastened to the railing as the male finished, "Now, if you cooperate, I'll release your hands."

"Why should I?" the sullen male slave replied. "I will be tortured to death, why not simply throw me in the river instead of this foolishness? At least drowning is a faster death."

"For the simple reason we don't torture, and everyone charged with a crime has their day in court," the Terran male replied. "We're even paying for an attorney, a speaker-at-law for you to have a fair trial. While you did torture three girls, none of them died, which is fortunate for you."

"Now sit down, shut up and watch the river," the female Terran told him, shoving a chair into the back of his legs so he was forced to sit. "You're not supposed to talk to anyone until you see your lawyer."

"That slave is not chained, she is free to move about," he replied, thrusting his chin at Nicole. "She wears a judicial collar, she was recently shorn, why is she not confined?"

"I don't know, I don't care," the Terran male said. "Also, she's not a slave, so for the fourth time, be quiet."

"The Captain of my ship allowed me to speak for myself," Nicole answered him. "I received penalty brands because I attacked my use-mistress, not for trying to escape. Why do you wear the pink lights?"

"Pink indicates a prisoner who has not yet had a trial," the female Terran replied. "He is charged with theft of funds and services, falsely assuming an office not his, fraud in changing his legal status, and lastly torture of three females, non fatally."

"You are Haak'n," Alison said. "We have heard of you, and that your fate will be decided by others. Brand him, torture him as he did others and keep him slave, I say."

"I want out of this collar!" he shouted, trying to stand. The male Terran pushed him back.

"We all do," Alison replied coldly. "We were bred slaves, you do not have the look of one of the male slave types. You were a capture, free at one point. We were never free until we were sold here, now we may become free. Were you not offered a path to a dark collar?" She continued, "Then why, with those advantages, did you not follow that path?"

"My first penalty brand was for disobedience in my collaring," Nicole added. "I have fought my collar, but now, I have a clear path to a dark collar and my freedom. One I have taken steps on, and been encouraged on. You are a fool, Haak'n, and you endanger all of us. I also say brand him and leave him slave in a judicial collar; I have no sympathy for him." She turned her back on him and picked up her book again.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 15, 2002: 10:05 (GMT)  
Thirday, 14 Octus, 162, 08:18 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, conference room:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning," Benni said from the screen as Bill signed in to the security videoconference. "We just have a few things to go over this morning. Let's finish off old business first, then Piotr had some things he wanted to discuss." She looked over at Eleanor and Marie, "Let's get you two first. How are your various plants and potions going?"

"Fairly well, Governor," Marie replied. "We've got the starter potions for the greenhouses ready to package and instructions written and proofed. However, we must emphasize dosages – if we say five grams dissolved in a gallon, that's what's required. Other than that could kill the plant. While those are distributed, we'll call in Mr. Morton's marker, and get the brewing equipment for field potions."

"As well as the building extension," Eleanor said. "We've got a design for a tow-behind planter that will plant the irontip and bloodvine seeds, and give them a squirt of grow-fast. These are fairly small seeds, but they should have meter-high hedges within two days, a week at most."

"Another thing we've developed is soaps and detergents," Marie added. "Not only would this be a good cover operation, I think it's a viable business. We can use various oils along with the glycerin the biodiesel people are producing not only for skin softening soaps but for shaving creams, dishwashing and laundry detergent."

"Now that sounds interesting," Bill Morton said. "I've been looking to invest some money here as a private individual. Why don't we sit down later with a cup of coffee and go over things?"

Eleanor nodded, "Shifting back to the plants and potions, I would suggest installing a wire fence up to ten feet away from any gate posts. The plants will use them as a trellis. We've got enough seeds for the original ten or so sites; right now, our bottleneck is the brewing equipment. We have to brew the potions in liter batches. For the quick-start seedling potions that's repetitive but do-able. Once we get into the field additives, that won't do at all."

Benni made a few notes; then turned to a different quadrant of her screen, "Piotr? What did you want to discuss?

"You are aware that Baasht had a contract with an off-world slaver?" Various heads nodded, and he shifted on the screen to indicate Hans Gruber, "The Major here…"

Bill coughed, "Major? I'm sorry, I thought you were…"

"Ach," Hans said, waving it off. "I have been promoted by the Bundeswehr, officially Frau Governor will pin the new rank on me when the paperwork arrives in a few weeks."

"Oh, I didn't know. Congratulations, Major," Bill said. "My apologies for interrupting. You were saying?"

"Ja. Herr Inspector Constantine (he indicated the Mountie sitting across from him), and Herr Lynn of the FBI share my suspicions. Allowing the slaver, especially as he is apparently an independent trader to come and go while observing our defenses is foolish. We must take that ship to determine whom he has been talking to!"

The FBI trainer leaned forward, "Legally, of course. However, we do have an advantage, in that he is a known gambler, favoring Tonton, which is a card counting game. Somewhat like cribbage, only without the board."

Inspector Constantine picked up the thread, "We think he'd be the type to gamble his ship and cargo. From what the former manager T'iisen said, he's arrogant enough to do it, we need to entice him into a game and clean him out. He won't gamble with females, though. How are you at cards?"

"Euchre's my game, I tried to stay out of poker games in the ship's wardroom," Bill said.

"So … we make you the patsy," Mr. Lynn said. "We've discussed this with the bankers from Gringotts, they'll stake us the money for the game. We've been practicing here with some of the pirates; they don't want to go back to being slaves; so we've gotten good tips and tricks. They also suggested someone play a rich fool."

"Hmf. I can do that," Bill said. He leaned over as Marie made a whispered suggestion; then nodded, "If you're sure?"

"If Mr. Morton is the rich patsy, he would likely have a personal servant, a slave in attendance," Marie said. "After all, he bought his position, it's not like that type would do any actual work." She gestured toward her collar, "That would be my role, I'm his personal slave girl, and also the backup for the bunch of you. They won't be expecting a slave doing wandless magic. However, I'm not part of the pot."

"Simple enough," Bill said. "If I'm the rich bastard, then you're being held hostage for some reason."

"Or you're a competitor trying to take over the market," she said. "Either way, I'm not a poker chip."

"Agreed," Bill said, and offered his hand. She shook it, "I'll work out with you my cover history, and get the appropriate costume together. I'll suggest that I was a disciplinary problem, and you've broken me, I'll be all meek and submissive."

"Somehow I doubt that," Benni said with a grin. "If this works, I'll owe you one, Marie." She turned, "In that case, Bill, your mission, should you choose to accept it or not, is to play cards with the bastard," Benni said with a grin. "Sorry, I don't have a smoking tape recorder. Inspector, Mr. Lynn, how goes the conversion from gloomy, torch-lit prison into college campus?"

"We'll still have a few inmates," the FBI trainer replied. "They'll be integrated into the curriculum. The existing slaves are here partially for camouflage; after all, if we're the new slave farmers, we've got to have a few out tending fields and what not. I don't think you can take some seven thousand plus girls and sort them out into the new sub-colonies in one gulp easily, either."

"No, that's right," Benni said. "What else?"

"We still have equipment in storage there awaiting remodeling," he replied. "Lab analysis equipment, criminology and so forth. We're fortunate that some of the former Blacks wanted to become honest cops, we can do some proper training and mentoring, while working up a training curriculum." He indicated the Mountie; "One problem we have with several sites is that there's only one local cop, so he or she really can't leave their post. What Inspector Constantine will be doing once we have some of the locals, including possibly some of the incoming slave girls trained, will be what we call roving training. He'll go with a few of the girls to a sub-colony and get everyone trained up."

"Does that include some of Herr Gruber's troops?" Bill asked.

The newly minted Major nodded. "Some of them are already trained to NATO standard as MPs," he said. "As we are now more along the lines of garrison troops, I wanted them trained to assist if there are riots and such-like." He sat back in his chair, "In addition, we have those pirates Frau Wayne has captured. I think relocating them here, and running them through physical conditioning and discipline would be useful, give them a little esprit de corps."

"Good," Benni said. "Regarding the Finance and Trade ministries, we're on track for the financial conversion, and various sites are holding elections. In addition, we've got the other new seedling colonies one through fifteen ready for people. I did talk to the construction people before they left orbit about various snafus, and we're expecting the _Scythe_ within a few days with another 480 – some girls. One reason we want that other ship, it has a capacity of something like 1500 slaves." She looked around her local table, as well as the ones on screen. "If there's nothing else, we'll adjourn."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You're sure about this?" Bill asked after the conference ended.

Marie nodded, running a finger under her collar. "Change the lights in my collar, a slave belt and a few penalty brands (she slapped her left thigh), maybe implant the Enhanced outer disk in my temple." She replied. "I'll need to check with the docs in the hospital about that. They'll think I'm a slave girl, one you Enhanced for control."

"Check with some of the real Enhanced girls as to what it's like," Eleanor said, tapping a pen on a legal pad. "A judicial collar? Maybe two personal slaves?" (She waved a finger at herself.) "Those tunics are cute, maybe with a bit of judicious body sculpting? I've always wanted a bit more up top."

"So have I," Marie said. "The women in my family have always tended to extremes, either a huge G cup or my tiny A. I'd like a D or DD."

Bill raised his hands, "Ladies, I've got four daughters, but I'm not getting involved in that decision. Whatever you think best, but remember the tunics are plain white with a yellow edge. I'm sorry if that's not fashionable, but I don't think slaves decide that kind of thing. As far as the Enhancement, if it's just the outer disk and the medics say they can remove it safely, I'll go along with it. I don't want the real thing, and I don't think you do either. However, I'm not happy with the branding thing."

"Topical or a local anesthetic," Marie replied. "From what I understand, it hurts less than burning your finger, there aren't as many nerve cells there. It can't look new, though; it needs to look like I've had them for years. Faded, like."

"Work out the details, let me know if you need me," Bill said. "I need to go learn this game."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 15, 2002: 14:15 (GMT)  
Thirday, 14 Octus, 162, 13:28 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, **_IMMS Wagner_**, mid-deck:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Nicole waited with the other girls to leave the ship; through the windows she could see the approaching port with cranes loading rectangular steel boxes onto barges. Some of the steel containers had mesh uppers; she could hear animal noises from them. The ship drifted for a bit, then they could hear the roar of the engines on the deck below, they could see people waiting on the pier as the ship edged closer, and lines were tossed.

With a jolt, they stopped moving, and one of the ship's officers took a position at a small desk. "Your attention, please," he called. "We're be debarking momentarily, we're going to call you by your cabin number. Please turn in your key when that's called. Some people have had balance problems when they get back on dry land; that should pass in a few minutes. Also, for those of you girls wearing weapons; please be aware that the free persons here may not react well to that. We will not tolerate violence on anyone's part, but you do have a right to defend yourself. Don't start anything, but don't hesitate to defend yourself or someone else if attacked." There was a murmur, and he smiled, "For those of you going to Port Lincoln to meet someone, we do have shonnen buses laid on, however, they are not the fastest means of transport. If there are no other questions, thank you for traveling on the _Wagner_, and welcome to West Port. Will the people escorting the prisoner come forward, please? Then we'll require the people from Cabin A-1."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Nicole secured her bag on the cart towed behind the large vehicle, giving her paper ticket to the slave who was their bus' driver. She smiled and tore off a section, then returned it. She put her copies in a folder, checked other cargo on the cart and secured it as Nicole climbed the circular stairs to the top deck.

The driver climbed a ladder to her seat, putting her folder of tickets into a small box next to her. She turned to inform her passengers, "The seats are designed for the local population; they may seem a little small. Most of the Terrans I've taken have sat on the deck and padded their back with a blanket. I believe most of you are going to Port Lincoln, that is one and a half days. We have arranged for quarters tonight." She gave a piercing whistle; then snapped her reins. The two shonnen pulling the vehicle started forward, working up a low rise from the port; the driver sat back, wrapping her ends of the reins through a wooden ring.

"When will the shonnen achieve their maximum speed?" Alison asked, arranging herself on the deck and folding a blanket for her back.

"They shall gain speed on the other side of this hill, but they are not fast animals, mistress," the driver replied as one of the free females nervously eyed the collared slave girls that were wearing weapons. She continued, "After that, there is a long down-slope to the east. I have several decks of Tonton cards and chips if you desire them."

"I will sleep for a bit, then study," Nicole decided.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 15, 2002: 07:20 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, Politburo meeting:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

("Well, comrade, your team failed,") the Defense Minister said. ("Perhaps now we should try my plan to deal with Wayne?")

("They died in service to the state, comrade,") the Director of MSS replied. ("Their families will be suitably honored.")

("I must once again point out that having uniformed PLA troops on another country's soil has in the past been cause for war,") the Foreign Minister said, leaning forward. ("Therefore, we must have deniability, comrades. Use Mongolians, the western imperialists will think they are Russian troops and blame them for Wayne's death.")

("So we have decided to terminate her? There is no possibility of her agreeing to our most reasonable terms?") The Interior Minister asked.

The Foreign Minister shook his head. ("Attempts to have her retract her words have proven fruitless. In addition, she has taped depositions from the females and posted them on the Internet, and various foreign governments have inquired about the matter. As I said earlier, both the enslavement and the drug manufacture are sensitive subjects for them, their citizens are demanding action and can be put off and ignored only so long. We must have this situation resolved to our favor shortly before their holiday season, so that we may sell the toys and trinkets they demand. Without Wayne pushing this, I believe the issue would be obscured shortly.") He took a sip of his tea, ("However, she is very high profile, and we will doubtless be suspect.")

("I do not think so,") the MSS director replied. ("Even if we are proven responsible, what can they do, comrades? We hold their economies hostage, we need only call in their loans; they do not have the manhood to defy us.") He smiled cruelly, ("We hold a very sharp knife there. Perhaps we should remind them of this, particularly the Americans.")

("We must do something,") the Minister of Trade spoke up. ("Wayne's economic campaign has cost us business, especially in the clothing and other seasonal markets. That is already as reliable as the winds, but it is a good percentage of our foreign trade, and funds a great deal of our other purchases, such as oil and foodstuffs. The western Christmas season is approaching, and a great amount of business is done then. Billions and billions of yuan, comrades; business we must safeguard. We must act carefully in killing Wayne.")

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***


	4. 16 31 October 2002

**  
****For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.****  
**

* * *

**  
****Chapter 4: 16 ~ 31 October 2002  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Wednesday, October 16, 2002: 16:35 (GMT -5)****  
****Terra, Stephenville, Newfoundland, 2329 Maryland Drive:****  
**

* * *

_To: Benni Castellano  
From: Christine Sullivan  
Date: 16 October 2002  
Subject: Re: weekly reports  
_

_Hi, Benni!  
Thanks for the latest batch of emails; they really do help me keep up with my people. Or is that our people? I'm glad that problems are slowly being beaten down, and that Mr. Morton was there to pinch-hit for me. _

_In that regard, I'm informed that I'm going to have a chief of staff, one Ms. Evans. She's an older lady, British, and 'aware' of the special abilities of some of our people, although not able to practice those skills herself. _

_There is a snafu with getting the AN-26 retrofit for the flying doctor biz, I understand it has to do with getting the modified type certificate. However, my little Otter is prepped and ready to go! My last day of flying her is Friday, though. Then her wings are removed and stored in one of the 40' cargo containers along with spare parts, machine tools, our mechanic that's going and his supplies. That's all shipped to Toronto and then up to orbit, I then fly to Hamburg to set up a local (Terran) office. Rents there were much less expensive than in Geneva, and that's our major on-planet supply point. Off planet is (or will be) Mars' moon Phobos (Deimos, the smaller moon, is used for weapons testing). I will specifically ask about getting 'special' equipment and supplies available through the Grand Catalog. After Hamburg it's off to Geneva to meet with our bankers, and then up to the orbital terminal. _

_You mentioned the 'mountain man' for rough-country work; the type of person that wants to just live off in the woods? Well, it occurred to me that we'll need survey markers placed, and while we've got GPS, it still helps to have boots on the ground. We can advertise for them, let me know what you think. _

_You also mentioned the gender imbalance, we can advertise for colonists, although there's currently no shortage of applicants. I think we'd be better at this point to get our feet under us, though. I'm more concerned with our external defenses, while the captured frigate is good, I'll feel a lot safer when we can get a couple more warships in system and the economy built up. _

_Enough of my general rambling! Let me address some specific questions you had. First, we're going to be bringing algae and yeasts along for both fuels and brewing. Specific ones are… _

* * *

**  
****Wednesday, October 16, 2002: 07:39 (GMT) ****  
****Terra, London, PRC embassy:****  
**

* * *

Comrade General Wang did not like these orders. However, they and their associated TO & E came from Beijing, along with, as usual, little in the way of explanation. However, the subject of these orders was well known in the embassy. "Comrade General," his secretary called in Mandarin; "Major Pang and Captain To are here, as you ordered."

"Thank you, Comrade Corporal. Please send them in." The door opened, and the two officers entered, saluting sharply. Behind them, the female secretary closed the door.

Returning the salute, he began, "Comrades, you are aware of the recent nature of Miss Wayne's comments and actions regarding the People's Republic?" Both nodded, and he continued, "We have received new orders regarding her," and passed over photocopies of the orders. Both read in silence; he waited until they looked up. "She has rebuffed our most reasonable requests to modify her speech, therefore these orders. Questions?"

"Comrade General," Major Pang started, "We have seen the television coverage, and I must ask about another attempt at kidnapping her – is it feasible?"

"Feasible? Probably. Ordered, no." He held up a finger, "I have already asked about a sniper, Beijing felt there was too much risk of injury to an important civilian." Captain To nodded, First Sergeant Woo could knock the wings off a fly in motion at five hundred meters with his rifle. To think he'd _MISS_… but no, it had been ruled out and that was that. "We are to be in uniform?"

"So you are not considered spies," the General replied, adding before they could ask, "They do not think the British or Americans will object." All three officers were expressionless at this. "You will deploy in the embassy's Type 92 vehicle, move to the designated location, suppress local opposition, perform your duty, remount and return to the embassy in good order."

"Comrade General," Major Pang said into the silence, "I wish to confirm my orders. We are to take an armed and armored personnel carrier with armed, uniformed troops from the embassy onto the streets of London, possibly damaging those same streets, move to the race's designated press site on the assumption that Wayne will be there, kill her in public under the eye of the international media, and doubtless on live television, recover to the vehicle and return to the embassy." He gazed at the Defense Attache in silence.

"Comrade, those are the orders I have confirmed with Beijing. They feel any … (he cleared his throat) … political difficulties will be minor, on the order of damaged streets, and easily overcome," General Wang replied. The three officers regarded each other in silent, unspoken and expressionless horror at the idiocy of their orders. '_These orders are undoubtedly the product of one of the Defense Minister's toadies_,' the General thought; then asked, "How is your troops' English?"

("All are fluent,") Captain To replied in English. In Mandarin, he asked, "What are we to do if we encounter police or troops?"

"It was not specified," General Wang replied. "Try to order them away, limit police and civilian casualties as much as possible. We do not have magical support, our MSS cell for that was killed a few days ago." The two junior officers nodded, they had watched on TV. "We have not received replacements from MSS yet. We are not authorized to fire unless fired upon, except at Miss Wayne, and the Ambassador has been briefed on our orders." He didn't say that Madame Tsien had called Beijing herself upon being briefed, only to find out the orders came from the Politburo itself. "Are there any other questions, Comrades?"

"We serve the People," Major Pang said, coming to attention and saluting. General Wang returned the salute, the two officers turned and left.

* * *

**  
****Wednesday, October 16, 2002: 08:48 (GMT) ****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, 5****th**** year Transfiguration:****  
**

* * *

Professor Chang turned as her fireplace flared; Narcissa stuck her head from the floo. "Would you have Mr. Morton come to the Infirmary? His younger brother has had another Potions incident, and Severus is rather exercised about it. He's calling him another 'Longbottom'."

"Oh, that does sound bad. Mr. Morton, you heard? Off with you, and best to your brother."

"Yes, ma'am," Arthur said as he started to put himself together. "Who's 'Longbottom'? The only one I know is Neville Longbottom, he works in Blaise's shop in Knockturn Alley."

"The very same. Off with you, now!"

* * *

"So what happened?" The right side of Bill's face was covered in gauze, except for his eye, which was now purple.

"I was reducing the Murtlap tentacles to get the essence for the next part of the potion," his brother replied. "I must have caught some stings or something in my sleeve, because I was reaching across the cauldron when BOOM. Professor Snape was _pissed_. He said that was one he hadn't seen before, I've got a detention this weekend to paint the classroom ceiling, and I'm purple." He reached toward the table; Arthur handed him the ice water. "It goes well with the Hufflepuff yellow," he said dryly.

"Wonderful. I lost twenty points, too. Can you, err, help that out?"

"No, and you know why," Arthur replied sharply before adding, "You'll have to earn them fair and square." Bill grimaced; he wasn't that good a mathematician, unlike his two brothers. "Quick question though; "What's the deal with 'Longbottom'?"

"Apparently a famous klutz in Professor Harry's year. He could make any potion explode, including, from what Professor Snape says, ice water." He slurped his glass of the same. "When will I be out?"

"Let me go find out." He patted Bill's knee, then went to find Madame Pomfrey.

* * *

"Okay, thanks about Bill," Arthur said. "What about Mattie's leg and that greenstick break?"

"Miss Wayne's injury is properly none of your business, but…" Arthur held up his left hand with the ring finger waggling, "…she needs to rest, as you know. This is one way of slowing her down short of sitting on her."

He grunted, "There are bone growth potions that a third year could brew, even I could. You haven't given her one, even a placebo? She's expecting something and if she doesn't get it soon, she'll figure out you're scamming her."

"I'll call her in on Friday and give her one then, and if it's allowable, remove the cast Sunday. Is that suitable?" She gave him a moderate glower, then sighed. "You know she needs better rest, she's still young and growing! She's going to work herself into an early grave!"

"Not if I can help it," Arthur said. "I want to hear her complaining about that potion over the weekend," he said, returning her glower.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 16, 2002: 15:14 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 15 Octus, 162, 18:01 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, 'South Two' vet office:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Greetings, Doctor," Allison said, knocking on the open office door. "I came in regard to your difficulty accessing the breeding database? I did not know it was functional."

"It is and it isn't," Dr. Bujones replied, gesturing the younger girl to a chair. "I really just wanted a private word with you, to see how you're getting on. You've been spending a lot of time with Karen and Karl there (who wagged his tail), I wanted to see if there was anything you wanted to discuss. Any problems…" she said, waving her hand.

"I … find myself somewhat angered by your deception," she replied, a small frown on her face. "I have a great deal of work to resolve today. Now that I am considered a free person, I can tell you this. I do not have time for deception. I also have my studies. If there is no actual difficulty I shall depart."

The Cuban vet raised her hand, "Sorry. I just wanted to ask away from any possible influence, if you were afraid or …"

"Afraid?" Allison snorted as she stood, leaning over the desk. "I understand the motive, Doctor, but if it had been valid, I would have found a method – any of the 'little sisters' would. We are not kept bound in a cell, we are about in the town; we are not restricted in our activities. Should you have an actual need, please file another problem report, I am closing this one."

"All right, I'm sorry. I apologize for the deception."

Allison snorted again, then said, "Accepted, but do not attempt to … what is the phrase … 'go behind our back' again." She picked up her laptop case, putting it over her shoulder and saying, "Come, master Kaarl. We are leaving."

"Wait just a minute, I'll walk out with you. I really came over to store those semen samples in the 'fridge." As she wrapped up her things, she asked, "Have you heard from your sister, the other Alison?"

"They have approximately 140 farm girls and sixty hotel girls like myself," Allison replied. "It shall cause some confusion when they arrive."

"It happens," Dr. Bujones said, picking up her own laptop; sliding it in the case. "If you have four people named 'Karen' in one office, you have to remember to ask, 'Which Karen' or in your case, 'Which Allison'? It does help to have you working in different locations." She stopped, looking around the small lab, then gestured to the door, flicking off the lights and rattling the knob to make sure the office was locked. She settled her cases on her shoulder. "What are they doing now?"

"They are giving placement tests and assisting in the psychological adjustments. I confess to still having difficulty with those myself." She walked behind the vet, "There are times at night when I will wake, and think that I was dreaming, and must touch myself to confirm I am not bound, that my belt has been removed. Still, it is a habit when I am preoccupied to use 'mistress'." She held the door for the doctor, "Does the presence of those samples mean we are finally getting our livestock?"

"It does indeed," Dr. Bujones replied with a grin. "Along with six or so new girls that have been trained on the shonnen and the hexataurs. I am SO looking forward to this!" She actually did a little dance, ruffling Karl's head in the process. "We're going to bunk them with the rest of the medical staff, and do some cross-training for everyone. Three or four days, when the barge gets here."

"People will be glad to see them, Sergeant Ross will be glad to see his … hause?"

"Horse. A riding quadruped." The doctor stopped, half in her golf cart. "Hmm. The best fit for any sort of harness or yoke is custom-fitted. I'm wondering if we could sell those, and saddles…" She shook herself; then said, "Again, my apologies."

Allison nodded, "I shall be with Mistress Brandt, resolving a problem with her inventory labels. Pleasant day, Doctor."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 16, 2002: 10:25 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Paris, EADS design, meeting room #3:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Jean-Marie waited a full ten seconds after the Vice President of R&D left the room before speaking. "My God, he took the joke seriously," he whispered.

"Perhaps your humor was too subtle for the bastard?" his chief aide said nonchalantly. In response to a look, he continued, "Jean-Marie, your first design met every specification that you were given, no one could claim otherwise. If built, it would work. It is not your fault that he did not listen."

"I know, Claude. I could not, in good conscience, have proposed a design that would not work. I have my pride."

"Pride you may have my friend. It's your job that I'm worried about."

"I know I will be employed until at least 10 o'clock Friday when I walk into the Boardroom with that... What's that American phrase? 'Pointy Haired Boss'?"

"This is no time for levity, Jean-Marie; and the bastard is balding. Perhaps this is how he compensates – did you see the dead rat on his head? Besides, I am rather fond of you and without you, that jackass will run this entire division into the ground in six months."

"Less. Claude, the key to dealing with him is to listen intently when he speaks and do absolutely nothing he says. As long as you produce results anyway, you are perfectly safe."

After a lingering silence, Jean Marie said, "This is not the first time I've appeared before the Board. I admit, the bastard surprised me by actually noticing what I'd done. Given that, attempting to throw me to the wolves is a given."

"I will miss you my friend."

"I'm not gone yet, Claude. I've still a card or two to play in this hand."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 16, 2002: 10:34 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 15 Octus, 162, 11:21 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, High Town, community court:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

People stood as the judge entered. Standing behind his bench, he said, "I am Maalon; we are to hear the case of Haak'n versus the Empire. Speaking for the Empire is Governor Castellano, for himself is Haak'n, who has declined a jury trial. Castellano has drawn the high card, and will speak first."

"Thank you, milord," Benni said as she stood. "I intend to prove that Mr. Haak'n stole funds from the government accounts by presenting himself as Governor Sullivan's replacement. He did so by forging her signature on multiple documents, changing his own legal status in the process in order to get a dark collar. He also claimed three slaves from the Plans office as his own, knowing full well the changed legal status of those slaves as free females. He had them recollared as judicial slaves and claimed title to them, and punished them for imaginary offenses. We charge him with unlawful enslavement of those three free females, and doing bodily harm to them." She sat down, bending over to whisper to a man seated next to her.

"Thank you," Maalon said. "Haak'n, your reply?"

"Milord, I will show that Sullivan left her office to me as the most qualified. The three slaves were guilty of theft, their judicial collars are correct, and as slaves can be punished as their owner wishes." There was a general murmur of support, and he sat. Maalon gathered up some papers and studied them, then said, "Castellano, prove your case."

"Yes, milord," Benni said as she stood again. "I call Mr. Slipfish of Gringotts Bank as my first witness."

* * *

"Let me summarize, Mr. Slipfish," Benni said. "There is a deficiency of three hundred kilos …"

"… and four grams," the goblin corrected.

"Thank you. Three hundred kilos and four grams in this particular account. These funds were moved from general operational funds, according to documents signed by Mr. Haak'n, toward repair and refurbishment of roads and waterways, and allocated through contracts with firms whose sole owners are listed as Haak'n." She turned, "At the same time, no supplies or equipment were purchased, nor were any employees listed, or slaves purchased, toward the completion of these contracts."

"Correct."

"And who had signature authority on that account, Mr. Slipfish?"

"Mr. Haak'n."

"No one else? No particular agency?"

"No. Only Mr. Haak'n," the goblin said.

"I see. Your tax money, our tax money, going into accounts in which he had exclusive use of…" Benni said. "Ladies and gentlemen, milord, I find it particularly suspicious that Mr. Haak'n awarded himself contracts for the repair and construction of roads, bridges, and waterways, contracts that no one else bid on, or even knew about, and apparently was to do this work without personnel, supplies, or equipment." She turned, "Mr. Haak'n, are you a zarroj?" There was a general chuckle, and Judge Maalon, with his own chuckle said, "Such beings are a myth, Castellano. Please stick to the facts."

"Yes, milord," she said, and took a few steps. "Milord, we have both seen examples of the Elders taking your taxes for their own use. We have seen members of their government, their ministries with their hand out for a bribe before they will do their job. They receive a living wage, a salary, but believe it not only correct, but a right, a benefit of their position, to demand additional money from ordinary citizens." She took a few more steps, "I don't wish to be political, but this is wrong. They are paid from your tax money, money coming from your pocket and mine, and I work hard for that money. Don't you?"

There was a general mutter of agreement, and she continued, "You have all seen instances when a Black will sit down in an eating place, order the most expensive meal and the finest wines and beers, and then simply get up and walk out without paying. If you or I tried that, we would, and should, be tried for theft. Theft of that meal from that eating place; however, that Black undoubtedly never even considered paying. The idea would be ludicrous for him to pay, because he is a Black." She took a few more steps, "Milord, citizens, that theft is wrong, there is no difference between that Black and myself. If I can pay for a meal, so can he. You ask of government for basic services, to maintain the roads, the harbors, to be able to fight fires, to defend us from enemies. In return, we give government taxes, and this is where we Terrans differ from the Elders. We believe in government in the open, where anyone can examine our books. Any one of you," and she pointed into the audience. "Can ask to see our books, to ask why and how we are spending your hard-earned money." She waited out a ripple of surprise. "In addition, because we believe that the demanding of money, goods or services by a member of government is wrong, it is one of the few crimes we have made a death-crime." There was an even more severe ripple of surprise and shock, and she continued. "Let me go back to that Black and his meal. In a little less than two weeks, we have Landing Day and the First of Primus. Our new Constitution goes into effect at that point, so if I am sitting in that eating place, I expect to be charged a fair price for that meal. If that Black gets up and walks out, you may file criminal charges against him," (Another ripple of shock went through the audience.) "If those charges are proven, if that Black is found guilty, he will lose his head, and you can watch it happen."

Taking a few steps back, "We regard what Haak'n has done as theft, theft of your money. He is fortunate that we are not demanding his head, because that is your money, and it is therefore your right to know where it's going." She took a step back, "No further questions for this witness, milord."

"Mr. Haak'n, questions for this witness?"

Haak'n stood; then gulped water from the glass on his table as he thought. "Yes, milord," he said slowly. He walked around the table as Mr. Slipfish sipped from his own water glass. "Milord, the female implies that money was stolen. I say that tungsten was going into roads and bridges, the necessary purchases had not yet been done."

"Objection, milord!" Benni stood and called. "Defense is making a statement, not asking a question."

Maalon rang his small bell, "Confirmed. Mr. Haak'n, you are to ask questions of the witness, not put speech into his mouth."

"Yes, milord," he replied. Mr. Slipfish cleared his throat, "Mr. Haak'n, why were they separate accounts from the other maintenance accounts?"

"You are not to ask questions, creature!" Haak'n snapped, banging his water glass down on the table so hard it cracked.

"You have insulted Mr. Slipfish, and I will see you apologize to him," Maalon said, ringing his bell.

"To a creature from the Dark Pool?" Haak'n closed his eyes; then forced out, "I … apologize for the insult."

Maalon sighed, "Mr. Slipfish, my own apologies for Mr. Haak'n." The goblin nodded, and the judge continued, "Did you have any questions for this witness?"

"Yes. Allow me to state the question differently. Do you have any evidence that the money in question was not there for a legitimate purpose?"

"No," the goblin replied grudgingly.

"Do you have any evidence those funds were misspent?"

"No," Mr. Slipfish growled. The fact that the money had gone into the accounts, but not out of them prior to Haak'n's arrest made the fraud cause weak, despite knowing full well the sandur's intent.

"No further questions."

Haak'n turned stiffly and walked away, and the judge said, "You are dismissed, Mr. Slipfish, with our thanks and once again, the court's apologies for Mr. Haak'n's behavior."

"Thank you, milord," Slipfish said, as bailiffs held the gates for him, and he walked back to his reserved seat.

* * *

"This is a document signed by Governor Sullivan three months ago, it is genuine," Benni said, laying the photocopy on the judge's bench, and giving a copy to Haak'n. "This is the one supposedly signed by her appointing Mr. Haak'n to her position. While Mr. Haak'n's position in the Plans office means he is a talented artist, notice the small, sharp upward stroke at the beginning of the 'C' and the slash starting the 'S' in 'Sullivan'. While most signatures will vary some, they will include common elements. I would also note that Mr. Haak'n's native language is different than the one Christine and I share, and so it will be more difficult for him. There are other differences I might point out, such as the depth of the 'v', the third-to-last letter in her clan name."

"If you were to do it, how would you sign her name?" Maalon asked, intrigued.

"Objection, milord," Haak'n said, smirking. "Two points. How do you know they are honest? Secondly, I cannot be forced to provide evidence against myself, according to the Terran's rules."

Benni glared at him, "You can provide evidence in your defense," she shot back.

"As I understand your rules, Terran, my refusal to provide evidence does not prove guilt." He smirked, "I may stand on the 'rules' you so generously provide, female."

"Correct," Maalon said.

"Therefore, female, your providing this is irrelevant, and my refusal is supported by my rights."

"Correct," Maalon said again. "Move on, Castellano," he added.

Benni growled to herself. She wished she had let the lawyer do this, but it seemed open and shut, and they needed the political points. "Milord, I have other samples available if you wish it," she replied. "Otherwise, no."

"Haak'n, do you wish to speak regarding this?"

"Milord can clearly see that my document is authentic, the signatures match."

Maalon grunted. "We proceed to the matter of the three females. Castellano?"

"Milord, I have the statements they gave, as well as the healer's statement regarding their medical conditions. As far as the charges used for the basis of their punishment, as free females they need evidence for a conviction." She smiled sweetly at Haak'n. "The collar traces do not place them within five kilometers of the dates, times or locations of their various 'crimes'. In addition, they were known to argue with Mr. Haak'n in the Design office. We contend that the crimes that Mr. Haak'n charges them with, and uses as the basis for their penalty brands and judicial collars, are fabricated, and are used to torture his enemies under the excuse of a crime."

"And how am I to question a bit of paper, or a computer, milord?" Haak'n demanded. "Females and slaves are known to lie to escape their deserved punishment, I see no reason why they are not doing so now. Anyone can put words on paper, or on a computer, milord, how do we know it is accurate? No, milord, the Terrans say I may face down my accusers, but slaves and females have no honor, they need free males to keep them in line with whips and collars. Milord, this entire affair is an insult to justice if it considers the words of females and slaves as equals!"

"They are medically unfit to travel," Benni replied. "I also find your statements personally insulting."

"You, and they, are only females and slaves," Haak'n sneered.

"Using the Terrans' rules, as you are, they are considered free females, Haak'n," Maalon warned. He raised the medical sheet; "All three have damage to their internal organs, as well as their backs where they were whipped. Not with a slave whip, but one used for public discipline of slaves, or on shonnen." He studied the paper again; then set it aside. "Haak'n, you have chosen to use the Terrans' rules of law in your defense. This is your right, but it also means that you cannot chose which rules to observe, and which to ignore. If you wish, we will revert to the old rules, in which you would be considered a rebellious slave, and handed over for public discipline without the chance to speak for yourself."

Haak'n paled, and Maalon said, "I thought not. Therefore, whatever you personally consider the place of females and slaves, you will be courteous to them, both in person and in discussions of them." He raised the document, "This states that the three females in question are physically unfit to travel due to extensive injuries. Furthermore, these sworn statements are from witnesses that have seen you physically in control of these females, or striking them, or securing and using various punishment devices on them. Now, as these are statements taken and witnessed by free persons, they must be considered. Castellano, do you have any physical witnesses present?"

"Yes, milord," she said. "I have the two secretaries who observed Mr. Haak'n on multiple occasions force the females in question into his office. They could hear their screaming and his shouting, and would be ordered in to clean up blood and other bodily fluids, usually while the females in question were still confined, stretched on a rack. They are terrified of Haak'n, and do not wish to testify. I do not wish to force them to, but they are available."

"Haak'n, did you wish to start your formal defense?" The court waited in silence. "Apparently not. Anything more, Castellano?"

"Milord, I would like to offer a quick summary." Maalon gestured, and Benni started, "We have the appropriation of tax money into seven accounts, and the awarding of contracts, by and to Haak'n, allegedly for road, bridge and waterway construction and repair. There were no alternate bidders, no other persons in these firms, there have been no purchases of supplies, materials such as concrete, purchase or lease of equipment, hiring of workers or purchase of slaves. Essentially, what we have is the movement of public money, your tax money, from your pocket to Haak'n's."

She moved a few paces, "This is because of a long term plan of Haak'n's to take, to usurp, to steal the office of Governor Sullivan while she was on home leave through forgery, the falsification of documents, and the intimidation and torture of the office staff." She walked back and forth, "Haak'n was not content with this; he wanted revenge suffered, he thought, by the plotting of four people in the Plans office. One of them was not available; he was back on Earth, but the three females, females who, he believed had stolen his rightful place, and who were not only mere females, but freed as well, well, that was an outrage he could not tolerate. He therefore took it upon himself to correct them, to punish them for daring to want their freedom! You have heard him say, today, with your own ears, that only free males have any rights. That females, that slaves, that those other than he is are not fit to breathe the same air that he does, that they are nothing more than creatures, animals." She took a few steps, "Yet he wears a collar himself." She nodded, "Milord?"

"Haak'n, your reply?"

"She is an ignorant female that deserves a collar and a whip," he shrugged. "Give her to me, to any real citizen, and we will break her of her foolish ideas. She will come crawling to me, whip in her teeth, begging for me to use it on her."

Impassively, Maalon asked, "Was there anything else you wished to speak of, Haak'n?" The defendant shrugged, totally at ease, and flipped a hand in a gesture. "Very well, I will examine the evidence and inform you of my decision. As it is already 1900 hours, Court is adjourned until 1030 Firstday." He rang his chime, ending the proceeding for the day.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 16, 2002: 18:14 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 15 Octus, 162, 19:01 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, compound:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Nicole watched as a long chain of slaves marched in step through the compound, kneeling, left leg up on command with the 'Display' command. Several of her sisters caught themselves reflexively obeying the order. "These are the slaves from Elder Baasht's farm?" she asked.

"They are," Alison said. "It does bring back memories, does it not?" They regarded the bound slaves, neck-leashed an arm's length apart, black leather feeding gags sewn on their faces, staring straight ahead. She caught several girls' eyes flicking to the watching 'sisters', and eyebrows rose at the sight of weapons on hips. "Seven hundred and eighty three in this group, with an additional four hundred eighty two arriving on the _Scythe_," she said.

"If all of them go to the existing seedlings, that is one hundred forty each," Nicole said. "We have a large task ahead between the two of us in preparing them for our town of Brazos." She settled her shoulders, "Let us start it, then."

* * *

"Please forgive this slave, mistress, but I do not know what to think," one girl said later that evening. "Two days ago, we were removed from our cells, chained together, and marched down the road. Now you are saying we are free females?"

"A month or so ago, I was kneeling as you are," Alison said. "It is an adjustment, we are aware of this. However, certainly you have heard some things?"

"We … we have heard the guards discussing the Terrans," another girl said. "They were nervous about their plan to arm slaves. Now we see … we see the two of you, and others, wearing … " she swallowed, then whispered, "... weapons. Is this a … the ... revolt that masters fear?"

"No, I do not know of a slave revolt." She removed the small automatic and held it up, adding, "We may use them to defend others, or ourselves, against animals;" Nicole replied. She stood, turning, "While the night is dark, some of you may see I wear penalty brands, and a judicial collar. I have fought my collar and do not trust masters, but the Terrans in general, you may trust. They will keep their word to you; they will not sell you, or risk you. They will ask your consent, and ask only that you follow their safety rules to prevent injury. For most slaves, this is the most difficult thing to accept."

"What will happen," Alison said. "Over the next few days, we shall give you what the Terrans call a placement test. It is a simple, yet long, test that asks you a series of questions. There are no right or wrong answers; you can not fail the test. What it will do is determine what occupations are most suitable for you. When this is done, we shall meet with you, individually, and discuss this." She smiled, "We know our Terrans fairly well, and may describe them to you."

"We are also expecting a slave ship." There was a ripple of fear, and Nicole held up her hand. "Be calm, this is a Terran operated ship, with our sister-slaves. The Terrans bought hotel slaves, like Alison and I, to spare their lives. We shall tell you the tale later, but the Terrans have saved their lives, and we are expecting almost five hundred other rescued slaves within the next few days. You may see for yourselves how you are treated, and speak freely and truthfully to them. We shall only answer questions, we shall not demand you speak for us." She dropped into a kneeling position, "For now, the night is advancing and tomorrow will be busy. We shall sleep now, and tomorrow begin the testing."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, October 17, 2002: 18:24 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 16 Octus, 162, 13:11 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, compound:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

A speaker came to life, "Incoming ship. Be ready to receive cargo and personnel," it announced. Nicole looked up from the new girl she was helping, "Oh, that must be the _Scythe_!" she said. "I hope Master Frank is well!"

"You are anticipating the arrival of a Master?" the girl asked.

"Yes, he is a most handsome male," she replied. "Before, I was part of his cargo, and he would not take me, nor will he take the females in the crew. He has a strict code of honor, but now, I am a free female, and I want him!" She bounced a bit where she knelt in the sand, "Oh, can you proceed on your own?"

"I … believe so, mistress," the new girl said.

* * *

"Ooh, there he is," Nicole said, then called, "Master Frank!" and waved. He turned and waved back at several of the girls who waited and watched from behind the safety line. Nicole heard them comment, "Oh, he IS a handsome master!" Another girl said, "The older male is also attractive. Perhaps he will choose me to warm his bed tonight." "No, me!" another said.

The petite First Officer that Nicole remembered came over, "We'll need help getting these new girls offloaded, and several of you had requests?"

"Yes, mistress," one girl replied. "When can we greet them?"

"Let's get them all off first," she replied. "Anything happening here?"

"Late yesterday we received seven hundred girls from Elder Baasht's slave farm, mistress," Nicole replied. "They are taking placement tests now."

"Placement … never mind," Sandra Woosan said. "Let's get them offloaded and sorted out."

* * *

"'Tis good tae see y' again, lassie," Frank said, holding Nicole by the shoulders. "Y' lookin' good. Y' got all y' duties done f' the day?" She hesitated, and he used a gentle finger to tilt her chin up before he gazed in her eyes before replying, "Y' need tae get y' tasks done b'fore y' play, lassie. While I appreciate y' want tae see me, y' could hae sent a message and we could hae set up a time later." He turned her, "Nae, where y' supposed tae be?"

* * *

"Nae lassie, I'll probably be a few hours gettin' all th' new girls sorted, I'll find y'." Frank said, giving Nicole a brotherly one-armed hug. "I'll walk th' two girls y' asked f' over tae y' when I can, let y' get caught up. I'll be here for a while, lassie, so we'll hae some time taegether." He turned her toward the watching girls, gave them a wave and a "Good day, lassies!" then walked off.

Nicole watched him go, giving a slight whimper, caressing the steel of her slave belt through the thin cotton of her smock. "He is a most handsome master," one of the new girls said. "I understand why you want to be his slave."

"That is the most difficult part," Nicole admitted. "Even though I fought my collar from the first, I must step back and be objective. I am a bred female slave, as generations before me are. I have difficulty accepting that I am on the path to a dark collar and my freedom. It still seems … unreal to me, a dream, and I shall wake and find myself once again in a cell." She knelt in the midst of the local 'farm' girls. "Even though I know the terms 'Master' and 'Mistress' offend the Terrans, I find myself and other girls still using the terms from habit. I know that my Terrans regard me as family, not their property, but I still find myself thinking of myself as a privately owned slave." She sighed; then said, "That is the most difficult task. I have a few months as a partially free female (she held up one hand) as opposed to the balance of my life (she held up the other hand) when I knew myself slave. I know I must equal the two sides, but it is overcoming that challenge that is most difficult." She looked around, "I must confess that I left earlier because I wanted to see Master Frank, I wanted him to take me, no matter my other duties."

"He wanted you, also," Alison said. "One can tell with masters."

"However, he stepped away from her, without punishing her," another girl said. She shook her head, "I can understand your confusion, mistress."

Nicole took a deep breath, "Yes. Let us proceed on. We were looking at the placement questions…"

* * *

Several hours later, Frank called, "Nicole? Lassie?" She popped to her feet, only to squeal when he stepped aside to reveal four girls behind him. Alison squealed in her turn as he bid the four naked girls to join them, calling, "Nicole, why dinnae we meet f' first-meal t'morrow?"

"Oh, thank you, Master Frank! That would be wonderful!"

"Nae, lassie, what hae we said o' th' term 'Master'?" as he caught her when she threw herself into his arms.

"Apologies, but it is a long-seated habit. We have discussed this." She tried to squirm into his arms, and he put her back on her feet. "Good, a' least y' hae discussed it, an' y' tryin' tae break th' habit." He gave a mock salute, "Fair e'ning, lassies;" and vanished into the darkness.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, October 17, 2002: 18:47 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 16 Octus, 162, 13:34 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, hospital C&R department:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"No."

"Can you tell us why, Doctor?" Marie asked. "It seems a logical thing to do."

"Falsifying an Enhancement? Several reasons," Dr. Yolanda Lopez said. "We have looked into the procedure, both for professional curiosity and as a possible resolution for neurological problems. While I can glue the disk to the surface of the skull, I will need to remove a piece of the outer skin, which will leave a scar when it is removed. If I simply cut a slit in the skin, it will develop a callus around that and trigger the auto-immune system. If I were to actually place the disk in its designed location, through the bone of the temple, I risk inflicting brain damage. Now, when a master does that to a slave, they don't particularly care about that."

"Second reason, the programming reacts to the master's voice, not the slave's conscious or unconscious commands. Therefore, as long as you can hear, it will obey the command, which is why it has a faster response. If I say 'Sit', to two slaves, the Enhanced girl will be faster, because she doesn't have the same delay for interpretation."

"Third is removal. Enhanced girls are generally buried with it. We don't have the facilities to do it. Therefore the short answer is 'No'."

"What about the rest of the procedure?" Bill Morton asked.

"Trivial," Dr. Lopez replied with a toss of her hand. "If you can wait a day or so, the _Scythe_ is supposed to have a top-of-the-line collaring station with all the bells and whistles coming in for us, along with half a dozen surgical-grade med tanks. When we finally do start removing those damned collars, we here in Cosmetic and Reconstruction will be doing it." She turned to look at Bill, "However, I will not brand these girls. I want you to have a hand in this, Mr. Acting Governor, so you're going to be the one to do it."

"That's torture!"

"Strictly speaking, and according to planetary law, it's not. Even the revised code that's starting in a few months, otherwise we wouldn't be able to mark our livestock, and that's what these two girls would be, legally." Dr. Lopez crossed her arms, "Yes, I understand the reasoning, and that these two have volunteered for this duty. I am not happy with this, you understand."

"None of us are," Marie said. "However, we need to get control of that ship, and Mr. Morton needs our backup. The problem is that we don't know when these bastards will arrive. They're already past their projected arrival, so we need to have things ready to go on zero notice." She ran a finger on the bottom edge of her collar, "This is snug, but not uncomfortable, and the belt is like wearing a tight corset. From what girls have said, the branding isn't that painful."

"There aren't as many nerve clusters there, true," Dr. Lopez. She sighed, and looked at the two girls in her office, "Another point for you to consider. You are likely to be groped and fondled, and displayed nude. You three will also need to accept that Mr. Morton, your 'owner' (she finger-quoted) may be required to be abusive."

"I thought of that," Eleanor said, and looked at Bill. "Presumably, that would just be things like name calling, maybe a little slapping around."

"That's what I thought," he agreed. "A 'stupid slave', or maybe a slap or backhand. Since I'll be your theoretical owner and the host of this little kabuki play, that's all I'll allow." He sat back, "You'll probably need to play waitress."

"Probably in the nude," Marie said. "As far as a cover, I've done a bit of reading. We're hostage twin princesses, heirs to our 'father's' (she finger-quoted) throne, and if he misbehaves, we die."

"Your skin tones are not the same, nor are your eyes or hair color," Dr. Lopez objected. "Do I lighten yours or darken hers?"

"Whichever is easiest and fastest, Doctor," Eleanor replied. "As far as hair colour, maybe something to contrast the skin, something exotic?" She shifted a bit, "I just don't want the nipple bells."

The doctor grunted, sketching on a legal pad. She flipped it around, showing it to the others. "Any objections?" They shook their heads, and she said, "Okay, we'll get the preliminary work done now. Anyone have other business this morning? Then I'm going to run you two through our existing med-tanks for skin tone and hair. That's a half hour each, then we'll finish off the cosmetic programming after you're collared."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, October 18, 2002: 10:12 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Paris, EADS design, Boardroom:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The woman regarded the model; then commented, "It looks like a giant penis."

Jean-Marie regarded the only woman on the Board. The company rumor mill had her sleeping her way to the Board, but however she'd gotten there, she kept her position through sheer ruthlessness. He asked, "It does?" and leaned forward to regard the model standing proudly on the Board's conference table. "I assure you Mme. LeVeque, any resemblance is strictly due to the design specifications I was given. The round shape is because it must be able to be rotate to produce spin gravity. However, when the ship is under acceleration, thrust will provide the crew and passengers with a feeling of up and down. But when not accelerating, this is the simplest way to provide sufficient gravity to maintain proper health."

"Why are we not using the Arrowhead gravity systems?" another board member asked.

"Because we will buy nothing from those _English bastards_!" The Chairman snarled. The pained wincing from the rest of the board was nearly audible. Jean-Marie smiled internally at the thought that if he was going, he wasn't going alone, or possibly even first. "Continue, Monsieur Bassard."

"Yes sir. The ship can have additional cargo modules added in. Those are the sections in white. You must have at least the forward command modules in blue, one white section, and the engineering section at the stern, in red."

Someone asked, "You have a cargo module in the blue section."

"Oui," he replied. "That section backs on to the environmental section, and allows docking and transport of pressurized and heated modules, such as for livestock. This is also where additional passenger modules may be docked." He tapped the model with his pointer, "They would not be luxurious accommodations, but then again, this is a freighter. Not a passenger liner." He leaned forward, separating the white section. "Should the ship's owners feel it justified, additional white sections can be added. They are essentially just retaining latches for standard cargo containers. Here at the top, there is a continuation of the main access corridor, which would be pressurized." He picked up an additional white section, clicking the two together, then re-inserting them between the red and blue. "Addition of sections would require a shipyard visit, but only to separate, add in the standard module, and rejoin the sections. We estimate it could be done in a day or so."

"How many white modules could you use?" Odette LeVeque asked.

"At the moment, mademoiselle, we are estimating five." He held up a hand, "We received the change orders for modularity and ship ability requirements very late, only a few days ago, and must recalculate stress loadings and other requirements. This is an in-system design, and must use a pebble-bed reactor and ion drives if we are not to use any Arrowhead systems, such as their gravity drives." He carefully did not look at the Chairman.

"Would not that affect the ship's speed?"

"Yes, it would, Monsieur. Using fueled reaction drives have a lower specific impulse and delta-v than with other engine systems." He carefully moved on, the Chairman's opinions were well known. "The specific impulse is how powerful a fuel is – think of it as octane in petrol. We will need to carry along enough fuel and supplies to get where we are going and back. There are no petrol stations in space."

"And the delta-v?" the Chairman asked.

"It is the ability to change velocity. On Earth, you have friction to act as a brake. That does not occur in space, at the halfway point you must do a turnover maneuver and use your engines to slow yourself down. Your ship's mass will have an effect on this. The greater the mass, the greater the energy needed, sir."

The chairman grunted and nodded; and Jean-Marie moved away from this delicate topic to continue his presentation.

* * *

"Your concept is very innovative," The Chairman said after the question and answer session finally wound down.

The concept was one that he'd lifted from an old science fiction role-playing game played by one of his grandchildren. The hard work came turning that concept into something that could actually function in the real world. "Thank you, Monsieur Chairman."

"It looks like a giant penis," Odette LeVeque said for the fourth time. "How am I to sell a penis?"

"Quiet, Odette," The Chairman said softly before smiling. He needed something to compete with Arrowhead and Martha Wayne. Doing so with something that looked vaguely like a giant penis would just be icing on the cake. "Thank you for your time, Monsieur Brassard," he added with a dismissive wave.

* * *

"Jean-Marie, I am amazed that you are still alive, let alone still employed," Claude said after his boss returned to his office and told his story.

"To date, my friend, I am both. Between you and I, I believe the Chairman's restriction against using Arrowhead's tech will kill any sales, but that is a problem for the marketing department and Mademoiselle LeVeque." He loosened his tie, and looked at the clock. "I believe this calls for a celebration that I am definitely putting on the company's tab."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, October 18, 2002: 16:10 (GMT -5)****  
****Terra, Stephenville International Airport:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Well, this is goodbye for now, I guess," Christine said, sniffling a bit. Her mom reached up with a tissue and wiped her tears. "You're sure you're not going to come?"

"What would an old fisherman like me do?" her father asked. "No, Christine, you go off and be Governor Sullivan, and make us proud. Not that you haven't always done that."

"Go on with you already!" her mom said. "You'll miss your flight!" She gave her daughter a last hug, then turned her about and gave her a gentle push. Christine took a deep breath, grabbed her rolling bag and laptop, and marched toward the gate, where she offered her ticket to the gate attendant.

"Governor Sullivan? Thank you for flying Provincial Airlines to St. John's, flight 916," she said. "Please go down the stairs to the plane, you're in seat 1A." Christine turned, and gave her waiting parents a small wave goodbye. They returned it; then moved to the window to watch as she emerged onto the ramp, boarding the Dash-8.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, October 18, 2002: 16:54 (GMT)  
Firsday, 17 Octus, 162, 05:41 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, compound:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"How are your girls?" Alison asked Nicole as they waited in line for first-meal.

"As confused as we were," she replied with a small smile. "Have you received back their test results?"

"I have," she replied, pouring a cup of tea for Nicole as well. "They are thankful to the Source for sparing their lives, and somewhat nervous about leaving to the seedling. I am having meetings with the first of them soon."

"I hope we have time to visit High Town for some shopping as well," Nicole said, balancing her dishes on the folded printouts. "Shall we meet for mid-meal?" Alison nodded, and moved off toward her own group of girls.

* * *

"11840?" Nicole called, and one of the lounging girls got up, dusted off the sand, and walked over to where Nicole was seated under a tree. Kneeling, she asked, "Yes, mistress?"

"We must both try not to use the terms 'master' and 'mistress'," Nicole replied. "I struggle with the habit myself, but it will offend our Terrans. I still think that I am their house slave, but they see me as a daughter, a free female." The other girl nodded, and Nicole continued, "You were rescued from the feeding bin, were you not?"

"I was," she said with a shiver of horror. "I stood on a small platform, cuffed and neck-ringed to the wall. When it was time, the neck ring unlocked and the platform retracted, the slave simply dropped to the feeding trough. We could hear their screams as the monsters ate." She shivered again. "One girl was blessed by the Source, as the masters were unlocking us, her platform retracted, she simply stepped onto the master's platform and knelt among us. When this was discovered, the Terrans bought her also." She shivered again, "Now, I kneel here in the warm sand, and I thank the Source I was bought."

"You were fortunate," Nicole said. "On to other things. I have been trying to devise names for the girls I am responsible for, and I think I have a good one for you. Your collar ends in '40', that element in the Terran's list is Zirconium, a strong metal. In consulting a list of names that start in 'Z', I considered one, 'Zada', which means 'fortunate one'." She leaned back against her tree, taking a swallow from her water bottle. "There are others, of course, and if you have a preference?"

The girl shook her head, and Nicole continued, "If you have no objection, then we shall use that. Your clan name is the last three of your number, so you would be 'Zada 840' as mine is 'Nicole 928'." She nodded. "Onward. Your test showed a strong preference for organization, mathematics, and dealing well with others."

Zada smiled, "That last is not a surprise, is it, mistress? We had to deal well with our use-masters!"

Nicole chuckled. "A joke? That is a good thing, I think." She took a sip of her water, "Had you comments or questions? Then we move on. Three possibilities come to mind. One is working with Master Ito in his accounting shop, another with Master Rice's woodshop, the third with Mistress Brandt in her supply store."

"Master Ito is an older Terran, mated to Mistress Ito, who is the colony's speaker-at-law. They do not currently have a 'little sister', one of us, a rescued slave. When I have encountered them, they have both been very kind to me, their genetic child is named Angie, she is mate to Master Jourdain, our metalworker and my owner… err; family. They are very close to Master Rice, who is a very large male." Zada nodded, leaning back on her hands, "The third; the supply mistress?"

"Mistress Brandt is a fairly small female, but she is very particular, and obsessed with details. There is one large warehouse, when we left some of the larger steel container-boxes were being moved to her for additional storage. She has a retail place for individuals to buy, and wholesale, for a business." She took a gulp of water, "For instance, if I wish to buy a smock…"

"I understand retail, mistress," Zada said. "You said 'buy'?"

"Yes, you are paid, you may establish a bank account for your tungsten. Legally, the System Governor owns you, but in a very indirect way. She is there to safeguard you, she is a former Enhanced slave herself. You may earn a dark collar by completing a series of steps and examinations, which one depends on your choice. You will sign a contract with your owners, forgive me, your instructors, who will train you; you will live with them. Should you choose to void the contract and seek an immediate dark collar, you may, but I would advise you not to. You will be untrained in living as a free female, this lets you learn how to think outside your collar."

"Explain, please."

"No 'mistress', that is good," Nicole encouraged. "I was given a task to examine on the trip here. I was given information, but the method and details was up to my discretion. When I return, I will be asked for my answers, and we shall examine them. A slave is told what to do and how to do it. Think of a master telling his house slave, 'Clean the house and garden.' It does not matter where she starts or how she does it, just that it is done."

Zada nodded. "I would envy her."

"She is still slave, though. She may still be sold or lost in a card game, and she is not paid. The only orders our Terrans wish us to obey are safety rules, I do not wish to lose a finger or an eye." Nicole sat back, "Did you have questions, or do you wish to think about it?"

"I shall consider this, but at first description ... " Zada chewed her lip, "Are there other females working for Master Rice and Mistress Brandt?"

"There are, Mistress Brandt uses a First Girl, while Master Rice allows his new 'daughters' to learn different skills and ask questions. They both enforce safety rules, although ... " Nicole tilted her head, regarding the other girl. "How are you with working with your hands? Skilled? Pleasurable to you?"

"To an extent," Zada replied. "It does not consume my existence, but I have gained pleasure in doing small things for my use-masters and mistresses, such as making repairs on their clothing."

Nicole nodded slowly, "You may find more pleasure in working with Master Rice. He has machines that have measurements in thousands of a millimeter, as does my own Master Jourdain. Their shops are across the street from each other, they work together on projects. Now, they are working on furniture, tables, chairs and such." She regarded the other girl; "You would need to be repeatable, so that each chair is identical to others. In addition, when I left, Master Rice did not have a delivery girl or a sales girl, who would be paid partially on her sales. Does this interest you?"

"Possibly ... " Zada said slowly. "I have time to decide?"

"You do," Nicole nodded. "Please send … (she looked at her list) … 12300 to see me."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, October 18, 2002: 20:40 (GMT -5)****  
****Terra, Halifax International Airport:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Pardon me, I believe that's my seat," Christine said to the older lady.

She picked up her knitting bag and said, "I'm sorry, dear, just getting organized." She dropped that between her feet as Christine stuffed her bag into the overhead, settling down with a small smile, "I do hope this is the right flight."

"Let's see … Halifax to London, Air Canada 860 on a 757. A six hour flight that will seem longer." She offered her hand, "Susan Beez."

"Christine Sullivan," she replied as she shook. "What takes you to London, Mrs. Beez?"

"My daughter's wedding to a very nice young man who works for Barclays. You?"

"It's on my way to Hamburg. A business flight, we're setting up an office, and since our logistics are already through the port…" she waggled her hand. "After that, on to Geneva and the bankers." There were various thumps and bangs as the 757 prepared to pull away from the gate, with a 'bing' the seat belt light went on and one of the stewardesses asked, "Your attention, please."

"Ah, the safety briefing," Susan said with the air of an experienced traveler. "It's not much use if we go down over water, but they must check that box for the flight."

"I confess I haven't done much air travel," Christine confided. She politely waited for the stewardess to finish; then made certain her seatbelt was secure over her hips, and swallowed to equalize the air pressure. "How do you deal with jet lag?"

"I add a day and then force myself to match the other clock. With Hamburg, it's only six hours ahead of us in Canada, so it wouldn't be too bad; dinner instead of lunch. However, with layovers and such…" She looked at Christine's printed schedule, "Dear, you've got almost six hours layover in Heathrow. That airport is always crowded. Find yourself a comfortable chair and take a nap." With a bump and jerk, the plane started to move, and Christine leaned over to watch through the window as the airport went by. The plane drove seemingly at random over the concrete taxiways, she could see other aircraft as they stopped and waited. The first in line (a Delta flight) seemed to gather itself, then rush down the runway and lift off. After a minute, the plane rolled forward.

"This is so different than when I arrived," Christine murmured. "Our ship docked at the orbital terminal, all exposed pipes and steel…"

"I had wondered, but didn't want to intrude," Susan asked, gesturing toward her throat.

"Oh, I'm here on home leave to set things up. Perhaps I should properly introduce myself," Christine said with a grin. She finger-quoted, "System Governor Christine Sullivan, at your service, ma'am."

"My, my," Susan said. "A system governor sitting next to me in coach. For what system, please?"

"Benecee. A very nice little binary system in the Orion Nebula." She leaned down to pull out a thick folder of material, and didn't notice in her enthusiasm when there was a lurch and they left the ground. "The one we're working on now is the 'B' or secondary star, a G5. Here's a system chart…"

* * *

"Governor Sullivan?" One of the stewardesses leaned forward, "I hope you've had a nice flight, and when you leave the airplane, please go with the uniformed attendant. We apologize for not upgrading you to first class…"

"That's quite all right," Christine said. "I've been perfectly fine here. This part of the plane gets there at the same time as the front."

The girl smiled at the old joke, and continued, "Nevertheless, if you want to use the first-class lounge, you may."

"I'm fine where I am, thank you. Will there be someplace where I can call home, or do some email?"

The stewardess was somewhat confused. Here was a VIP that didn't want to be treated as one. "Yes, ma'am. There are lounges you can use, although there will be a fee. With the first class lounge…"

"Yes, thank you," Christine said, a little more firmly. "I'll be fine, I don't mind paying for something I'm using." The girl went away, and Susan said, a little wide-eyed, "You really are. An Imperial System Governor, sitting next to me in coach. Nobody will ever believe me, and you look so … normal."

"I put my shoes on just like you. My father is a fisherman," Christine said with a grin. "I met Miss Wayne and her fiancé, he told me once she brought tools to school, and helped fix the plumbing. Now if the daughter of, and a billionaire herself, can do that, I can certainly sit next to you and chat. Oh, look, we're landing." With a whir and thump, she could hear the landing gear come down, and a minute later there was a jolt and a screech as the brakes were applied. She returned her file folders to their place in her laptop bag, resetting her seat upright as the roar of the thrust reversers was heard. She offered her hand, "Mrs. Beez, my very best wishes to you and your new family."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, October 18, 2002: 21:00 (GMT)****  
Terran approach, **_M/V (A) Ben Nevis_**, Bridge:****  
**

* * *

Two bells sounded as the first dog watch continued. Jack pressed a button, "Computer, log entry, this date and time. Third officer James Pitman recording. We are approaching Terran orbit and docking along with the _Manhattan_ and the _Dover_, estimated within the hour. We will then transfer cargo…"

* * *

Gloria Alvarez strode onto her bridge, neatly uniformed despite the hour. Jack started to get up, she waved him back down; "Thank you for calling me, Mr. Pitman, please retain the conn. I wanted to be here," she said as she settled into the vacant comm station, donning the headset.

"You're welcome, ma'am," the young officer replied with a small smile. "L-1 orbital control is directing us to the new cargo dock 'C', we have the honor of first ship." She nodded, watching as her ship slid past the now-linked 'A' and 'B' docks with their lit transient housing and shuttle docks, the transport in its glass tube on 'top' of the two assemblies. She saw the lights of the cars move along the tube from Dock A to stop on Dock B for a minute or two before continuing on to Dock C. Further, she could see the construction of at least two other docks, 'D' and 'E', these two passenger docks, and beyond that a second cargo dock. The passenger docks used a quarter-circle (more properly, a quarter-octagon) framework on the 'starboard' side of the centerline for the ships, with the associated housing, assemblies; compartments and so forth on the 'port' of that central spine. The cargo docks 'C' and 'F' reversed that; they would dock to port of that spine, with their associated warehouses, compartments and so forth to starboard. Ahead, she could see spindly docking arms unfolding in preparation.

There was a slight quiver, and Jack flipped a switch, "Engine room, this is the bridge. Dock has us with tractors, finished with main engines and RCS thrusters. Please go to standby power."

"Engines, copy finished with main engines and thrusters. Going to standby power." The console on the helm changed as Gloria listened to the dock master and the chatter from the _Dover_ and the _Manhattan_ on the Guard channel. She watched a personnel tube stop halfway toward where her ship's starboard personnel lock would be, and asked, "Security?"

"Ready and waiting, ma'am. We've already got a partial outgoing manifest, although some is break-bulk shipping. Powered-down reactors for stations, that kind of thing," Jack replied, somewhat distracted as he kept an eye on their status. From what she could see, Dock C's control had them dead on the transit line, but she approved of his caution. She turned, logging into the station and calling up lists. "Hmm…" she mused; then said, "I would have thought we would dock at Phobos for transshipping cargo."

"This is where Titan said to go, ma'am," Jack replied.

She waved a hand in acknowledgment, continuing to study the lists. "Some of these should be fun to stow. Mr. Murdock wanted a bit of a challenge, three sets of six reactors should prove one." She worked her terminal, then looked up when the ship shuddered slightly. "Mooring tractors, ma'am," Jack said.

"Shouldn't be long now," she said. "I ordered some additional dunnage bags, we can always use those, and it looks like we can mount the reactors in section 21, but I'll leave that to Matt." She sent a quick message; then signed off her terminal; "I'll be in the personnel lock with the Customs people if you need me; then I have the meeting with Captain Bradford of the _Manhattan_ and Captain Yoshikawa aboard the _Dover_. Good job, Jack."

"Yes, ma'am, thank you," Jack said as the Captain left the bridge. "Ship's log, supplemental, this date and time. We have docked in berth C ..."

* * *

"... oh, that's funny," Gloria said with a chuckle a few hours later in Atsuko's suite aboard the _Dover_. Like her own Captain's suite, it had the usual array of repeaters on her workstation. However, the three captains sat in comfortable chairs in her dayroom, with glasses of wine, or in Daniel Bradford's case, a tall stein of dark beer. Atsuko's steward had provided a platter of finger food and sandwiches; then discreetly withdrew.

"Well, we get the passengers that we can laugh at," Atsuko said primly. The tiny Japanese woman dabbed her lips primly with a snow-white napkin, then settled back in her chair. "This is different than merchant duty, or naval duty. There's far more social work involved. I'm glad I'm able to escape back to my bridge, Colin is the classic British steward, he knows when to rescue me."

"They're a good back channel information source," Dan agreed. "To their ears, to ours." He took a swallow of beer; then waved the stein at Gloria, "At least cargo doesn't start drunken fights."

"True, and I have my rather large First Officer to deal with the stevedores," she agreed. "Seriously, how difficult are some of the passengers?"

"They're moving, which is always troublesome at best," Atsuko replied. "We're ship's crew, we operate out of a footlocker and a seabag. The passengers are uprooting themselves, moving to a completely new planet, where they're going to be the rest of their lives. It's not like moving from one ward in Tokyo to another. There's going to be some cold feet, and I go by the general rule that they're responsible for any damage and let them sleep off the first offense in the ship's brig. If there are minor injuries, they apologize, beyond that... well, fortunately I haven't had that happen."

"I had that," Dan said. "Two of my lower-deck people, both with broken bones. I gave them each a Mast; docked their pay. I go by how severe the injuries are. A cut lip is one thing; bones are something else. I also enforce sickbay's monitoring of the ship's stills, although most of that is the bottle in the desk drawer." He raised his stein, "I've had a few people get 'Dear John' or 'Dear Jane' emails."

"That's tough," Atsuko said. "I've told my department heads to..."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Firsday, 17 Octus, 162, 10:30 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, High Town, community court:  
**

* * *

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Maalon!" the bailiff shouted above the noise of murmuring spectators.

Maalon entered, sat down and everyone in the courtroom followed his example. He rang his chime and stated formally, "I have reached my decision in the case of Windfall versus Haak'n. Castellano, Haak'n, rise."

They both did, and he said, "Regarding the accounts and the money: Haak'n is not claiming those funds as his personal property and there is no evidence that they've been misspent. As such, I find Haak'n not guilty of the charge of fraud. However, I will order those funds be surrendered to Acting Governor Castellano. Poor bookkeeping is not a crime Castellano."

"Your Honor..." Benni began before being cut off with a sharp glance. The smug smile Haak'n wore radiated confidence.

"As to the charge of impersonating a government official... Had Governor Sullivan been present to testify, I'm certain the truth of the matter would have been determined in short order. However, she was not. I find it odd that you, Castellano, did not provide me with a deposition from her. Therefore your case comes down to one signature. I've examined the signature on the order in question and on the other samples you've provided.

"As strange as it may seem Castellano, I have dealt with forged documents before in my judicial career. While the signature on the replacement order does not match exactly the signature on the other documents, which may have been selected by you to show variety or lack thereof, the differences are not great enough to indicate an obvious forgery.

"I therefore examined them with a microscope to look for hesitation marks. As with you humans, sandur make their own marks quickly, but tend to make other people's marks slowly in an effort to more closely match what they copy. However, this normally leaves hesitation marks where additional ink becomes deposited on the paper. I found no such marks. The color of the ink used for the signature on the replacement order exactly matches that of some, but not all, of your example signatures. I cannot with certainty determine if the signature on the replacement order is real or not. As such, I find there exists 'reasonable doubt' and must find Haak'n not guilty of the charge of impersonating a government official."

Haak'n's smile surpassed smug and was in danger of splitting the corners of his mouth when Maalon added, "However, I found the actual text of the replacement order... disturbing. It allegedly grants Haak'n authority that clearly vests with Acting Governor Castellano. It also allegedly grants him powers that are diametrically opposed to known Imperial policies on slavery. If Governor Sullivan truly issued this order, I would recommend impeachment to the Empress herself. As such, I declare the order, and all actions taken by Haak'n under it, null and void."

Haak'n smile evaporated. "You can't..." he began; only to wilt under Maalon's glare.

"This brings us to the unlawful enslavement charges. Haak'n, I find you guilty on all those counts. Under human rules, no one may be enslaved without due process, no matter what crimes they are alleged to have committed. The females in question did not receive this."

"I had all the right I needed!" Haak'n shouted.

"Silence!" Maalon roared. "One more outburst from you and I will have you gagged! Understood?"

Not trusting his voice, Haak'n merely nodded.

"Governor Sullivan could not grant you the right to enslave those females without due process. She does not have that right herself. As such, your enslavement of them, and all your subsequent treatment, were unlawful and there is no doubt about your guilt."

The look on Maalon's face dared Haak'n to speak. Haak'n wasn't nearly that stupid.

"As for the charges you enslaved them for, there is no evidence those crimes ever occurred, let alone that those females were guilty of them. They are ordered freed. Any expenses related to freeing them, as well as the medical expenses, will be paid by you.

"For your punishment, Haak'n I sentence you to no less than twenty years judicial enslavement with no restrictions to your use or treatment. You are also fined twenty-five kilograms of tungsten. Your remaining personal assets, if any, will be split equally amongst your victims." The sharp sound of the chime cut off any further comment.

As Haak'n was hauled away for his appointment with the collaring machine, Maalon waved Benni over to his bench. "Castellano, that was the worst speaking-at-law that I have ever seen in my life. A competent prosecutor would have had him strung from the nearest tree. Next time; use a professional. It is too important a job to leave to a well meaning amateur."

Benni, unhappy with her own performance on what she felt was an 'open and shut' case, held her tongue and nodded agreement.

* * *

"We have a new Guest of the Crown," the bailiff said, shoving Haak'n through the barred gate. "He's checking in for twenty years at one of our work camps." The door clanged shut as another female guard gestured him in. "We give you the choice of which camp you go to. Kneel and gain your new collar," she said as the first shoved him at the machine, where another guard waited.

"_Females_," he spat. "You are nothing but collar meat, slaves born to the mastery of a true male," he said as he set himself.

"I find that interesting, spoken by one who wears a _female_ slave belt," a guard said, as Haak'n's legs were knocked out from under him, and he was forced in the machine. Equipment was latched in place, switches were flipped, and Haak'n screamed his rage.

* * *

"Did you enjoy that as much as we did, _Master_ Haak'n?" one of the guards said sweetly. "There are three camps you may choose from. One is in the mountains, driving a road through those mountains between the large northern lake and the Elbe river seedling colonies. One is working north, the other south. The second is here, along the south shore of the Bug river, between the main Amazon and the eastern shore, some twelve hundred kilometers long. The last is repairing the road north along the Danube, along with the communication towers that are in the forest."

"The first is through the cold of winter and the heat of summer, but in the mountains," another guard said. "The second is along the river, simply building a road in the Terran's 'Roman' style. Dig out the dirt, place gravel, then the tiles. Third is repairing a road in the deep forest, where there are predators to eat you. You may choose, or pick a card for random chance. It does not matter to us."

"The second," Haak'n spat.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, October 18, 2002: 22:37 (GMT)  
Firsday, 17 Octus, 162, 11:24 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, hospital C&R:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good day, I'm Dr. Yolanda Lopez," the blonde Cuban said as she looked in the small room.

"I'm Mac, that's Brittany inside the machine," and the petite magenta-skinned girl lifted one sandaled foot, waggling it in a wave. Mac had a tiny waist, with a high, firm chest and reddish-auburn hair that flowed to her hips. Both girls wore 'tails', lengths of their hair that had been cut and inserted into their belts' anal plugs, and brushed their ankles. While Mac worked on the outside, Brittany worked inside, finally crawling out and sealing the machine.

"How much longer?" Yolanda asked. "I'd like to call my subjects to come over."

"Call them; while they're coming over it can be powered up and after a diagnostic you can use it," Brittany said, mopping her face with her tunic. "We can't come closer than two meters to the controls," and she tapped her collar before handing over a datapadd.

Yolanda glanced at it, scrolling through the pages, then stood in front of the control board and started. As she worked, she asked, "Mac, may I ask – body sculpt?"

"Yes, several years ago, the Source-damned healer did a good job on me. I sold for a decent price, too." She held her arms up and twirled in a circle, her hair and tail flaring behind her. "Captain Watson is a good master, we're paid and free; we just have the appearance of ship's slaves. We did wonder, though – why this order?"

"For now, we're putting a couple of our people undercover as slaves." She tapped a final command, and moved away from the machine. "How long?"

"Fifteen, twenty minutes," Brittany replied. "Master Frank asked us to come over…"

"Frank MacDonald?" Eleanor asked, coming into the room. "That Frank? I went to school with him!"

"Ah, so you are the zarroji he said was here," Mac said, then looked at Marie. "TWO zarroji?"

"And the father of three more," Yolanda said, motioning to Bill Morton.

* * *

"... so that's what we're planning," Marie said as she worked with Eleanor in uncrating a med-tank. Bill and Dr. Lopez did some assembly work, while the two ship's engineers connected power and data. She continued, "None of us are particularly happy about this, but it's something we need to do. That ship's too big a question mark, a variable in our defenses. We need to know who they've talked to about us."

Mac looked at Brittany, finished that particular task, then found her smock and mopped her face. "Let us see you – display." When the two girls looked at her in confusion, Brittany shook her head. "You don't even know the standard commands." She dropped into the 'display' position; Marie and Eleanor awkwardly duplicated it. "You would be better with genuine slaves in this task."

"We don't know of any that are also witches, female zarroji," Eleanor replied. "My little sister has a bred WorkForce girl in her school, but she's untrained."

Marie conjured a fireball, "The subject will probably not be expecting to deal with zarroji."

"True," Brittany replied. "You still need to be trained, some things can be explained by being raw, untrained slaves, but it would be unlikely for an owner to have them as personal slaves, even as exotics." She traded looks with Mac, then said, "Let's put them in the first two tanks, we'll finish the last two, then go over the body sculpt with your owner."

"It's their bodies," Bill objected. "They should be consulted."

Mac shook her head, "No." She turned, addressing Eleanor and Marie, "Strip, slaves. To skin." Turning back to Bill as the two started to disrobe, she said, "They are your slaves; they have no say, they will not know until they wake up. If you are going to be their owner, you must also be trained, not in discipline, but in how they think. Your actions and words must be logical to the one you wish to fool. If you wish to inform them, that would be YOUR decision, they are your slaves." She looked at her shipmate, "We should get One over here."

"Our ship's trainer," Brittany explained. "Do we have the time?"

"I'm not doing anything that isn't reversible," Dr. Lopez said. "I'm saving their original settings."

* * *

Marie came back to consciousness only to find herself held on her knees, with a blindfold over her eyes. She could feel her collar, still on her neck, and the tight compression of a slave belt. Her hands were cuffed behind her; she could feel the metal holding her wrists at the small of her back. There was a slight breeze on her… she could almost have said hair. Shaking her head, she discovered she was held upright by a steel ring under her chin, which stretched her, holding her in position. She felt her hair, much longer than before, seemingly pooling around her ankles, which also had steel rings holding her in place. She shifted and tried to speak, but no sounds came out.

Eleanor heard Marie wake from a position to her left; she was dealing with what seemed to be an enormous amount and length of hair, brushing her back and shoulders. She tried to move her tongue, which felt … different. There were two persistent lumps in her throat; they wouldn't go away no matter how much she swallowed. She tried to speak, and failed, not even a whimper. She carefully explored the steel holding her hands behind her back, tugging at it gently, but it was firm. The back of her fingertips found and explored the steel band going down between her bum cheeks, and she could feel the front, tight and diving down between her thighs to meet it. Shaking her hair, she felt it brush over her left hip, which felt somewhat different.

They heard a door slide open, and footsteps. "We thought you were awake," Dr. Lopez said. "The procedure went well, you two look fabulous."

"For slaves, anyway," Bill Morton said to the scrape of a chair. There was the faint slap of sandal leather, and one of the girls (Mac, Eleanor thought) said, "The rest? You agreed to this, otherwise we withdraw our support."

"Yes, yes," he said, adding, "Apologies in advance." There was the rasp of metal, and a faint click, and both Marie and Eleanor threw themselves against their neck rings as their collars erupted in pain. It seemed to go on and on; then it vanished as quickly as it appeared. They panted a bit, and Bill said, "That was two seconds of level one. Are you happy?"

"No, but it was necessary they know what their collars can do," Brittany said. There was a faint tap of a fingernail on metal, she continued, "Slaves, know this. You are collared, and Master Morton holds your control chips. It does not matter how you came to kneel where you are, you are now, under both planetary law and the Interstellar Commercial Code, his slaves. You do not even have names, just numbers." She pushed Eleanor's head, "You wear his collar number 11641, and you wear 11642. Learn those numbers, they are your legal identity. The free females you were are no more. Should you please your owner enough, he may consent to granting your freedom and a dark collar."

"That is not guaranteed," Mac said. "I have heard of slaves saving their masters' lives only to stay slave. As arranged, you also wear judicial collars and penalty brands; your owner has decorated his slaves as he wishes. They are most attractive, but you have not yet earned clothing." They could hear her walking about, "Learn this position, this is how you will arrange yourselves when neck-ringed. Your torso is a flat plane along your legs, belly, and throat. Your chin and breasts protrude. Use your chins to tighten the rings two notches." She nodded at the doubled clicks. "Good. It should be tight enough to support you in your sleep, but not to choke you."

"This is apparently a standard binding," Bill said. "Your first challenge is to use your wandless and unspoken magic to release your hands and remove your blindfolds. When you do so, close your eyes, you're facing south and the sun is rather bright. By feeling back along the support, you should be able to feel the release lever for the neck ring, then the two ankle rings. We're curious as to how long it will take you. Good luck."

* * *

Marie was first, her right hand coming free; then working the lever to free her left. She reached back, releasing the neck ring; then leaning back to free her ankles. She rubbed her wrists; then reached for her blindfold, Dr. Lopez reminding her "Your eyes, close your eyes." Meanwhile Eleanor had her wrists free and was working her way along. They both stood at about the same time; then stopped to regard themselves in a mirror.

Their skin was tawny, with pointed ears and pure white hair that cascaded down into a light blue flame at the tip. Vertically pupiled red eyes in a slightly elongated 'snout' regarded them, as they lifted their thick hair, they saw fine white and grey hair on their arms and legs, aside from their left hips and upper thighs, where white penalty brands showed. On their necks, they wore silver slave collars with the green and yellow lights of judicial slaves. Below, a floating rib had been removed, giving them a short rib cage and large, firm but not pendulous breasts. Bells were locked on wrist, elbow and ankle bracelets. Their slave belts were black steel; a wide waistband compressed their waists and supporting a black steel barrier, locked tight on their pelvis. They both preened a bit, then Eleanor turned, looked at Marie, then at Bill, and pointed to her throat.

"That is one of the inserts from the device," Dr. Lopez said. "It allows food and liquids to pass, and obviously air, but it blocks the vocal cords, so it's an internal gag; a very clever design." She picked up the controller and pushed buttons, and they could speak.

Marie worked her jaw, "Fangs?"

"First, I would like to apologize for the usage of that remote earlier;" Bill said. "I have given you my word that you'll be free and out of those collars as soon as possible." Marie and Eleanor nodded, he continued, "Dr. Lopez has done some truly marvelous work on you. Relax and have a drink."

Marie worked her jaw again; then knelt, holding up her hands, "Claws, too?"

"As we agreed, you're the hostage daughters of a particular king," Dr. Lopez started. "That species evolved from felinoids, so I've installed both cloned olfactory cells and a small wide-spectrum booster to enhance your sense of smell. That's why you have that small snout."

Marie took a deep inhalation, then said "Yesss… Oh, that's interesting."

"Moving on," Dr. Lopez continued. "I've also increased the frequency response for your hearing and changed your vision, again through boosters and implants." She held up a small remote, "Right now, they're turned down to their lowest sensitivity. With your vision, you'll have greater sensitivity in the infrared so you can hunt prey, although the ultraviolet end is shortened. You will have trouble with distinguishing blues and violets, and will need to wear sunglasses or a blindfold when you go off ship."

Bill got up and closed the blinds, darkening the room, and asking, "What do you see?"

Eleanor blinked, "I wondered why my eyes hurt. Thank you, um… Master. The four of you seem to be glowing a bit." She raised an arm, "Is that why we have a tan?"

"Yes," Dr. Lopez replied. "It also made a nice contrast for the brands. Do they hurt?"

Both girls touched them; then shook their heads. Eleanor asked, "If we're evolved from felinoids, is that why our legs are bending like a cat?"

"Yes," Dr. Lopez said. "I simply performed a hip replacement on you, only using the hips and ankle joints of a felinoid. I re-attached the muscles in the right areas, and shortened your Achilles tendons slightly to give you a bit of an arch foot like a cat, although not as extreme. It's about like a one-inch heel shoe, and your sandals are thicker to compensate. You're going to need to adjust your method of walking." She motioned, "Go ahead, get up and take a few steps. It should be like running in heels; you run on your toes." She stood; ready to help them as they unsteadily took a few steps, and watched them as they walked around the compartment, commenting, "I love those med tanks. In a conventional hospital, you would be in for weeks of physical therapy and recovery after surgery. Here, the whole surgery took only a few hours, then we collared and branded you, let you cook in the tank until you were done, then took you out and set you up in the neck rings."

Eleanor stopped, regarding herself in the mirror, "I think I like this better than my plain old self, and the enhanced senses are wonderful." She ran a finger around her collar, then her belt. She looked at Marie, "What do you think? Send the old selves back to Terra, and just have two more slave girls here as a disguise?"

"Possibly…" Marie replied. She knelt, "Won't that depend on our owner, though, master?"

"The further this goes, the less I like it," he snapped. "You two don't seem to remember that the objective of this is to capture that ship. If I have to play pissed-off slave owner, and I'm pissed off enough already without you two adding to it, then you're going to remember that you're my slaves, and your lives are mine. Not yours, mine."

Brittany started to clap, and Bill turned and snarled, "Shut up. I'm not particularly pleased with either of you." He stalked over to a window, staring out of it. As he did, the intercom said, "Dr. Lopez, please report to room 5-38. Dr. Lopez to room 5-38." She gathered up her materials and left, and Bill took a deep breath. "Okay, here's the deal. I'm an arms supplier, and you're both hostages for your father. Marie, you're the eldest sister and heir apparent. As you'll need to make periodic public appearances for ritual hunts and so forth, we put in 'removable' (he finger-quoted) collars and belts."

"What about the brands, won't they be noticeable?" Marie asked.

"No, the court physician would be in the know, and in public, you would simply wear a sash over them." Marie knelt, knees spread and cuffing her hands, asking, "You finger-quoted 'removable'."

"I did," he replied, motioning for Eleanor to turn. With a tool, he unlocked her collar at the back of her neck, and as she raised her hands, the back of her belt. She stepped out of it as he placed them on the table, fluffing out her hair. "Rank is indicated by hair length," he said. "We stole that idea, the Second Officer, Diijon, comes from this type of background, and wears this type of collar and belt."

"Although without the ritual hunts," Brittany added. "No visible collar, so she can stand on stage and wave to the peasants, while still a slave."

Eleanor touched herself; then said, "My throat hurts, and I've got an … itch down there."

"You're a slave, they're to remind you of that, and your sex is locked," Mac commented. "No slave rape for you, you're royalty." She picked up the unlocked collar as Marie rose, prowling over to closely examine her, with her hands still bound behind her. She moved back, kneeling again, as Mac continued, "Diijon says it's 'pebble-in-boot' uncomfortable. She can endure it for several hours, and her implant is marked 'free'…"

"Which yours are not," Brittany added. "The receiver for your slave controller is implanted in your throat, which is one of those lumps. That means your master can still use his remote on you." She accepted the collar from Mac, "Diijon says that feeling goes away when she has her collar on and lit, which is what she normally wears. She also wears her belt for the same reason." She handed the collar to Bill, and picked up the belt, offering it to Eleanor.

"Why is she uncollared, then?" Marie asked.

"She is the priestess for our ship, and for legal reasons is the only one that can purchase slaves," Brittany replied. "Exhale, slave," she told Eleanor, and forced the belt closed, pulling her hands down to cuff them, then pushing down on her shoulder so she knelt. "Terrans cannot sign the titles for slaves, but Diijon can, as she was freed on a slave-owning planet. Head to the ground, slave, and beg your master to collar you."

"Yes, mistress," Eleanor replied, then asked, "Um, master, please recollar your slave."

"You're going to have to sound a hell of a lot more convincing than that," Bill snapped. He held up the controller, "Damn it, I've got your life here in my hand. I can press the 'kill' switch here and you'll die in agony. You're slaves, goddammit, and there's not a thing you can do about it." Eleanor swallowed, hard, and he continued. "Now, you're my naked, bound slaves, kneeling before your pissed-off master, and I AM royally pissed off. You're going to have to beg for your collar, and hope like hell I like it. Do it again."

Eleanor swallowed again, then pressed her head to the floor. "Master, your slave begs you to recollar her," she said, then after a moment, hesitantly looked up, rolling her head to toss her hair over her shoulder, then softly whispered, "I beg your collar, my master."

"That's better," Bill grunted, and brushing her hair to the side, clipped Eleanor's collar back on. She sighed in relief, "Thank you, my master," and put her head to the floor again.

"I may throw up," Bill muttered, and threw Marie's unlocking tool to Brittany. "Your turn. Just her collar, please."

"Yes, master," the magenta-skinned engineer said. Brushing Marie's hair aside, she unlocked it, then told her, "Move about the compartment, slave, then kneel and beg your collar like your sister slave."

"Yes, mistress," Marie said. She did so, and was recollared. Bill grunted, then held up the remote, "My understanding is that wands and spoken spells serve to focus your magic. I want you two practicing wordless spells, so I'm going to turn off your voices for the next few days, and I have your wands." He studied the control pad, and pressed buttons; then dropped the controller and the two collar tools in his pocket. His wrist comm beeped, and he got up, "I've got another meeting, and I need some fresh air. Anything else?"

"Quickly there are two other things, master," Mac said. "A slave will have her hands bound, cuffed behind her quite often, and for several hours at a stretch. On our walk here from the shuttle pads, we noticed your greenhouses being worked on." She looked at Bill, "Master, I suggest leaving them cuffed until the construction is finished. It will not damage them, and they will gain an appreciation of slave patience." He nodded, and she added, "Second, master, when slaves are shipped, they wear feeding gags or hoods for the duration of the trip. Once again, they are not damaged…"

"A few days? That would cover for their silence, and as long as it doesn't interfere with their implants or ability to breathe and such." Mac shook her head, "All right, but put them near their greenhouses, but out of the way of construction." He leaned over the two ship's slaves; "I'm holding you two _personally_ responsible for them, and I'll tell your Captain that." His wrist comm beeped again, and he told Eleanor and Marie, "You two do what they say, I'll look for you there. I've got to go, and remember, Dr. Lopez has saved your settings." He grabbed his things and was out the door.

Somewhat nervously, Eleanor looked at Mac and Brittany, who was working at the replicator. Mac smiled at them, "Don't worry. This is something we've both worn many times. For now, stand up, I want to see your hair long enough to sweep the ground behind you." She keyed open the two med-tanks, "Another … meter, I think. It should only take a few minutes."

* * *

'_More like five feet than a meter_,' Eleanor thought as she studied herself in the mirror. She thought she made a bloody attractive slave wench, even though her 'royally' long hair would be a bloody pain to keep clean. Still, she looked good, her eyes told her from above the feeding gag. The black leather fit tightly around her lower head, with the ring of a chain leash now resting on her collarbone, doubling down between her breasts. Her collar glowed green and yellow, the artificially faded white scars of her brands contrasted nicely on her tanned thigh, and the light blue ends of her white hair covered her hands, held behind her with black steel. '_Yes, I'm a bloody good-looking slave wench. I'd buy me_!' she thought to herself in the privacy of her mind. She turned away from the mirror, kneeling next to the door, knees properly spread. '_At least a ten-kilo girl_!' she thought.

"Stand up. Turn slowly so we might inspect you, then kneel as gracefully as you can." Brittany instructed the two disguised Terrans. They did so, and she looked them over critically. Mac commented, "They haven't been sold. It shows in their movements, as does their lack of training."

"True. They are trying, but they are still raw slaves," Brittany agreed. "Were they my slaves, I would put them into a proper slave house for training. Their price will improve dramatically with it." She told the two girls, "You thought it was enough to be pretty and wear a collar? No. You hope to fool a professional slaver, one whose business is buying and selling slaves. You need to feel the block under your feet, to be sold at auction, to kneel in a slave market and offer yourselves. Once you have been sold a few times, you will know yourself slave instead of pretending to be one. In our scenario, you still hope your father will reclaim you; that you will return to your previous place in court. That will not happen, but you refuse to believe that."

"Fifteen hundred grams each," Mac said. "Only that high because of royalty. Otherwise, I would buy two untrained, raw exotic slaves like these at no more than six hundred grams each."

"Agreed," Brittany said, pulling them to their feet by their leashes. "To be convincing slaves, they need training and to be sold a few times. We shall secure them as their master wished. Come, slaves."

* * *

Marie and Eleanor, now slaves 11642 and 11641, knelt, neck-ringed at one side of their now-joined greenhouses, which were being expanded. To one side was a suction station, they had watched several slave girls use it, and had been examined by them, with poor results. They had received some sympathy for their 'untrained' state from their collared sisters, several sharing stories about their own slave training. They had been suctioned as well, when they had been re-secured by the slaves, their hair and posture had been redone, with the two now being 'stretched' as they knelt, the neck rings tight under their chins.

As evening fell, foot traffic for their out-of-the-way location dropped off, and night-time animals emerged, such as the small local 'meepers' and 'caits', the planet's equivalents of feral mice and cats, who came over to sniff them as new, then moved off on the far more important business of hunting a meal. Without a moon in orbit, the night was far darker than a Terran night would have been; but the colorful gas clouds and stars of the nebula helped to compensate.

Eleanor turned, she smelled tobacco smoke and something else, something sweet, and saw an approaching figure. Marie was distracted by a cait that was sniffing her crotch under her white slave tunic; it apparently found the steel of her slave belt fascinating. The figure stopped next to a pile of lumber, there was a faint glow from the embers in his pipe's bowl as he watched the small creature investigate the bound slaves, it had moved on to examine Eleanor's belt, and its tongue tickled her; she tossed her head and tried shifting her legs, but it wasn't deterred.

"I believe you are better with that than a wabbit," he finally drawled as he approached the two bound slaves. The cait startled away, retreating a few meters but still watching. His boots crunched on the mixed gravel and mulch surface; the slaves' collar lights and the small light over the suction station the only real lights in the darkness. They could see the figure of a tall man with a wiry build; Eleanor detected the cultured tones of Oxford and upper class England in his voice. On his left wrist, they could see the small lights of a wrist comp, he crouched and asked, "Now what are you two doing out here at this time of night, when you should properly be in a cell? Did someone forget you?"

With a small click, he removed a small tool and waved it over their left thighs, then their throats and collars. Replacing it, he stood, taking a pace away and consulted his wrist comp. He drawled, "Interesting. I had thought to perform a civic duty and return you both to proper security, sending a note to your master so he shan't worry. After all, you are privately owned slaves, collared and bound as such. However, your implants and collars do not record the identity of your owner, nor do they record the crimes you have committed to earn your judicial collars or the penalty brands you wear so fetchingly on your thighs. We have a mystery, and I do so love a mystery; it brightens up my dreary days. Still, as the saying goes, I have taken the Queen's shilling and eaten of her biscuit, I shall do as she requests. Do not wander off, now."

He retreated a few steps, calling up the faint glow of a virtual keyboard, and working at it for a few minutes. He collapsed it and the visual display, putting his kit back together; then working at his pipe. The slaves could see the reflections on the small metal can he stored his tobacco in, and with the flare of an old-fashioned kitchen match on the sole of his boot, he got it working again, puffing away as he thought, leaning against the stack of lumber. Eventually, he stood upright, and approached the two slaves again, leaning over to release their hands. As he did so, he commented, "You are untrained, what are called 'raw' slaves. While someone who clothed and bound you owns you, that person did not bother to so mark his property. Neither your collars nor your hip implants display who your owner is, they are blank. You do not show up as registered slaves, nor did your master declare you to Crown Customs upon arrival, nor pay the appropriate taxes and license fees to the Exchequer. As a loyal servant of the Crown, I feel it my duty to confiscate you in the name of the Crown as lost, abandoned, and possibly illegally imported property. You may submit to me as slaves of the Crown, your previous owner may submit a claim through the courts for title to you."

Eleanor shook her head, 'No'. She didn't know why things had gone pear-shaped, but they had, and she couldn't allow herself to be taken away from Bill Morton.

"That wasn't a request, slaves," the tall figure said. "You are unclaimed property, subject to claim by the first bloke that wanders by. I am claiming you for the Crown, you will submit." Marie looked at Eleanor; then both girls shook their heads. "Very well, I do not know why you refuse, but you should know better than to be disobedient." He keyed his wrist comp, and their collars erupted in agony.

He ended it after what seemed like a minute or so; then repeated, "Submit to the Crown, slaves." Eleanor and Marie eyed each other; then once again shook their heads in refusal. "Foolish slaves, I am not claiming you for myself, or to sell you. You will belong to the Crown eventually, unless your owner is an off-world ship's captain, and I know of none presently here. If you believe you will be returned to an abusive master, you will not. All slaves will become the property of the Crown in a few weeks time in any case. Submit to the Crown, slaves!"

They once again eyed each other, then once again refused, and once again paid the price for their disobedience with their collars. The Terran sighed, "Foolish, foolish slaves. I am trying to save your lives, if I leave you here anyone may wander by and claim you. Do you wish to wind up in some bizarre medical experiment, or pulling a plow?" He crouched down and examined them closely, then focused on Eleanor, rubbing his chin. "You look ... recognizable. You are not bred slaves ... (they shook their heads) ... have you ever been to Terra?" They nodded, and he asked, "When free?" and they nodded again. He regarded them, and then pulled out a wand, asking, "Do you know what this is?"

Marie nodded, looked around; and then conjured a small ball of fire, while Eleanor reached back, extracting a small wand from her hairpiece and showed it, writing 'Wand' in midair, then wiping it and writing 'Hogwarts', which she also wiped.

"Put that away ... no, on second thought, give the wand to me," he hissed. "Foolish slave, any personal property on you will be confiscated when I turn you in. I'll return it to you later, when I can." Eleanor glared at him, and he sighed, "You _were_ Eleanor Branstone and Marie Laval. My apologies. Sir Walter Cuthbert, Slytherin 1969. The two of you are tied up in Mr. Morton's foolish scheme to take the slave ship." He crossed his arms as they nodded; "Slaves, and you must become adjusted to being addressed as such, haven't you noticed that slaves don't bind their hair? We shall need to formulate a way for you to carry a wand..." He tapped his chin in thought, musing, "The slave tunics are right out, as are any sort of ankle or wrist holster. Even with a disambiguation spell, they would be felt when you were bound. How to smuggle a wand on a nude girl..." He took a step, releasing the two girls, and ordering them, "Stand and strip, slaves. Hands behind your heads and turn slowly." He watched them dispassionately; then said, "Stop. Arms behind you, palm to palm, elbows together." He adjusted their posture, "Shoulders back, chin down, chest out. Maintain that."

He took a few steps to the construction site's pile of supplies and rubbish, lighting it with an absent '_Lumos_', then extracted a few thin lengths of rebar and some aluminum mesh. He returned, snapping his fingers, "Slave, come here and hold this in place on the other. Be careful, I'll be using a cutting charm on steel."

Marie held it on Eleanor, as steel and aluminum was cut and fashioned with a few flicks of his wand. He nodded in satisfaction; then stepped back. "Slave ... 11641, these are your new cuffs. Bring your arms together, then snap your elbows into them, and then your wrists." Eleanor did, and he showed Marie, "I shall order a wand measurement kit from Hamburg tomorrow, when it arrives we shall test the both of you and order metal wands from Germany. I presume Morton has your other wands?" Both girls nodded.

"The Ollivander wands are wood-based, and would raise questions with slaves being confined with steel and metal. A metal wand..." he placed his wooden wand in the aluminum frame as illustration, "... will fit in, and we can arrange it so it is an unauthorized release for your cuffs. Are they comfortable?" he asked, releasing her. She knelt, twisting at the waist and fingering the cuffs that were attached to her slave belt. She waved a hand, and he passed his wand to her. She waved the wand over the new cuffs, then used the wand-writing charm, '_Comfortable, but sharp edges; gag feels loose. Please tighten_.' Marie stepped forward, tightening it, and Cuthbert reclaimed his wand. "Your turn, slave 11642. Slave 11641, you may resume your tunic."

* * *

The two slaves moved apart, suctioning each other as Cuthbert looked over the supplies, then turned to regard them. 11642 tapped her collar, and he said, "Yes, I'm still going to turn you in, and I'll keep as close an eye on you as I can." Both slaves nodded, and eyed each other, then knelt and crossed their wrists to him. He gripped their wrists briefly, "In the name of the Crown, I accept your submission as Crown slaves." Cuthbert commented, "Morton's plan is doomed to fail, and if you participate, you're likely to wind up as part of the pot. By placing you in a slave-processing centre as escaped slaves from Island, it resolves several problems. I shall place a request for you for the greenhouses. If our timing is correct, we shall receive the measurement kit in two weeks, by this time you should be out of the centre. We will then mail-order your wands, so within a month or two, you should be able to carry a wand, disguised as your bonds."

Marie looked around, then fire-wrote a Euro sign (€) along with a question mark. "They are part of your equipment in brewing potions, the colony shall cover the expense." Marie nodded, then gestured for Eleanor to stand, and for the wand. Cuthbert passed it to her, and she quickly fire-wrote, '_Bells are steel, interfere with some potions_.' With a few waves of the wand, she transfigured the bells from wrist and elbow to Eleanor's ankles; then handed the wand over so her bells could be fixed. As Cuthbert was doing so, he commented, "Mr. Morton has ignored more sensible plans, just like his son, who by all accounts is also stubborn, inflexible, and arrogant."

Eleanor nodded emphatically, and the Terran snorted. "As I recall, you're a Hufflepuff, you were watching the Entrance Hall when I arrived for the Grand Council last year." Eleanor nodded again, and Sir Cuthbert said, "You are both most attractive slaves. However, slaves are precisely ALL you are at the moment, when Morton collared you, as I said by law Marie and Eleanor ceased to exist. We do not know why Morton decided to mark you as judicial slaves, or with so many penalty brands, especially without the details, but it complicates freeing you immensely." He sighed, "Morton is, by all accounts, a decent, honorable man, and an excellent administrator in the American navy. I can understand his coming up with this plan, what I cannot understand is why he did not consult someone else with covert experience." He started off, waving for them to follow him; then said, "Hufflepuffs are regarded as practical. I will give you my word that I shall do my utmost to protect the two of you. I do not know at this time if that will include your manumission or the removal of your collars. At the moment, my protection is all I shall guarantee, and your immediate future may involve some pain on your part; I regret that, but we must also keep the existence of Zarroji secret. That must take priority."

They nodded, and he continued, "On your part, you must be obedient slaves, and we'll have you undergo basic slave training, you will be unusual without it. My understanding is that it involves physical fitness, you must have heard comments regarding your need for this." Eleanor nodded as he continued, "Slaves are kept physically fit, so the two of you shall as well. In addition, the basic slave training involves basic commands, movements and such, much as military basic training. Elder Baasht's slave farm had training by sadists; they have been closed down and are not employed by us. Indeed, several of them are wearing collars themselves." Marie nodded, and he continued, "You shall perspire, but that has never killed anyone. I shall mention that this planet requires a Slaver's Guild licensed slave house for the maintenance of various licenses, there is a possibility of your needing to repeat this training, or shipping slaves such as yourselves off-world. We shall see how events unfold, there are several options being considered at the moment."

* * *

"Terry, where you taking those two slaves?" the beat guard said. "It's long past penalty."

"I found them hiding near my quarters, they're more escaped off-world slaves from Island," he replied easily. "I'll turn them in to the Crown, that way I have first claim on their leases."

"Bring them into the light," and with a yank on their leashes, the guard examined them closely. "Not bad," she remarked. "You can tell they're untrained. Baasht was dumping untrained off-world slaves on the market for a long while, a lot of places like that brickworks bought them up. Cheap labor, no one cared a spit about them. They're slaves." She moved closer, "Now, Terry, I got a friend, workin' on drug experiments, she could use a couple cheap slaves. I'll give you two hundred grams, Tungsten metal, right now for them, you don't have to walk all that way. I sell them to her for 225, I make a little bit, you make a lot more, they're found money, and if you happen to find more slaves in your garden, I'm here most nights."

"You would sell them to her for 400," Cuthbert replied. "No deal. They're worth more than that."

"I'll go 400 to you, it's all I got on me now," the guard said, and spun her nightstick. "Either way, I get the slaves, or you get a beating, Terry. You're not even armed..."

"I find it interesting that you're wearing a slave collar yourself," Sir Cuthbert said. "Move on, I'm not interested in selling the slaves. Continue waving that baton and I'll tie you to one end and force the other end up your arse."

"Oh, yeah?" the guard asked. "You and who else?"

* * *

Sir Cuthbert stepped back and regarded the former guard as his two (temporary) slaves finished tying her ankles to the split-rail fence. He had indeed broken the nightstick, using one end to decorate the former guard's arse, as promised, and the second, longer bit had been driven into the ground, her wrists crossed and tied by the small finger in that position to the ribbed end of the nightstick. On her back he had written '_Attempted slave theft, drug conspiracy. Submitted to the Crown for re-collaring and punishment_;' and had shorn her hair, so her collar was plainly visible. The sleeves of her uniform dress had served to gag and blindfold her; the rest had been tossed in a fire. "Well, slaves, shall we go?" Sir Cuthbert asked his two.

* * *

Eleanor (he thought) motioned back at the bound girl that had tried to steal them, and waved her hand like she held a wand.

"A minor compulsion spell to tell all she knows about her criminal past to someone wearing a red uniform and black hat," he replied. "Yes, I am aware of your boyfriends, both of them, and will inform them of what I know." He straightened his necktie, then fussed with the two slaves' appearance, mentioning, "One must first _be_ a slave, officially, before one can be an officially freed slave." He stepped back, "Cuff yourselves, and become downcast, as your attempt at freedom has failed, and you are once more defeated slave girls who know nothing of magic, and zarroji are only mythical beings."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, October 19, 2002: 08:23 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Breast Cancer race start: ****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Mattie waved, and the reporter moved over, her cameraman in tow. "Emily! Long time! I still owe you an interview."

"Well, I doubt you'll be running today," the reporter replied, motioning to her wheelchair and cast. "Good morning, Mr. Morton," she said to Arthur, who was pushing the wheelchair. "When would be good for you?"

"Would a quick one today satisfy the bet?" Mattie asked with a grin. "I didn't think so. Why don't we…"

"Excuse me, Comrade Wayne," a man interrupted, shoving through the crowd. "You do not have time for that. I have orders to shoot you; your mother will be billed."

"I always thought that was an urban legend," Arthur said, looking at the uniformed troops that had materialized, and now surrounded them, alternating facing in and out. He eyed a trooper that watched him, assault rifle at port arms. "Any particular reason for those orders?" He shifted to keep an eye on the shocked reporter and her more clear-headed cameraman, who had his camera up and running. Crystal and Steve, both in wolf form, tensed, growling softly.

"Comrade Wayne has embarrassed the People's Republic, and must pay the price for her foolishness," he replied, expressionless. "Such are my orders from Beijing, and they will be obeyed. Please stand aside, Comrade Morton."

"I'm not dying sitting in a wheelchair," Mattie snarled. "Arthur, help me up, please. I die on my feet."

"Do you wish assistance?" the PLA officer asked politely. He stepped back at her glare, drawing his sidearm.

"I wouldn't, mate," a SO-1 officer said, his own weapon drawn and aimed. "You and your lot are under arrest."

"We are here with diplomatic immunity," the officer replied. "Once our task here is done, we shall withdraw in good order to the embassy." His weapon came up; thumb flicking off the safety …

… Crystal and Steve launched themselves at him, as Mattie pivoted on her left leg, using the cast as support as her right leg came up and around …

… Arthur swept his wand across the ring of troops, some of whom were raising their rifles, shouting '_Stupefy Maximus_!' as the Chinese officer went down under the werewolf attack, and a Chinese sergeant shouted "Do not shoot!" at the troops while people started to realize what was happening. Screams started to be heard as Arthur cast '_Protegro Metallicus_' on the two of them.

The BBC cameraman would be nominated for a Pulitzer as someone fired, Emily sensibly hit the dirt, and runners started, misinterpreting the gunshot for the starting gun.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, October 19, 2002: 16:06 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, St. Mary's hospital, 4****th**** floor sunroom: ****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Right, you two," Steve said under the privacy spell. "We are laying down the law to you, and I want Wizard's Oaths from the both of you."

Crystal crossed her arms and nodded in agreement. "Nothing too stressful. We know you don't like having security, Mattie, but this should be a thump on the head. You have a big, powerful enemy here with the People's Republic, who apparently doesn't give a bloody damn about public opinion. They see themselves as insulted, you've pricked their pride, and they will have their liter of blood and kilo of flesh – _yours_. Therefore you _will_ (she paused to glower) call either Steve or myself before you leave a secure location like work or Hogwarts. That includes public appearances, job fairs, running in road races, or even just your normal daily runs around school. If you cannot get in touch with us, _you don't go_. Is that clear?"

"Thank you," Arthur said, and Steve turned to him, "You're coming up, bucko. We're not finished yet." He turned back to Mattie, "Now, if that means you run late to something, too bloody damn bad. You'll be late. We understand you don't want to be a distant Queen; you want to be approachable by the common folk. Very noble and all, but don't _you_ forget that mad Green bint, who attacked you with her bloody gorram _fingernails_." He gave them both a glower; then continued. "Should you want to have a bit of privacy, you're a young couple, that's fine. If you want to have a nice, surprise romantic dinner or walk along the river, or go shopping, that's fine. Just tell us ahead of time, we'll set it up, and those are the only surprises we'll keep." He looked at Arthur; "I know you've wanted to get some alone - time. Let us know, with as much advance notice as you can, and we'll be both discreet and secure."

"You," Crystal said, looking at Mattie, "Have mentioned to me the need for Christmas shopping, both in the Alleys and in London. If you already know what and where, let us know, we'll pick it up and have it wrapped, and let Gringotts handle the money." She raised a finger, "I know, it takes the fun out of shopping. If you want to go shopping with a gaggle of your girl chums, that's wonderful, we'll provide transport and security, and leave our poor blokes like Steve here watching the cars and looking at their watches." She grinned, then turned to Arthur, "Speaking of which," she made a 'gimme' motion, "Your pocket watch, please."

"I need this, and what about your own personal lives?" he asked. She simply gazed at him, and twitched her fingers again. He reluctantly unclasped the watch chain from his vest, and handed it over.

"Very good. We'll have you both trained properly in a flash," she replied with a smile. "You'll have it back in a day or so. Regarding our own lives, we thank you, and there will be days that we won't be available, for instance the full moons, or for the dentist or whatnot. However, you'll know about it, because we'll tell you, and either Steve or I will be available. Now, if that means that you stay at Hogwarts whilst Steve tramps about with Mattie, that's what happens." She shifted her gaze to her principal subject, "That also means that he'll go into the ladies' loo and stand outside the stall if need be, or I'll be following you into the gents'. One of us will always be within arm's length, and more coppers, and security, and 'wolves will be within a few meters."

"Security is also stepped up around your kin as well," Steve added. "That means increasing the wards around Hogwarts, Arrowhead, and the Cauldron, as well as physical security. When Bill goes out to run with you in the morning, he'll have an escort, and the town's police force have gotten a nice grant toward more motorcycle coppers, as well as other things you needn't know. You may not see it, but it's there. We are making certain of that."

Arthur sighed, "Thank you, that was worrying me. What about my family in Columbus, like mom, and my sisters?"

Crystal smiled, "Handled, through the Uni and also Teela's school, and the city coppers. Teela will have a ride each day, no more bicycling or taking the bus, and your mum will have a plain police car in close with others on call. Henry and Misty, a wonderful young couple, will also have close-in security as well as a personal alarm." She showed her panic button on the waistband of her skirt. "I will be flooing over to see your mum and rellies, Mattie, and go over security with them, taking into account your … family ties." She sat back, templing her fingers, and Mattie's suspicions were confirmed when she gestured with a finger, "For instance, your Ring, and your associations with the members of the JLA, and … others. Steve and I know of them, others will not. We are moderately satisfied with your possessing an item that can crack planets open, although we would like to see the both of you with one…"

"Then you know that I've been trying to give it back to those pigheaded..." Mattie snapped; then addressed her Ring, "Oh, be quiet. I'm referring to the Guardians, not you." She took the Ring off her finger, "All right. No Praetorian Guard, though."

"No, but an Imperial Guard, perhaps," Steve said, and took out his own wand. "I'll take a Wizard's Oath on that," and Crystal nodded, drawing her own as well. "Do we have a bargain?"

"In a minute," Arthur said. He tented his fingers, "Part of my job, if you will, is to serve as Mattie's moral and ethical touchstone. Now, she doesn't always follow my advice, but she does listen to it." Mattie smiled, and he continued, "What happens if we conflict?"

"We'd have to talk it over," Crystal said. "Our objective here is to keep you safe. That shouldn't conflict, however if I see you about to commit murder I'm definitely saying something." She smiled slightly. "You'd be surprised what goes on. As you're both underage, if you were to try to buy liquor (both teenagers shuddered), I'd mention this, but wouldn't stop it, nor would I stop a Bobby giving you a ticket. Were you to cast an Unforgivable, I'd stop you."

"However, I plan on teaching the both of you how to apparate," Steve said. "You're both underage for the Ministry license, but in this case, bugger them. You're not dying because some Ministry clerk hasn't his forms filled out in triplicate."

"My Gryffindor soul is horrified at the thought," Crystal said with a smile. "I'll ask Professor Harry about teaching you to get through wards. He and Dumbledore are the only ones that can apparate through Hogwart's wards. I just wish we could get the elves to teach you how to pop."

"They only teach one person per generation, and I had to pull strings to get them to teach Anne Bundy," Mattie said. "I'll introduce you to Hogwarts' Chief Elf, and you can negotiate with him, but I'm not making promises." She regarded the three of them, obviously running through permutations, then said, "I want a condition, though. The agreement can be modified upon a later date, but only if all four of us agree, and keep an open mind. Conditions will almost certainly change."

"Slythie," Steve said with a grin. "I thought I was the Ravenclaw here. Agreed." He looked at the others, who nodded agreement, Arthur popping his wand out. Tilting his wand forward until it touched the other's tips, he said, "I, Steven Tannis Wright…"

"…Arthur Donald Morton…"

"…Helena Martha Wayne…"

"…Angelique Crystalline Evans…"

"…do agree on my magic to this. So mote we all." A ripple of magic flowed down the wand shafts and outlined their bodies for a moment before vanishing. They sat back, and Arthur asked, "Angelique Crystalline?"

"Spare me," Crystal said. "Mum was barking mad about tennis when I was born. Donald." He winced suitably and she smiled.

* * *

"Next item," Mattie said under the privacy spell. "We need to get Nos Scisio and the Spider girls handled ASAP. Since I'm grounded, and Arthur's briefed in and read the warning email, he gets to go shut them down. They deserve to be told why face-to-face." She tossed her Ring to him; then tapped her wand on the back of her neck, and a leather harness appeared.

"A mokeskin harness? Lord knows why, but the Ministry has that listed as a semi-Dark device, which, officially, I don't see," Steve said as Mattie shrugged out of it.

"I've stopped trying to figure out the Ministry," she replied, and glanced at Arthur. "Maybe the Pimpernel should visit the Minister, just to let him know he's being watched. Some of the recent activity… anyway, the left bag has my camera, lenses and other things; there's a zip lock bag with extra batteries and memory cards. Red are used, green unused. I haven't gotten around to recasting the waterproofing and featherweight spells, by the way. The right bag has my Battery and other miscellaneous toys; remember, ten seconds for a charge. One Mississippi, Two Mississippi…" Arthur nodded as she pushed it across the table to him. As he shrugged into it, she asked, "Think you'll have any problems?" She shook her finger at her Ring, which Arthur now wore, "You take good care of him now!"

"I just tell the Ring which star system to go to? That easy?"

"Well... concentrate on moving, it helps... You should be able to get to Eridani without problems." She sat back and regarded him; "I'll ask Superman to meet you there tomorrow morning. He's wanted to see what's going on at Windfall, and he'll make sure you get there safely, while I stay here and provide a nice, noisy distraction. Give my love to your Dad and Elena. Do me a favor, let them wave your wand around, see how many sparks they get. That's such a useful item, and I'm thinking Christmas presents to them." She gave him a one-armed hug, then "Gwan, get out of here." Steve dropped the spell, and they hurried off, as she looked around, calling, "Emily!" Mattie waved, and the reporter glared at the Bobbie, "May I?"

"You don't give out her location," the SO-1 agent said. "Taped, not live, and we'll stop it when we feel it's risking her safety."

She nodded, and he stepped aside, grudgingly. Emily made her way through the second ring of suspicious werewolves, finally taking a seat next to Miss Wayne (who was speaking softly to a young blonde woman) as her camera guy set up. "You all right, luv?" she asked.

"We are," Mattie replied. "Arthur's off dealing with the relatives and the security people, and I'm here for 'observation' (she finger-quoted). "My roomie's parents and relatives are in the room, she's just been through her first chemo treatment, so I thought I'd give them some privacy." She gestured to the wall TV, "I'm back in the news."

"Well, anything you can tell me?"

"On background," and Emily nodded. "Well, the slave ship that started this whole mess? They made enough tungsten to pay off their mortgage, even if they couldn't keep their slaves. While we gained a lot of nice intel, we had to give the equipment and the ship back. Grey Ecstasy's been added to our Class II listing, but it wasn't there before, so…" she shrugged. "Ipso facto. Unfortunately, the Grey Ecstasy was accidentally destroyed in a medical-grade incinerator."

"Accidentally?" Emily finger-quoted as well.

"Yep. A reprimand," (finger-quoted again), "will be inserted into their file, and they will be sent for two weeks of 'retraining' to one of our facilities." She tented her fingers. "It is indeed unfortunate that Polynesia is currently in the rainy season. Still, they'll have to suffer through."

* * *

"I'm going to take ruthless advantage of our mutual status of 'walking wounded', Miss Wayne," Emily said, holding up her own bandaged left arm with a smile. Her camera guy focused on her as she asked, "You've been spending a good bit of time and money on shipbuilding; you have a fairly good-sized orbital dock."

"Aside from the orbital dock, we've got the platforms at L4 and L5 for extraction and supply, and two lunar based shipyards in Copernicus and Archimedes craters, as well as orbital assembly and fitting out docks," Miss Wayne replied. "There are some things that are just easier to do in gravity, like pulling wire, painting and laying carpet. The ships we're designing and building are sectional, like the US and Royal Navy build their warships, and then they're lifted into orbit and assembled." She grinned, "A ship is a huge, three dimensional jigsaw puzzle that has to fit to micrometer tolerances. Once all the sections are welded together, the ship's moved to the fitting-out dock for things like furniture, sheets and towels, and tableware."

"That's all well and good, Miss Wayne," Emily commented. "Why warships, instead of civilian ships?"

"We're building civilian ships for both in-system uses, to build and service the mining and extraction platforms in the asteroid belt, as well as ship carriers to export those service ships to other systems in the Empire," she smiled. "After all, the materials have to get from the outer system to the inner system in order for them to be of use." She sipped at her Styrofoam cup of water, "With warships, that takes a bit of background," Mattie said, easing her leg into a more comfortable position. She continued, "First, we've been broadcasting radio since what, 1910 or so, and television since 1950?"

"About that," Emily agreed.

"Those broadcasts are in a sphere, radiating out from Earth, so someone on a planet orbiting Alpha Centauri A, which is 4.4 light years away, is right now watching our TV from July 1998. Believe me, our shows and soap operas are extremely popular, I've seen Terran TV broadcasts on Epsilon Eridani, which is ten and a half light years away, so they're watching _Dallas_ to see who shot JR."

Emily chuckled, "Wouldn't there be a language difficulty?"

"It's dubbed into Trade, and the mistranslations can be amusing. Now, I'm sure you remember back in March, when the Wizarding World was unmasked by that French terrorist? That had wide TV coverage, which means that our viewer on Kentaurus will see those broadcasts in July, 2006, and Eridani in August, 2012."

Warily, Emily nodded, and Miss Wayne continued. "Now, for your average, ordinary man-in-the-street, witches and wizards are mythical beings known as zarroji, that's the plural. Singular is zarroj. The mythical zarroji haven't been seen, nobody's sure they even exist. However, they are reputed to have a wide range of powers and abilities, like creating things out of thin air (she reached out to pluck a large gold coin from Emily's ear, walking it across her knuckles), flying without machines, and so forth." Emily nodded again, and Miss Wayne continued, "There's not even any description of a zarroj, because the actual planet Zarroj and its people are reclusive, like those Tibetan monks you see in movies. However, the last fool that tried to invade them, or even visit them, got kicked out, and they weren't gentle. That was roughly half a million years ago, they don't like visitors, they don't want visitors, and they mean it."

"So they've had time to become those mythical figures. I find the time scale somewhat … off-putting, though."

"There are species, people that live for millions or billions of years, like the Guardians of Oa. Galactic civilization has been around for at least that long. Please remember, the dominant ethos of that civilization seems to be 'me first'. As such, if you suddenly had evidence, video of actual, live zarroji, you'd want to control them, own them, have them in your slave collar, and I've seen TV commentators discussing our system defenses, or rather, lack of them."

Miss Wayne sat back, tenting her fingers as Emily followed the logic chain.

"Another invasion," she said. "But how do we know that will happen?"

"Several reasons," Miss Wayne replied. "First, we have to make the most pessimistic assumptions. Isn't it better to have a Solar Guard, a Navy, and _not_ need it?" Emily nodded reluctantly, "Secondly, you'll remember the slaver that was buying those Chinese women? We were forced to let him go, without those girls or those drugs, and he wasn't happy. We watched him leave; he had his active sensors on; so he was recording all our system defenses, such as they are, all the way to the warp limit. What's to stop him from selling that information, and our location, to the highest bidder?"

"Nothing," Emily reluctantly admitted. "Some people will … please, go on."

"Will have their heads in the sand? If it doesn't agree with their particular outlook, it just doesn't exist?" Mattie snorted. "Those people are in for a rude awakening, and we both know people like that, or who preach that world view for their own reasons." She waved that off, "Third, the Guardians of Oa, who run the Green Lantern Corps, do _not_ like magic. They see it as a threat, and they are not as pure as the driven snow, like people think. They are insanely powerful as individuals, not someone you want as an enemy." She tented her fingers, "While I'll admit that they've got a good track record for keeping peace over the millennia, they've screwed up too. For instance, there's the example of Ysmault, which is on the far side of the galaxy." She reached over to the small side table, taking another sip of water. "The Ysmaulti were a magic using species similar in some ways to us. Magic was known to exist but was rare enough that technology had to develop as well, which in turn spurred development of more advanced magic."

She took another sip of water, "Their version of Hitler conquered the planet and began building an interstellar empire using both magic and technology. The Guardians didn't like that, so they sent Lanterns in to help the planets in the path of the Ysmaulti expansion, and they weren't gentle. The light from the supernovae set off then won't reach Earth for another 30,000 years or so. Ysmault's sun survived, but all life on the planet was destroyed by orbital bombardment. Surviving Ysmaulti were hunted down and killed without exception. By the time the genocide was well under way, the Green Lanterns involved in the war had all been assigned other, and admittedly important, tasks or they'd been killed."

Emily's jaw dropped. "The Guardians of Oa committed … genocide?"

"I'm saying they aren't someone you want as an enemy. An Oan Power Ring is capable of cracking planets open, and the Lanterns wearing them are loyal to the Guardians, not their home worlds. The Lanterns and the Guardians themselves can go toe-to-toe with Superman, they don't like magic, and I'm sure the next question you'll have is what's keeping me, or the Empire, from going down that road."

"Well, yes."

"Terran based magic has limitations. I won't go into them, but they do exist. Technologically, we're not yet at the galactic level, we don't yet understand the science behind what we do have. We're copying, and that's always more difficult than creating a technology. It's like giving a medieval blacksmith a machine gun. He could, with a lot of work, duplicate it, but he wouldn't _understand_ it. We've got a lot of textbooks and other scientific data, and that's part of our ongoing research contracts with companies and universities, but we still need to understand the basics." She cocked her head, "Understand me?"

"Um…"

"Let's go back a bit. The first missile weapons were sharpened sticks. You threw them at the animal you were hunting, or jabbed them into it, and if you were really, really lucky, it was a mortal wound and you could eat. That progressed to stone arrowheads, and yes, that's where the company name comes from." Miss Wayne grinned, "Progression to straightened sticks, and suddenly those arrows became a lot more effective in hunting. Along about this time you have the beginnings of metalworking, with bronze and iron arrowheads, and different designs for those weapons. Then there's fletching the arrows, and the invention of crossbows and long bows. Then the ancient Chinese come along with gunpowder…"

"So, we're … Bronze age?"

"I'd say we're about to crack gunpowder. However, if someone comes along with more sophisticated weapons, like, oh, a chemical weapon, or even a machine gun, we're toast. That's why we have intelligence personnel out; we're working as hard as we can to copy those weapons as well as to understand them, and to build our defenses. Right now, we're building a wooden palisade around our town, and hoping that someone doesn't come along with cannon to blow holes in it." She took another sip of water, "Politically, the Empire is a combination of parliamentary democracy and constitutional monarchy. The monarchy provides continuity, there are checks and balances, he or she doesn't have to run for office every so many years, so they can make the politically unpopular decisions that are best for the Empire as a whole, but the politicians want to avoid. They can blame the monarch. The individual planets elect someone to the Imperial Assembly, which also has checks and balances, such as term limits. On the planetary scale, for those that don't already have some sort of legislature, there's a planetary assembly and an Imperial Governor as executive."

"Fourth, this system has not one, but two habitable planets, Earth and Mars, and is roughly a Class Fourteen system. That means that there's a lot of extremely valuable real estate, and the tech level is easily overcome."

Emily shook herself, "What's a Class Fourteen planet?"

"The tech levels and general economies of various systems are on a logarithmic scale, which starts at ten and goes up. I say roughly fourteen because we're just now getting into larger usage of the system's natural resources, asteroid mining and so forth. For instance, our TV viewer on Eridani is living on a Class Eight world, with regular interstellar commerce. Tosul, which is several hundred light years away, is a Class Four world, and is a major interstellar port."

"If all you say is true…" Emily said. "What do we do?"

"The obvious thing is to build a system defense fleet that we can not only use here, but also deploy to other systems in the Empire. However, as you've noticed from covering the Royal Navy and Ministry of Defense, those aren't cheap. By spreading out the cost among the different systems in the Empire, we can not only grow the planetary economies, but have lower per-unit pricing and standardized layouts." She tented her fingers again, "Right now, we've got about two dozen starships in system, or related to us. Those ships were designed and built by just as many planets and builders, and every one of them has different control and station layouts. You've seen this when you've rented a car. Ford puts their headlight controls _here_, GM puts them _there_, and Toyota puts them over _there_ (she gestured)."

Emily nodded, "I've noticed that. So, what do we do?"

"Right now, we're doing a lot of R & D and design work. We're still having problems cracking three major subsystems, the jump drive itself, replicators and inertial compensation."

"I thought we had faster-than-light drives."

"There are differences in the two. What you're thinking of is grav drives, which we can build up to about 15,000 g, which is good for a missile, but converts anything living to a thin paste. We can use them, obviously at lower power settings, on in-system ships, so to go from Earth orbit to Titan would be a couple of weeks. This is where the compensator comes in, to go faster than that we need to dump that energy down to something down to a gee or less. The Cubans are doing a lot with gravity research, as well as supplying the majority of our medical personnel. However, they're not there yet."

Miss Wayne shifted in her wheelchair again, moving her cast-covered leg. "Jump drives take a whole lot more power, but they can go faster than light outside a star's warp limit, where the grav drives can't. For instance, to get to Epsilon Eridani, we'd use a grav drive to get past our warp limit, which is a bit past Mars' orbit and inside the asteroid belt..."

"I would think hitting an asteroid in that situation would be bad."

"I would agree. However, there are long odds against it, and you can simply continue on through the asteroid belt before you go into warp. After that, it's about an hour to cover those ten light years; you'll spend more time talking on the comm with their Port master's office. Now, we can copy those drives, but the copies don't work, and while we can build generators that will power them, and burn Fuel…"

"Fuel? I heard a capital letter in there."

"You did. It looks like grey road salt, and powers galactic ships, planets, and stations. Only four places produce it; they are the OPEC of the galaxy. We have roughly four thousand kilos of it in system, and one point of disagreement is why we're not using it."

"And the reason is?"

"What if we're embargoed or blockaded? We can't rely on an artificial, external material like that without having a way to produce it ourselves." Miss Wayne smiled, "Which is, of course, another research project."

"Of course. We can't use nuclear energy?"

Mattie shook her head. "No. Way more energy needed for a jump drive. This is total conversion of matter to energy. The grav drives use small nuclear plants; this is way beyond even fusion power."

Emily nodded. "Replicators, I believe you said?"

"Just like in the movies," Miss Wayne said with a smile. "Tanaka Heavy Industries is working on this; the last report I saw has them able to produce things like tableware, but not actual, edible food yet. However, in order to do that, the equipment is the size of a large room, like the early computers, and sucks up enough power to light a city block. A galactic replicator, on the other hand, not only produces food, clothing, and environmental gases like oxygen, it's the size of an industrial refrigerator and takes only a few hundred watts. Until then, we'll keep using hydroponic gardens on our ships and stations." She gave a small snort, "Probably even after. Replicated food just doesn't taste as good as fresh, even with top cooks producing the originals. Like a TV dinner instead of a home-cooked meal."

Nodding, Emily asked, "Finances. I understand you've sunk your own money into this."

"Yes, I'm actually poor as a church mouse," she replied with a grin, and Emily chuckled. "While Arrowhead and the Terran Empire is getting investment from various governments and private firms, we aren't a government, and don't have the ability to tax. That's a problem, getting the funding to build those ships, to deploy that Navy. Remember, a navy isn't just ships, it's also personnel, supplies, spare parts, bases and _their_ needs, and so forth."

Emily looked at her interview subject, "People are already nervous about the amount of power you have, they're thinking 'What if she wants to take over the planet?'. You've already said that you control the orbitals, are there weapons up there?"

Miss Wayne shook her head, "No, I don't want to be the all-powerful ruler of the entire planet." She leaned over to take another sip of water from her Styrofoam cup; then poured a refill for both of them. "I can understand their concerns, and the only weapons I have in orbit are lasers that are intended to zap orbital debris. They don't have the range or power to do anything other than zap something that might collide."

She cradled her cup in her hands, changing the subject. "Going back to finance, as you know from covering the Ministry of Defense, that Navy isn't cheap. Now, we've talked about this with various governments, and we're proposing they implement a simple flat tax…"

"What kind of tax rates are you talking about?"

"We've done some calculations, and based on Earth's planetary GNP, the Terran Empire would need about one percent per year from you. We're suggesting a flat tax, like your local property taxes, one rate for individuals, another for businesses, and there wouldn't be any exemptions. After all, an invader isn't going to care whether you're British or Chinese."

"True. What kind of money are we talking about?"

"I don't know what the Beeb pays you, Emily. We'll assume the average bloke pulls down £ 500 a week, which would be five pounds."

Emily replied, "That's not bad, the price of two beers in his local."

Mattie nodded, "Globally, the planetary GNP is 23 trillion, so one percent would be 230 billion. With a flat tax, your employer would send that in as part of the withholding on your salary. For your share of defending the planet, five pounds isn't something you'd miss."

"Still, 230 billion is an awful lot of money…"

Miss Wayne snorted, "Priced ships lately? Even a civilian ship; like a freighter? A Royal Navy destroyer runs about three million pounds; a big cruise ship can be over a billion, and that's where economies of scale come in. Producing a hundred of anything is going to be cheaper than producing one or two. We're starting small, with fighters and missile boats for system patrol and to work some of the bugs out, and get our personnel trained." She took a swallow of water, "Some people don't want to go out-system, they want to stay here and just defend the system. That's fine, that's why the Solar Guard was created. Don't forget, that also pays for bases, personnel, supplies, and so forth. We can cut some costs by using joint civilian/military bases and simply restrict access to certain areas."

She reached to a small side table for her cup of ice water, taking a swallow. "There are two ways to make money on vehicles. You keep them in service, if it's sitting in dock being loaded or unloaded, it's costing you money. That's why there's been such an increase of shipping with container shipping over break-bulk, and how Greywolf is planning on making money in shipping – other interstellar cargo lines still do break-bulk." She saw a question, and explained, "Break-bulk is what they did up through the late 1950s, with individual crates and barrels. Containers became standardized in 1970. Its much cheaper and faster to load and unload one container than a couple hundred crates, which is what our interstellar competition is doing with small freighters. They're using slaves to manually shift loads, instead of pallets and a forklift." She shook her head, "For what you'd pay for a couple of bred heavy labor slaves, you can buy a forklift. A forklift has greater capacity and range of motion than a slave, doesn't get sick and requires minimal maintenance. I've said before that Galactic society goes to 'good enough' and stops innovation."

She took another gulp of water, "Second way to make money is depreciation over the expected lifetime of the vehicle. There are ships out there on the Great Lakes that were built in 1910 or so, and while they've had new engines installed, they're still the same hull. We've got one ship, the _Cassidy Yates_, that's well over eight hundred years old. You've got jet airplanes that are forty, fifty years old like the B-52. You spend the time and money to maintain them."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, October 19, 2002: 18:03 (GMT)****  
****Eridani Prime port, private bay 1240: ****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"I can see why Mattie enjoys that," Steve said as they touched down outside the building. "It beats bloody hell out of a broom." He adjusted the younger boy's shirt collar, then held the door for Arthur, who walked into the lobby, asking the girl at the front desk, "I know it's kind of late, but we need to see Mr. Asher. I'm Arthur Morton, from Earth."

The girl blinked; then picked up her comm, "Master Asher? We have visitors from Earth."

* * *

"So that's what the situation is," Arthur said later to the assembled 'masters' and 'slaves'. "It's nothing on your performance, or the data you've collected. You've done a great job, but unfortunately we're going to have to close you down. We'll get you back to Eunomia and buy out the remainder of your contracts."

"You don't seem that unhappy," Akane said. "We, on the other hand, happen to like it here, even if some of us wear a collar."

"I've _never_ liked the idea of undercover slaves," he admitted. "On the other hand, objectively, you've done a great job in collecting information, and if there was some way to keep the place open, I'd certainly consider it. However, the political damage if the Red Chinese find out about you lot would be Bad. This way, we have deniability." He took a sip of his tea; "My next stop is Windfall, where we'll arrange to have a ship come by to pick you up. Figure at least a week or so for that."

"It's late, stay the night," Mike Asher said. "Admittedly, we're somewhat out of touch with what's happening back on Earth. Let us kick some ideas around tomorrow before you go flying off. I just hate to trash all the local contacts and relationships we've built up."

"Okay, I can see that," Arthur admitted. "I hope you guys can also see that after kicking up such a fuss about the Chinese selling their women into slave collars, it wouldn't be good for them to find out we're doing it ourselves, even if we're not actually."

"Yeah," Akane said. "We can see that. The problem is that if we come back as freed slaves with dark collars, our relationships would be totally different. We'd be 'the boss,' not one of 'the girls'."

"Y'see," Danielle started. "The girls we walk around with, that we share secrets and gossip with, that we're networked with, we'll lose that bond when we show up with a dark collar. Even if we become ship's slaves, we'll still lose that connection, just like Master Asher will need to rebuild his networks."

Holding up his hands, Arthur said, "I understand, and if you can come up with a solution, that's great. Unfortunately, this is a preventive measure, and even now, if they penetrate the setup, the Chinese can cause serious damage, even after you're closed down. So, let me know what you want to do after this." He covered a yawn, "Excuse me, please."

"The only thing that comes immediately to mind," Akane said. "The home office decides to close the branch office for whatever reason. Master Asher and the others get promoted, as company assets we're shipped back, along with furniture, vehicles, and other equipment. Master Asher puts the building on the local real estate market…"

"I thought the building was leased," Arthur said.

"No, we bought it, got a good deal too;" Mike replied. "I see where she's going with this. After a few months, the new, what was it, Terran Empire comes along, buys the building as a formal embassy, and of course, we don't have slaves. How are we as to hiring them, though? For catering, cleaning and so forth?"

"It's been done, but the slaves are paid wages," Arthur replied. He sat back, "Are you thinking of coming back here under a black organizational cover? Maybe with some biosculpt of the girls?"

"Company registered on another planet?" Danielle said. "Maybe Tosul? I hear they've got a lot of lawyers, they could do it."

"You would be slaves, then, I think," Mike said. "I'd need to check with a lawyer or three. For now, I think that's a good, flexible position. If the Chinese found out, you have someone on Earth take the fall, and the office is closed, assets sold off. You and Wayne have deniability, it never reached your level, and you terminated it when you found out about it. We pay a gratuity to the real estate agent to keep the property on the back burner for a few months; then you come along, buy this great deal, and set up an embassy."

Steve held up a hand, "That might be suspicious. Just overprice the property if you don't want to sell it, but an embassy would probably be in a fancier area. You're best to simply strip it to the bare walls and sell the local vehicles and whatnot here. The girls are company property and need to be signed off in a company warehouse as some bureaucratic red tape. They of course don't know that."

"Sounds workable, but let's sleep on it," Arthur said. "The soonest the ship could get here would be a week; ten days or so."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, October 19, 2002: 17:36 (GMT +1)****  
****Terra, Hamburg International Airport:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Dieter waited somewhat impatiently outside Lufthansa's arrival gate for flight 9389 from Heathrow. The flight was delayed slightly, and the hired limo was exceeding their budget, as was the hotel. The Grand Elysee's penthouse was reserved at €290 a night. Personally, he thought she would have been just as happy with a lesser priced hotel… He looked up as people started to leave the gate, and looked … yes, that had to be her. He moved forward, "Frau Sullivan? I am Dieter Blohm from the Hamburg office," he said in English, and gave a small bow with the reflexive heel click.

("Herr Blohm,") she replied in German, offering her hand. His eyebrow rose slightly as she continued, ("I am glad to be here, but there is no need to be formal. I am Christine.")

He said, "Your German is excellent, Frau Sullivan. I did not know you spoke it, and I am Dieter."

"Translator implant," she said, tapping her right jaw. "Frau Sullivan makes me sound old."

("Ach, I understand,") he replied, switching back to German. ("Christine, I would like to welcome you to Germany and Hamburg. We have a limo awaiting us, and we have booked you into a five-star hotel's penthouse…")

She shook her head, ("If I were a visiting engineer, would you have booked those? I think not. As the limo and hotel are already booked, we shall use them now, but I am perfectly happy with a cab or public transport, and the least expensive room.") She caught his relief, and smiled. ("Now, I want to shower, change, and relax for a bit before we go to work tomorrow. Can you recommend a good beer or two?")

("Christine,") he said with a slight smile. ("This is Germany. Let us fetch your luggage, and tomorrow we shall show you the U-Bahn, of which we are very proud.")

* * *

("I must say, Christine, that you are different than what I was expecting,") Dieter said, and waved off her reaching for her wallet. ("Nein, the difference between €290 and €95 will buy the beer. Besides, I am your host, it would not be _in ordnung_ for you to pay.") He waved to the waitress, "Zwei Döner, bitte." (Two doner, please.) He continued in English as the waitress approached, "This is something our Turkish workers imported, what the British call 'pub grub'." She put down the two open-faced sandwiches, smiled, and asked, "Noch ein Bier?" (Another beer?)

"Ja, bitte," Christine replied. "Zwei Maß weissbier, bitte." She switched back to English, "One of the questions I had was the availability of wizarding materials, plants and such."

"We have been looking into that," Dieter replied. "However, most such suppliers are rather small scale, due to the limited population. They also have a culture of secrecy, due to their …" the waitress arrived, putting down the two liter glasses of beer. She smiled and left, and he continued. "… due to their requirement to hide over the last few centuries. It will be available, just not in lots of a hundred thousand kilos. Probably in the next update to the catalog." He raised his glass, "Ah, a proper weissbier. I thought the Canadians did not know how to drink."

"You're thinking of the Yanks," she replied with a grin, touching her stein to his. "I have known a few Yanks that can keep up with our Germans and Russians. Beer is very popular on Windfall. One of the more popular requests is for brewing equipment and yeasts."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, October 20, 2002: 06:18 (GMT)****  
****Eridani Prime port, private bay 1240: ****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Akane was on desk duty when the front doorbell rang, and a figure in blue and red walked in. She looked up and her mouth dropped open in shock. "S… Superman?"

"Good morning," he said with a smile. "I'm meeting Mr. Morton and Mr. Wright, are they available?"

* * *

Mike Asher stood, "Our guests have to leave shortly, does anyone have any other suggestions than what we've talked about?" He eyed Superman as the Kryptonian sipped from his water glass (he had declined coffee or tea), and people discussed things. He tapped his water glass with his knife. "Okay. Start spreading the rumor that we're being closed down due to budget cutbacks. Girls, you might want to add a worry that you'll be sold in the local market, which you obviously won't. We'll start packing up and have a tentative move date of the 30th or so."

"That sounds fine," Arthur said, wearing a replicated jumpsuit. "You might also want to mention places like Mangione or Tosul, the rumors are you're being relocated there. Another option is you're going to some real backwater planet where they rub sticks together to get fire. You guys know how the rumor mill goes," and people nodded. "Once again, I really do appreciate the hard work you've done. Intelligence work is dirty and dangerous, and you've done a great job. I agree we need a pipeline into the local economy here, and if any of you have suggestions on how to do it, I'm willing to listen. Mr. Asher has my email address." He took a sip of water, "Was there anything else? If not, we need to get going."

* * *

"Here we go," Superman said as he took off, his arms holding Arthur and Steve. He was silent for a minute, then said, "I'm sure, Arthur, that you're going to tell me all about that place." His tone was decidedly cool.

"Yes, I am. I came there to shut it down. Mattie and I didn't know about it until this past June. It was apparently approved by a upper-level bureaucrat, and if we hadn't met the outgoing ship by chance, it would have come at us cold. As it was, to say 'Not Happy' is an understatement…"

"I'll say," Steve said. "From what I've seen of Miss Wayne. Unfortunately, Crystal and I weren't with you at that time." He continued reflectively, "Still, considered objectively, in a slave society, it makes sense to have a few slaves of your own running about with their ears to the ground. The way this is set up is pretty good…"

"Pretty good?" Arthur snorted.

"Be objective, Arthur," Superman said. "You know what I do for a living; I have to have sources of information that are not upstanding citizens. This is a class-based society, and you need to penetrate all of the social classes, or at least a majority." He was silent for a minute, "Warp limit here," he said as an aside. "Okay, I can step on the gas now," and the stars shifted.

"This is so different from inside a ship," Arthur said. He shook his head, "You _approve_ of Nos Scisio?"

"I said you have to be objective," Superman said. "Break it down, Arthur. Intelligence work is not only reading the paper, or the local equivalent of the Internet, it's also talking to people. People are individuals, they all have their own motivations." He shifted slightly, "What one of those girls was saying was totally accurate, they talk to their own. These girls are field agents, and in this case one slave is going to talk to another."

"As a copper, I have my own sources," Steve said. "Pimps, druggies; prostitutes. However, what I hear from a street girl is going to be different than what she tells a sister hooker. She may trade me information for a favor, getting charges dropped or reduced, for instance. However, her sister is going to know where the bodies are, quite literally. What you've done, and for a very good reason, is blown the covers of all your street girls."

"So what would you do?" Arthur asked, irritated.

"Me? Better cover against nosy parkers like newsies," Steve said, and eyed Superman. "No offense, Mr. Kent."

"None taken, and please call me Clark," he replied, unruffled. "How did you figure it out?"

"Background investigation of our principals, and their rellies," he replied. "Glasses are not a good disguise, you know."

"I have others," he replied, and looked at Arthur, "With an embassy, for instance, you'll have two divisions, the 'legals' with diplomatic immunity, and the 'illegals'. Here, Mr. Asher is the 'legal', and the girls are…"

"… the illegals," he nodded, and sighed. He waved his free hand, "So, again, what would you do?"

"Something like the CIA did in Vietnam, with Air America, although that was a supply operation," Steve replied. "Multiple levels of cutouts and cover operations. One gets penetrated and blown, assets shift to another. Better training. I have no idea how long the CIA trains its people, but from what I've heard of MI-6, it's at least a year, and only about one in a hundred are actual field agents. For myself, if I were designing it, I'd have the basic training on Corfu, separate from our 'Five' agents, because their graduation exercises would be against each other. They then go off world for additional training in the field. For the 'slave girls' (He finger-quoted with his free hand.), I'd assign them to a holding company for their legal protection, and have them develop their networks."

"What Nos Scisio was doing," Clark said. "Base the holding companies on Tosul with a shell company. As a matter of fact, it should be easy to set that up through the Tosul embassy."

"We looked into setting up an embassy there, but didn't have the time," Arthur said.

"No time like the present," Clark said. "I needed to touch base with a friend there anyway." He shifted slightly, "We'll be there in a few minutes."

* * *

"Here, I'm known as Kal, of the House of El, and I have no known special abilities," Clark said as they sat in a park. He wore a standard ship's jumpsuit, and continued, "Tosul has a lot of what we would call lawyers or solicitors, primarily because it's a prerequisite for additional training and certifications. Any offices we have here would require people with a law degree as their principal staffs and department heads. Lower-level staffers are generally hired through an agency, which is what I was thinking about. An 'embassy' here is more along the lines of a company's field office than a branch of government, so it's possible that you'll see office staff that is both free and slave."

"This 'agency' you mention, would that have free or slave staff?" Arthur asked, leaning forward on the park bench.

"Either or both," Kal replied. "The agency would take care of things like housing, payroll and medical care for their staff, and generally slaves are paid here. Slaves without an agency or private owner can try to sell themselves to an agency, like a free person would apply for a job. The essential difference is when an agency fires someone, a slave is sold, but the free person isn't in much better shape, as it's considered a big black mark on their work history. Different agencies will treat their personnel differently, so if we were to set up our own, that would be something to keep an eye on."

"It sounds like the difference is legal status," Steve said.

"Essentially," Kal agreed. "Slaves here are either convicted criminals, in a collar for a certain amount of time, or bred slaves, or imported slaves that were sold here. Only the convicts in a judicial collar have any chance of upward social mobility, as they are considered 'previously free'. Bred slaves, common collar girls from whatever source don't have that, and will therefore commit crimes like theft and attempted escape to get that judicial collar." He leaned forward, "Street criminals tend to be what are known as 'self-owned slaves', slaves without a formal owner or agency, making their own way. If they're caught, they're claimed as state owned slaves and sold. A lot of them make their living as 'enablers', using their networks of contacts to transact business."

"Doesn't that bother you?" Arthur demanded.

"Slaves? Of course," Kal said. "However, there is social mobility, and quite frankly, it's their society, and I have no reason to change it, even if I could." He sighed, "Arthur, you tend to have a rather strict black-and-white view of some things. This is a working society, and please believe me; there are a lot worse out there." He gestured, "If a slave wants away from a particular owner, she simply has to hide for three days, that's his recovery period. If she can do that, she has a working freedom. If she wants out of her collar, that's a different, more difficult matter, but it is possible for her to arrange that. The drawback for her is generating the income to buy food and shelter." He stood, "Let's go meet my 'enabler'. Arthur, I know Mattie kept some spare Lantern Bank chips, did she pass them on to you?"

* * *

"It is a former school," T'awny said, keying in the access code. The door opened, and she held it open, "Four floors above ground; two below. Total area of twelve thousand square meters, including the adjacent land, and my fee is the usual five percent." She gestured, "Go ahead; take a look around, while Master Kal and I speak of business."

* * *

"It's a brick building, mate," Steve said, looking in a disused room. "It would need a bit of cleaning and such, but it could easily adapt to our uses."

"It has slave cells in the basement," Arthur said in disgust.

"No, it has _locked rooms_," Steve corrected. "They don't _have_ to hold slaves. There's a walled courtyard that could handle a shuttle or smaller ship, and public transport goes right by the building." He took a step into the small room, "This might have been a classroom, it could be converted into offices by adding partitions, and the windows are fab; mate." He moved over, looking down at a courtyard. "Let's get more piccies, these from outside…" There was a rumble of thunder, and he said, "Maybe not. Let's go to the top floor, see if there are any roof leaks."

* * *

"Bloody good deal," Steve said, looking over the deed. "You have plans and so forth? We're going to need to do some reworking, cleaning and such."

"Property taxes, cost of utilities, local housing costs?" Arthur said, and T'awny motioned, "In the second supplement." He flipped to the annex on the reader, studying the numbers. "You have contractors available?"

"Of course," she said with a smile. Arthur looked at Steve and Kal, who nodded. He went into a pocket, looking through the chips; then separated two. "The property and your five percent commission."

"Thank you, master," she replied, inserting chips into her tablet, which scanned them, then offered it to Arthur. "Your information for the deed, master?"

* * *

"Your embassy is going to be used for more than intelligence operations," once-again Clark said when they were on their way again. "For instance, I saw you admiring that little ship, Arthur."

"Yeah," he admitted. "It was a sweet design. I wish we had more time…"

"What I was thinking of was her engines," Clark added. "For instance, I know we've had trouble cracking the jump drive and other systems. Why not build under license?"

"A properly worded license would allow us to design our own," Steve mused. "We might also do a buyout of a small firm, that's a possibility."

"You could also use it to stockpile Fuel," Clark said. "Pay attention here, I'm going to leave the convoy routing and enter the nebula. We should be at Benecee in a few minutes."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, October 20, 2002: 12:32 (GMT)  
Seconday, 18 Octus, 162, 19:19 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, government complex:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Arthur hated to admit it, but this way of flying was _cool_. The colors of the Orion Nebula's gas clouds were awesome; he just wished he could stop and take photos. He was somewhat nervous about flying back; the concentration was somewhat fatiguing, and he knew he'd be absolutely exhausted tomorrow in History class.

Coming up on the Benecee system, they wove through the two asteroid belts. Mr. Kent said, "Here's where we separate. Mattie asked me to see Ms. Castellano if I was here. Arthur, got your Ring ready?"

He gulped, nodded, and shifted his grip on Steve. They separated, and they took a slow orbit of Windfall; then dove down, skimming along the ocean.

* * *

'_A lot of construction still going on_,' Arthur thought to himself as he walked with Steve through the complex. He stopped briefly, a greenhouse complex was expanding, and stacks of lumber blocked the path. He moved the lumber with his borrowed Ring, leaving a small passage for people to get to the suction machine.

* * *

Sgt. Sean David Camanetti, despite his Italian name, was one-hundred percent ethnic ... mishmash. He was, however, one of the US Marine Force Recon's best, multilingual, one of those short, tough little bastards the big hulks of Recon knew could get into anywhere, blend with everyone, get the intel, and get out safely. He had been TDY to the Black Ops people at Langley, flown hither and yon, dunked a couple times in med-tanks for bio-sculpt, and was now running on a treadmill on a foreign planet, looking vaguely Asian, a collared slave girl sent in to get intel on Wayne and the Empire, who would then report it out to his ... her contact by dead-drop.

So far, this looked like boot camp at Colorado Springs, although the wing-wipers of the Air Scouts hadn't cuffed her when he went in (female that time, also) to report on student grab-ass, (TDY to the USAF, that time), nor had they crimped a collar on, which they attached to a hanging chain. On the other hand, the staff as well as the 'students' all wore three collars as well; their implanted gal-tech slave collars, the crimped black steel ID collar, and a ring with an attached leash, which had been screw-locked on her neck. He had yet to see a free Terran, male or female in this place. Whoever was running the place (and they looked like slaves, so far), they had fairly tough fitness norms; he was working up a decent sweat. He also hated running as a nude female, his damn tits bounced all over.

A buzzer sounded, and the headphones he wore (which played some weird-ass slave music) pinged three times as the treadmill slowed to a walking pace. '_Okay, cool-down period_,' he thought, then mentally kicked himself ... herself. '_Female, I'm a slave girl now_,' she reminded herself. '_I wonder where the male slaves are_?' she mused, then thought '_We know Wayne's a runner, a fitness nut. Makes sense, and who wants to buy a fat slave_?' she added. She looked to her left, walking on the next treadmill was some alien chick, long ass white hair past her knees (they had all gotten haircuts on arrival, as well as a cold-water scrubdown), who was also wearing strapped-on earphones. She seemed to be getting into the music (if you could call it that, it sounded more like a cross between the blues and country to Cam, who was definitely a 60's rock chick), bouncing a bit in time. Cam had been locked into a feeding-gag like all the other new slave girls. Anyway, the slave music was definitely popular; she had heard slaves singing it and humming it as she had gone to ground on Island, preparing her cover story of being an escaped slave girl.

Cam drifted back, giving the white-haired slave another covert look-over. '_Clean back, no scarring, but she's cuffed into some weird cage thing_,' she thought. Another buzzer, Cam stepped off the treadmill, two steps forward, one left, and knelt in front of it. '_Shower time_,' she thought as she waited to be unchained, the white-haired slave almost missing the buzzer. However, she made the kneeling just in time before Five, their trainer, strode in with her datapadd, wearing a light blue tunic with yellow edging and five glowing rings on her neck above her collar. She paused, looking over the white-haired slave to Cam's left, then made a note, not even leaning forward to read the girl's collar. "11641, appreciating the music again, I see." Cam held her breath; then Five nodded faintly, "Good slave. Lose that last quarter-kilo."

Five moved on, "One method for all of you to gain points and thus a favorable assignment is to volunteer," she said as she turned, legs spread, datapadd held behind her. "Our new Terran owners say we shall gain a dark collar when we learn to think free, when we complete assigned training. You slaves have already taken a step toward that by escaping your masters, on the other; you need to gain physical fitness and basic slave training, as you were untrained by your previous masters. We are looking for uniformity of training, when I say 'Head' (Cam threw herself down, forehead touching the mat, hands still cuffed behind her), or 'House' (Cam sat up, back straight, knees wide, chest and chin up)..." Five smiled, "Good slaves. You're getting better. Only two were slow." A few students whimpered through their gags, that usually meant group punishment.

"I reward volunteers," Five said with a smile. "I am credited myself with a high percentage of volunteering. Those who wish to gain my credit may stand and face me."

'_Damned one way or another_,' Cam thought as she stood and 'volunteered' for something unknown. She looked around as Five asked, "Only one who does not wish to gain my credit?" The white-haired slave 11641 scrambled to her feet. "Excellence!" Five smiled. "I will come by with a chain for your collars, you will thumb-strike the volunteer form at that time. I have read it for you, there is no need for you to do so, as you have heard the information, and you have no questions."

* * *

"Good morning, I'm here to see Governor Morton," Arthur told the secretary. "I'm his son."

"Yes, master," she said, touching her comm. She spoke into her hush mike; then stood, "This way, please, master. Master Morton will see you."

* * *

"Arthur!" Bill stood, coming around his desk to hug his son, and shaking Steve's hand. "What brings you two out this way?"

He returned the hug, somewhat awkwardly, "We're closing down the Eridani office, the Red Chinese…" His father held up a hand, "I'm sorry, but I'm kind of tightly scheduled, I need to get over to the Farm, we've got an incoming ship."

"Yeah, we passed one on the way in," Arthur replied, holding up his hand and the borrowed Ring. Anything we can do to help?"

"It's a slaver, and we need to capture it. I need to get over to the greenhouse and get Marie and Eleanor as my backup."

"I was just there, I didn't see them."

His father grunted, "I'll track them down later, then. Can you pinch-hit? We're going to do the rob-them-blind at cards trick."

"How long will this take? It's Sunday, and I need to be back at school tomorrow. Besides, is it legal?"

"Damn. Where are those girls? We haven't had a ship leave; we picked up you when you came in; so they haven't left the planet. I don't have time to do a search." He bent over his computer, "The others in the game are Major Gruber and two newbies like me, one from the FBI, the other's a Mountie, so it should be legal." He looked up at his son, "If you're willing, I'll send Minerva an email, getting you out of class. We need a wizarding backup."

"Okay," Arthur said, and his clothing rippled to a jumpsuit. "What's the game, poker?"

"No, Tonton. You mentioned you'd played it over the summer. Hopefully you'll have a chance to see Elena. She's getting better; she's doing a road trip for me, visiting the sites." He finished tapping at his computer, "Done, email sent. Let's go."

* * *

Arthur tried to keep a neutral expression on his face as he looked across the table at the alien Captain, and felt the tendrils of someone's thoughts creeping across the surface of his mind. They vanished for a moment, and he quickly tried to center himself as his dad said something distracting. '_Damn, I wish I could trap the bastard_,' he thought, realizing why the alien ship's crew had been so confident in their Captain. He erected some defenses as the decks were shuffled and traded between the players, trying to keep a snow-covered scene in his mind as distraction.

Arthur reviewed the rules of Tonton as the game got underway, and cards were played. '_Card counting game, there are four suits; Planets, Ships, Fuel, and Crew, with sixteen numbered cards; null through fifteen. There are three face cards per suit, Trader, Owner, and Slave. The Slave card is wild; Trader is worth fifty, Owner twenty. One person always 'Out' to take over a hand. One deck per player, shuffled, cut and passed left. High card dealer, low card bank_.' He accepted the cut from Gruber, to his right, and passed his to the alien crewman to his left.

* * *

'_He is shielded, master_,' his gagged slave thought to Haalal, kneeling cuffed behind him. '_Do you wish me to attempt to break his shield_?'

'_No_,' he replied through the transceiver implant he wore. He had found her, a mere female able to read the surface thoughts of others. He had tricked her, taken her into his collar; it had been a gamble to Enhance her, but she was his slave now, and wore his implants. '_Inform me of the others_.'

'_Yes, master_,' she replied. '_The one opposite, with dark yellow hair, is new to the game, and somewhat unsure of play. He possesses … twenty-seven total, his high card is an eight of Fuel. The one in grey, with dark hair, is somewhat more confident, an experienced card player, but also new to Tonton. His cards total thirty eight, with a twelve of Planets as high. Master Jaa…_'

'_Ignore my crew, they will follow orders. The young one_?'

'_As I said, master, he is shielded. Wait … there is an image … Master, he is a Lantern_!'

'_What? He does not wear the uniform_!'

'_Master, it is concealed, but he wears an Oan Ring, and has a Battery in his possession_!' she thought. She felt his satisfaction; then he thought, '_Useful. Now be silent, slave, until I ask you a question_.'

'_Yes, master_,' she replied in her thoughts. She felt his turning away, and hid her innermost thoughts behind her physical discomfort, remembering when she had been free, and not kneeling and wearing a collar, forced to call another 'master'. '_Once, I was called 'mistress' myself, I traded in slaves_…' she mused. '_Then a cruel trick of the cards in another game, and now I kneel, enhanced and collared myself… Oh, yes, master, I_ WILL _have my revenge on you. You have sold off too many of my former crew as slaves, it is over-time you learn to kneel yourself, to wear a collar_.' She knelt, concentrating on the Lantern named… Arthur. '_He is young, and inexperienced in shielding his mind_,' she thought to herself. '_I believe I can enter his mind, but how may I make best use of him? Master is desirous of the Ring and Battery, but if I misinform him of master Arthur's cards, I may subtly influence the game, and my master may be forced to offer my ownership, my control chip as a game-chip. However, if my master deduces this, I will be punished severely_.' She allowed some of her pain and discomfort to leak into her transceiver, and was rewarded by her master tapping his left jaw, where his transceiver was located, in irritation.

* * *

"Damn, I'm out," Bill said, throwing down his cards. '_Good luck, son_,' he thought as he sat back, along with Gruber, who had also cashed out. Captain Haalal put his cards down on top of his small stack of chips, "I desire a five minute hold for biological functions," he said.

"Agreed," Arthur said, putting his own cards on top of his slightly larger stack of chips, and leaned back, stretching, then interlacing his fingers behind his head as Haalal stood. His slave put her head to the deck, wrists tightly cuffed behind her. As he passed her, he kicked her; she gave a muffled 'oomph' and rolled over, then struggled back to her place, forehead to the deckplate, her leash chain rattling. Arthur winced in sympathy for her, but his concern was the game, he'd been getting a streak of decent cards and somehow knew just how to play them.

* * *

Haalal threw his remaining chips on the pile, an easy, confident smirk on his face. Somehow, Arthur knew he was bluffing; he himself had a Slave of Fuel, a wild card worth fifty, as well as a Owner and fifteen, thirteen and twelve of Fuel, and a fourteen of Crew, for 124 points. He regarded the alien captain, and noticed a twitch on his left jaw, something he tended to scratch at. He collected several chips, tossed them in, "I'll see your raise, Captain, and raise you…" he considered, then tossed in his few remaining chips. "All in. Over to you."

The smirk faltered for a bit as he considered. "I will put in title to this slave," he finally said (the girl whimpered). He put her slave controller on the stack of chips.

"Not good enough," Arthur said. "Rules say slaves are gambled at a value of 1.3 kilos each for Enhanced, one kilo for standard slaves unless previously agreed. She's clearly Enhanced, so I'll take her at 1300 grams. I've got Lantern Bank certified chips in the pot for much more than that." He tapped his cards together, sat back and eyed the alien captain. "What else you got?"

Haalal regarded the youth. His slave projected confidence, she was of the belief he was bluffing, but the bet was to him, he had to make up almost eight hundred kilos. He was over a hundred points on this hand, there wasn't a way the beardless youth could have a better hand. He reached down, and suddenly found himself facing weapons. "Slowly, Herr Captain," the dark-haired one in grey said. He nodded, slowly straightening, then placed the ship's Owner's Wand on the pile. "Ship, slaves and other crew; and my cargo," he said. "I want to see your Ring, Lantern."

Arthur regarded him; the twitch was back in his left jaw. He sent a mental command to the Ring; then twisted it off, placing it on the pot. "How did you know?"

With a cruel sneer, Haalal tossed his cards, and started to collect the pot, "My slave was reading your mind, and informing me," he said. "Why do you think I collared and Enhanced her? She was a slaver herself, sitting where you are, gambling away her ship and cargo of slaves, and now, I have your Ring."

"I think not," Arthur said, dropping his own cards and summoning the Ring, which flew to his hand. "I count 113 in your hand. I have 124. I win your ship, slaves, and crew, as well as your operating capital that you gambled earlier. I will allow you to walk out of here without a collar, but the rest is mine." A green scoop of energy flicked out, sorting and stacking the coins and other valuables. He snapped his fingers, pointing to the deck at his side, and the slave girl scampered to kneel next to him, her eyes vengeful. He leaned forward, pushing her forehead to the deck, releasing her hands, and told her, "Submit to me, slave."

She rubbed her wrists; then knelt before him, wrists extended and crossed, head down. He gripped her wrists for a second to acknowledge ownership; then stood. "Haalal, I do not trust you; you are not welcome aboard my ship. Leave. Now." He watched Haalal do so, escorted out by the Mountie; then yanked the girl to him; voice cold, "If I ever catch you inside my mind again, you will not enjoy it. Understood?" She whimpered once, and he thrust her away.

* * *

Jaalal regarded his new … what? Captain? Owner? He wasn't sure. The beardless youth had claimed the pot, the one in which his older brother Haalal had gambled them and lost. He had watched Haalal being escorted out; the youth regarded the slave, asking her, "What terrifies them the most? What would you do with them?"

The slave (At last Jaalal knew her secret!) regarded him for a moment, then cupped her breasts, circled her collar with her hands, made a twisting motion on her Enhancement implant, then crossed her wrists, dipping her head between her arms.

The youth regarded her, then said, "I will consider that." He looked at Jaalal, "I don't trust you; remove the two guns you carry and the knives from your boots. You were First?"

"Yes, master," Jaalal replied as he set the weapons on the table. "Master, I beg an attractive bio-sculpt, so I might sell for a high price."

The youth shook his head, "I do not accept Haalel's wager of his ship's free crew, as he could not wager what he did not own. Therefore I am not your master. Until I decide what to do with you, I am at best your ship's Owner."

Jaalal hadn't met one of the semi-mythical Lanterns before, but their power was well known. As Haalal had wagered his free crew, along with their pay and the ship's funds, the best he had hoped for was an attractive bio-sculpt and his new master's collar, and hopefully a good price. This was the usual occurrence with a free ship's crew, the possibility of coming out of this not only still male, but free hadn't occurred to him. There was the possibility of profit here, but he needed to gather as much information as possible. "Your orders, milord," he said while bowing his head.

The youth paused, clearly considering his options. "I have many questions to ask about this ship, crew and cargo. You will answer every question put to you honestly and completely. But for now, go with these two." He gestured to two of the older ones, handing the Owner's Wand to one; then snapped his fingers and motioned for the slave girl to follow them.

* * *

Once the door hissed closed behind his father with the Wand, who joined the FBI agent as escort to the two slavers, Arthur sat back and groaned. "Damn it, I'm a slave owner. Again."

"You're a ship owner," Mr. Halfpinch, the deputy planetary head of Gringotts corrected. "That crew and cargo happens to include slavers, and slaves."

"Including some unrepentant slavers," Steve said, taking a chair and straddling it. "Going by what the girl and the First Officer said, they expected biosculpt and to be sold off as slaves."

Arthur shook his head once, violently, "Well 'yay' for me then. We need to toss their computer systems and interrogate the crew before they get their feet under them and start planning ahead. Let's finish off the actual mission here and then we can worry about the rest of it."

"We can start that once your father gets back with the Owner's Wand. Until then, it won't hurt to work on 'the rest'." Arthur nodded agreement and Steve continued, "I don't think the crew has broken any local laws. We'll look and if necessary, we could find something..."

Arthur shook his head once, violently, "No. If we nail anybody for anything, we do it straight."

"This is no time for your legendary ethical inflexibility."

"This is the perfect time for my ethical inflexibility. Being a GL, however temporarily, gives me the perfect excuse not to kill anyone and also explains manumitting and even repatriating any slaves I choose." Steve thought about replying and decided against. The relationship he had with Arthur was not the same that Crystal had with Mattie. He chose his battles with Arthur carefully, who added, "First up on 'the rest' agenda is that telepathic slave. Is her ability magical in nature or a native psi talent for her species? Why was she Enhanced?" He sat back, rubbing his temples, then glanced at Steve. "Mattie warned me that someone would try to attack me like that. Damnit. I thought it was the Captain, not the slave. If we just let her walk around without freeing her, she'll stay a slave, if we manumit her... I don't think she has a sense of ethics. I'm not turning her loose just so she can take over something or someone else. What do I do with her?"

"First thing is talk to her," Steve said. "As she's Enhanced, you can turn off her vision, then give her a wand and let her swish it around. Second is to arrest Haalal and the other two free crewmen. As the Captain, he's got a lot of information in his head we need. He's the one that would know about any booby traps aboard ship."

Arthur sighed, "What charges? We can't bring them back to the ship."

Mr. Halfpinch replied, "Conspiracy to counterfeit, Mr. Morton, and you have a prison to hand." He held up a small banker's scanner, then tossed a coin from the pot to Arthur, "Gold with a thin tungsten plating, from Haalal's 'operational funds'. As the local representative of Lantern Bank, I'll be more than happy to file charges for you."

"That would work," Steve said.

Mr. Halfpinch nodded, passing him a bag of counterfeit coins, adding, "This would also require a thorough search of the ship for the necessary equipment. Mention it to Mr. Jaalal, being cheated of his pay should motivate him to disavow Mr. Haalal." He finished sorting and counting the money on the table, adding, "I believe you used your own money?" Arthur nodded, and he continued, "After we subtract the loaned amount, plus a day's interest, the ship and contents are yours." He started to scoop money and valuables into bags. As he worked, he said, "If you don't mind my opinion, as a security measure if nothing else, I would go ahead and collar the free crew. This way you know exactly where they are at all times, and it will give them the impression of firm resolve. You do not wish to appear weak or indecisive; they will leap to take advantage of you. They expect to be treated as slaves; at least outwardly, treat them so. This will give you time to consider and consult others."

Arthur shook his head, "Tracking collars are one thing, but implanting slave collars, I won't and that's that. If a fair and competent court later puts them into a slave collar, I can live with that, but I'm not doing it."

"So you'd kill them before you would enslave them?" Steve asked.

"No, I'd be giving them the option of suicide before someone else enslaves them."

"An odd place to draw a moral line," Mr. Halfpinch observed.

"I'm an odd fellow."

Mr. Halfpinch was silent for a minute, "It occurs to me that this is a long-lasting relationship with former Elder Baasht, who has certainly broken planetary laws for his own profit. That invites additional conspiracy charges, plus illegal import of slaves, possible health violations... (he waved a hand) ... I see no Customs personnel here. You only need a conviction, Mr. Morton, one that will satisfy your moral code. If they have conspired to kidnap and murder citizens of Windfall, there is no expiration of statute, is there?" He set a pair of white cotton bags next to Arthur's chair. "One has your original funding, the other includes such things as the girl's slave controller and the funds Mr. Haalal used earlier. I assume they are from the ship's safe, and are ready cash and payroll. Pirates and slavers operate on more of a cash basis than regular merchant ships."

Opening one of them, Arthur extracted the slave controller; then retied it. "Set up or add this to the ship's account. As for the other one, put it back in my account, please, and thank you, both for your services and your advice." The banker nodded and left. "Well?" he asked Steve.

"I think you're finding yourself in the situation Miss Wayne faced with her Wookie pirates, if I've read the reports correctly," he replied. "That said, I think Mr. Halfpinch has the right of it for now. They expect a collar; we need to keep track of them while showing resolve. We needn't tell them what kind of collar it is, they will assume the worst. That will enable us to keep an eye on them, while giving us sufficient time to evaluate what contracts are outstanding, and generally see where we stand. Move the existing stocks of slaves on this ship into the farm, where we can take care of them. What that does is grants us time. I wouldn't have thrown Haalal off the ship; he has too much information we need, things that he probably wouldn't have shared with his First."

"I didn't want him to pull some 'Sampson in the Temple' bit," Arthur replied. "Who knows what he has rigged up?"

"Ahh... point."

"Thank you."

"Getting back on topic, remember the culture," Steve said. "I'm looking out for myself first, kin and ship comes second. I do wonder why he decided to cheat with the coinage; he was already reading your cards through his slave."

"Maybe she burned him before, he wanted a bit of insurance," Arthur mused. "He obviously expected to win the hand and keep her; she saw an opportunity to escape from his collar." He sat back, sighed, and scrubbed his face. "Lord, what am I going to do with this mess?"

Steve hesitated, "I noticed that you seemed rather … skilled at the game."

"Yes, that occurred to me, too. I haven't played much Tonton before, euchre's more my game. Both counting games, like cribbage, but still…" Arthur scrubbed his face, then reached out to play with a chip. "D'you think…"

"The girl was helping you? Probably," (Arthur started up) Steve held up his hand, adding "It was bloody damn lucky she was."

"Damnit," he said. "That means I owe her, even if it was without my permission."

"Yes, it was," Steve replied. "On the other hand, she was in your mind at Haalal's order, so the fault lies with him, she simply took advantage of that." Arthur was clenching the chip in his fist, and Steve reached over to tap that wrist. "Relax. Are you blaming her for trying to benefit?"

"Yes. No. Damn it all to hell!" He took a deep breath and tossed the chip on the table. "I can't blame her for wanting to improve her situation, but you know how I hate mind readers." He glanced over at Steve, "You know Mattie and I have had a fight over that, and she warned me someone would try to read my mind. I'm going to need to apologize to her and Professor Dumbledore…"

"Pricked your pride, eh?" Steve chuckled softly, "What else, boyo?"

"She could be useful, but she's a slaver…"

"A _former_ slaver, boyo, who is now wearing one of her own collars," he corrected. Standing, he turned one of the chairs around to straddle it. "Arthur, look at this objectively. You now own a starship, its cargo and crew, as well as the girl. You need to make the best use of all of them, which means you have to step away from your emotions. Yes, there's a moral and ethical element, as well as a business case. You do have a bit of time to think things through, and to get advice, not only from Mr. Halfpinch, but also from the girl. She's Enhanced, she can't lie to you."

"I feel … dirty, taking advantage of her like that."

"Then give her the option. Tell her you'd rather have God's honest truth, warts and all. You won't like some of what she says, I'm sure, but you're not taking advantage of her." Arthur slowly nodded, and Steve continued, "Business and politics can be a dirty game, lad. Mattie understands that, and is trying to keep her hands clean, but she's a Slytherin, and they operate best from the shadows. Like most of that house, she enjoys the intricacies, the layer upon layer, the manipulation of people and events, all woven together into a secret plan. She's let you into part of it, which is truly unusual, because they don't like to lose that control. Everything is so precisely balanced for them, to let someone else see a part of it…"

He shook his head, "It's an enormously intricate game she's playing, on a galactic scale; as well as being a schoolgirl, and this mission we're on is part of it." He tented his fingers, "My older sister was a Slythie, she was in Severus' year, knew all that lot well. She was the victim of a fatal 'accident' at work one day, one reason I became a copper." He sat up, "Lad, if she is a witch, she could be of enormous use to us."

"No. We'll interrogate her, but …"

"Moving back to Mr. Haalal, he didn't seem particularly surprised to see a Lantern sitting there with slaves, it makes me wonder if the Corps is as squeaky-clean as they would seem. I know Miss Wayne has had a dust-up or two with a Guardian."

"I was there for one of them," Arthur said slowly. He thought for a minute; then shook his head. "Let's get going on 'the rest' agenda." He stood, absently scooping the slave controller into his pocket.

* * *

Bill Morton considered the three free members of the crew, each secured in one of the prison's cells so they couldn't agree on a story. Meanwhile, his son examined the ship for any booby traps using his borrowed Ring and the ship's collared engineering slaves. All three prisoners had been strip-searched and issued tunics from the prison stores. Even this deep inside the prison, they could hear the muffled 'boom' from outside.

"Pony nuke as an anti-tamper device," Ken Pinkston, the FBI agent said, coming into the cell where Haalal was chained to the wall. Bill turned; his job was playing 'Good Cop'. "Tenth-kiloton. Now, Mr. Haalal, not only do we have the counterfeiting charges from Lantern Bank, we also have Elder Baasht's files. We know exactly what he's been paying you, what he imported, and what you sold him. If you cooperate, we won't turn you over to the Oans and Lantern Bank. You know what they'd do to you." The prisoner licked his lips; a sheen of sweat on his face as Bill played his part, "Now hold on, Mr. Haalal was told to leave the ship…"

"Which he did," Ken replied. "Nothing was said about letting him go, or offering him his freedom. He's cooperated so far, which is why he's retained his manhood … for now." (Haalal reflexively looked down.), "That's not guaranteed. Now, we need to know who you've talked to, what about and when, where it was, why that conversation occurred, and how you managed to meet. Don't forget, we've got your astrogation database, and … (he paused as a scream of pain was heard) … we're going to check it. How did you first meet Elder Baasht?"

"Talk to the bastard," Bill urged as sweat rolled down Haalal's face from the heat. "Talk to him, I'll do what I can for you. You can hear Jaalal; just down the hall, you can hear his pain. Do you want to go through what he's going through? He's refusing to talk and he's paying the price. Talk to this bastard." He passed Haalal a tin cup, the prisoner could see the ice floating in the tin water bucket; he could feel the cool metal of the cup.

"Why are you being nice to this bum?" Ken snarled, knocking the cup of water onto Haalal. "Go on, get out of here." He looked meaningfully at the iron brazier that was bolted to a corner of the tiny cell, with two rods sticking out. Heat radiated from it. "Unless someone is willing to TALK."

"I'll be back, asshole," Bill growled, getting up and turning, and shoving the bucket of ice water (with cooling charms on it) toward Haalal with his foot, who captured it with one of his. He strode out, the cell door closing behind him, out to the central area of this 'pod' of cells.

* * *

"Now, Herr Jaalal." Hans said as he entered the cell, the heavy wooden door with its central iron observation slit closing behind him. He put the tin bucket of ice water down on the floor of the brick cell; the prisoner could see the condensation on the side, the chunks of ice floating in the water. Hans picked out a small bit of ice, flicking it into the brazier bolted to the wall, it hissed as it contacted the hot coals inside. He sat down on the floor, under the flickering torch, "We are both military men, we both know how the game is played. I have questions; you have answers. I have no more desire to cause you pain than you have to receive it." He scooped some water, including some ice into the tin cup, passing it to the prisoner, who nodded in thanks.

"I have no loyalty to that _paazzat_ of a brother. You say the money he used to gamble ship, crew and cargo was counterfeit? I can believe it," Jaalal said. He took a deep drink, crunching a bit of ice. "You are recording this, and will be comparing my answers to others, and to the ship's information." (Hans nodded.) "It is therefore profitless to lie to you. The crew-slaves belong to the ship, with the exception of that little _p'zzana_ that was monitoring the players' thoughts. She belongs directly to Haalal, beware of what she says; she has no honor, being a _t'chen_ … a thought-reader," he explained at Hans' raised eyebrow. "Remove her temple implant quickly, there is a small charge included in with the communication circuitry."

"If we don't?"

"It explodes, killing her and destroying the circuit," he said, shrugging. "She was a slaver, as said, and while it is a profitable business, there are risks, of course. I would not mourn her death, I thought she was hostile and abusive to the crew and cargo slaves, which is unprofitable behavior."

"Danke, Herr Jaalal," Hans said, placing the bucket next to the prisoner's foot. He got up and walked out for a minute.

Jaalal commented on his return; "I expect, and am still somewhat uncertain, that I will wake up one day wearing an actual slave collar and fitting this tunic much better, as the _p'zzana_ suggested." He smiled slightly, sipping ice water, "I saw the collar I am wearing in reflective metal. The design of a tracking collar is slightly different than a slave collar; in addition I retain my male organs. All signs of a possible profitable relationship, perhaps not in tungsten, but other forms…" He took another drink, "What shall we discuss first?"

* * *

"I hate this," Bill said as he walked out of the humid cell, taking a long gulp of ice water from the larger bucket of ice they used to refill the other buckets. "It's torture." He hooked the long tin dipper on the side of the bucket.

"Actually, it's not," Thomas Rowle, the big blond Mountie said. "Otherwise we wouldn't participate. We don't make a move toward the braziers, we offer them water, and everything is recorded, full compliance with NATO prisoner-interrogation rules." His red wool uniform tunic was sweat-sodden.

"What about keeping them chained?"

"Security measures allowed under primitive conditions," Piotr said. "Time for another scream. I think female, this time, Haalal's favorite slave girl." He flipped a switch on a console, raising a slider, and a sobbing female screamed in Russian, ("Please, no more, please! I'll talk!") before he faded it out.

Bill flinched, "I know that's just a recording, a speaker in a cell, but god, that's spooky."

"The best of KGB, volume one," Piotr said, holding up a CD case. He handed it over; Bill examined the Cyrillic script for a minute before handing it back. "What about the language differences?"

"In extremis, people speak in their native tongues," Piotr replied. "The effect we're looking for is the tone of her voice, the agony, the fear. The language itself doesn't matter. The male one is actually in Pashto, from the Soviet Union's Afghan adventure." He sat back in his wooden chair, back to several pieces of electronics sitting on the wooden tables, along with a table lamp. To his right, colored meters moved on three channels, conforming to the three (of six) cells in use. Low-light video cameras and microphones mounted in the cell's ceilings recorded events, wires exited through holes high in the walls, across ceilings and walls to the wooden tables. In one, a male wearing a slave tunic and a dark collar lay on a cot, apparently sleeping, wires leading from his right temple and Enhancement interface under the locked door. Bill looked in that direction, they connected to additional equipment with lit LEDs. Piotr saw where he was looking, "He was compliant; the easiest way to interrogate him is to download his files from his Enhancement. He wished some biosculpt, which we shall do for him, and to return to his position as astrogator. My rating of him is reasonably trustworthy, the only question is to why he was freed, instead of kept slave, but it is something to discover."

Bill looked at the video display of Cell Three, where Hans Gruber sat, talking to Jaalal, whose major theme was ranting how his former Captain and brother had cheated and betrayed his crew. He had flinched when the female scream had echoed through the cell, but then sat back, reasonably comfortable, with a bucket of ice water between his knees, playing with the dipper, but still neck-chained to the wall. Hans sat on the floor, apparently in sympathy (but also out of arm's reach), using the 'brothers in arms' ploy, making occasional notes on a clipboard, and guiding the conversation.

Thomas shrugged out of his uniform tunic, popping a wand from his sleeve, and casting deodorant, cooling, and drying charms on himself and his tunic. Laying his wand along with their sidearms, he said, "Tag team time. I don't want to interrupt Hans, and Ken's signaled for a break from being nasty. My turn. See you in a few, mate?" Bill nodded, and Thomas strode across the small central area to Cell Five and Haalal. "You've got a call," Bill heard him say.

* * *

"Ow!" Arthur said as he contained the explosion in a Ring generated force bubble that expanded slightly before contracting. "That's the last one, and no blowout panel this time." He turned to the engineering slave who accompanied them. "Thank you. This is the last one you know of?"

"Yes, master," the Enhanced girl said. "How may I further assist you, my new master?"

Arthur thought of saying something about the term 'master', then remembered it was useless with Enhanced girls. "Can you help with the computer link?" She nodded and left.

Arthur's wrist comm buzzed, and Piotr's voice said, "Find that telepathic slave and remove her brain implant. There's a suicide charge in it along with the transceiver circuitry. She's also an abusive bitch, Mr. Morton, so deal with her personality quirks."

He replied, "You're just full of good news today, Piotr."

"I am a ray of sunshine who is forced to listen to Haalal. Right now the Mountie is playing Bad Cop to your father's Good Cop. The other two have some common sense. Get moving, Morton, before she goes 'boom'."

"Yes, sir."

"Finally, some respect from the American. Move."

* * *

"_Urgecck_." Arthur waited until the Enhanced slave finished puking into the bucket, holding her freshly removed feeding gag. He tossed it into the bucket as she leaned over the edge of the fountain, taking mouthfuls of water to rinse her mouth out, then spitting them into the bucket. She coughed twice; then tossed her hair back, her wrists still cuffed behind her, and politely said, "Thank you, my new master."

"Slave," he replied. "Restrict." She immediately stiffened, going to the 'Inspection' position as Arthur used the Ring to delicately remove the implant from her right temple. He set it on the grass with a small force bubble around it, then told her, "Stand, feet shoulder-width apart." She did so, and he asked, "Which is your dominant hand?"

"My left, master."

"Vision off," and the young woman's world went dark. She could feel him releasing her left hand, pressing a rod into it. "Wave that around," and she did so. She felt it taken away, her hand re-secured, and knelt at his command. She heard a word she didn't know, '_Veritas_', then the strange command, "Lie to me, slave. What is your gender and legal status?"

"I am a free male, master," she replied. The older one grunted, then said, "We shall ask you questions, you will answer them fully and completely. Vision on, Release. You may speak freely."

She blinked rapidly as her vision was restored; and she quickly knelt, back straight. She regarded her new Master, who crouched before her, regarding her. He motioned her to stand and turn, freeing her hands to receive a slave tunic. "Thank you, my new Master," she said as she pulled it on. As she adjusted it, tugging and straightening here and there, "I did not expect to earn clothing so soon. May your slave beg water?"

"One moment," he said, and a small disk of green energy attached itself to her right temple. He gestured, and she ran back to the fountain built into the wall, where she pulled her hair to the side and knelt to drink from the lowest level. Finished, she quickly braided her hair and pulled it to her left side, looking around and seeing her new Master sitting on a bench, the older master leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She walked slowly back, turning once for his inspection before kneeling before her new Master. "How may I serve Master?"

Her new Master's mouth twisted slightly as he inspected her, and she inhaled, straightening her back even more, her knees moving from the 'House Slave' to 'Pleasure Slave' position as her head went down, her palms up on her thighs.

Arthur saw a young woman with long, dark braided hair, looped to her left side for some reason, straighten, holding her breath and arching her back to display herself as her knees separated and her hands flipped from palm down to palm up. She was ... maybe late 20's to early 30's in age, wearing the usual collar and belt under a sheer white smock with yellow edging, belted by a yellow cord tied on her left. "Relax," he told her. "Get comfortable, we need to talk. Have a seat," and he patted the bench next to him.

She paled, "Does Master insist on my sitting next to him?" she asked carefully.

"No, although I just wanted you to be comfortable and relaxed," he replied. "First of all, do you have a name?"

"Whatever Master wishes," and she saw that trace of irritation. "When ... this slave was free, she was known as S'ana, master."

"Fine. You are S'ana, and why don't you want to sit next to me? I took a shower, I don't think I stink that badly." She stifled a snicker, her hand quickly covering her grin. "Please, I much prefer honesty and accurate information than someone tweaking the information to something they think I'll prefer. If you want to kneel in the grass, that's fine, I'd just like to know why." He regarded her, "I am not in the habit of what we call 'shooting the messenger'. If you have bad news, I'd rather get the bad news, mud and all; and if you have questions, now's the time to ask."

S'ana regarded her new Master, then said, "Several reasons, master. First, I am slave, you are free; second, you are my new owner, I am YOUR new slave. Thirdly, I am a female slave being questioned by a free person. Fourth, it is much more comfortable to kneel or stand as the elder Master is doing." She fingered her slave belt, "Master, the locations of the connections for suctioning a slave make sitting uncomfortable, they press up into the tissues of the pelvis. Lastly, it is customary in a conversation between free and slave for the slave to kneel, unless she is in another position by her master's orders." She clarified, "If you have bound me, or I am doing a task by your order, such as sitting a helm watch, that would supercede my kneeling." She tilted her head, "What are Master's plans for his new ship and slaves?"

"Nothing firm at the moment, although I find the use of the terms 'Master' and 'Mistress' somewhat offensive." He waved a hand, "I know the implant, and habit force your use of them, but I would appreciate your limiting the use as much as you can. My name is Arthur, and he's Steve."

Master Steve asked, "Tell us about your mental abilities, your ability to read minds. Is it exclusive to you, or can others of your race or planet do it?"

"I may only send with the aid of machines, master. Otherwise, I am not strong enough, or so I am told. I have answered masters' question?"

"No. Can others of your species do it?"

"Not to my knowledge, master. When I was free, I sold one slave with psi talents. While he was male, which drew down his price, the psi talents, and the fact that he was intact, raised them. That is possibly where my former master Haalal learned of my own, much weaker talents. He never said. Other than that, only the legendary Zarroji, masters. They are reputed with fantastic powers, enabling them to fly without machines, read minds, create objects without tools … but they are creatures of legend and myth. May this slave ask what will be done with her?"

"I haven't decided yet," Arthur said. "While I know you were doing it at Haalal's order, I'm still not happy with your being inside my head." He sat back, "If you were free, what would you do?"

She snorted, "Master, I am an Enhanced slave, as you have noticed the rest of former Master Haalal's crew are. Freedom is not a possibility for me, I hope for a kind private master."

Master Arthur grunted, "Humor me; pretend I gave you a dark collar. Would you return to your homeworld?"

"Master would be extremely foolish to grant a dark collar to this slave," she replied. "A breedable slave with known psi talents is valuable. While I do not know current pricing, I would estimate my current value to be in the forty-five to fifty kilo range; the fact that I have been successfully Enhanced and survived the procedure would add to my value. I have been bred, so I am proven fertile, and while my Guild certifications have lapsed, I possessed them for both the Slaver's Guild and the Spacer's Guild. I would suggest that you arrange to have me re-tested and have them re-instated, master. It will increase my value; I do not boast when I state that my value on the market could easily approach a hundred kilos." She tossed her head, "That is what irritated former master Haalal, he knew that, but could not state that, so when you insisted on a value of 1300 grams for me, he was not happy." She smiled, "I was informing him that you were bluffing, and misstated your cards to him."

"Yes…" Arthur drawled. "I noticed that I seemed to know how to play the hands. I assume that was with your … assistance?" She nodded, and he continued, "S'ana, I owe you one for that, but also be warned that I don't like people in my head. Also, I don't much like slavers. I can understand your … riding on Haalal's orders to try and better your situation, and as I said, I owe you one for your assistance. Do we understand each other?"

S'ana nodded, "Yes, master. For what your slave's word is worth, I will not enter your mind again. As far as my past …" (she flipped her hands), "the past is the past, master."

Her new master nodded, "I will accept your word. Please don't make me regret it." She shook her head, then tapped her left hip, "My psi talents and certifications are a matter of record, master. In addition, former master Haalal stated, as ship's Captain, I was rebellious, stole items, and so forth." She gave her brands a gentle slap, "This gave me a judicial collar, master. In order for me to have a dark collar, I would need to have those 'crimes' cleared to move to a common collar; then you would need to free me. This was to keep me in a collar, were I to return to my homeworld, I would undoubtedly be wearing the lit collar of a new master shortly." She regarded her new Master, "Master Arthur, I would beg you to keep me in your collar. You seem a kind master, something to be appreciated, and you would retain my skills. An alternative would be to sell me to the ship as a crew-slave, should you decide to keep him and the crew."

Master Arthur said, "I had a report that you were a difficult slave, that you were abusive to the crew and cargo. I don't know you, as you don't know me, but I would agree that it makes more sense to have your skills available instead of using you as a sex toy. Please explain the 'abusive' report."

"From former master Jaalal, I would wager," she replied. She pulled her hair back; then re-plaited it to hang down her back as she thought. "Master, on board the _Taalah_, there were only two free males as crew under Haalal as Captain, the balance as you know were Enhanced female slaves. Former master Haalal was in the habit of keeping his slaves in judicial collars." Master Arthur nodded, and she continued, "I was somewhat out of place; I was former master Haalal's personal slave, not a crew-slave. Normally, with more than one slave, a master will appoint a First Girl. She will handle routine discipline, schedule tasks, keep the slaves healthy and valuable to her master by keeping training up to date; represent the slaves to the master as necessary and other management issues. As the Master appoints her, she speaks with his voice, and carries some token of that authority, a switch; a ring on her neck, as her master pleases. If a slave receives conflicting orders, she will seek out the First Girl to resolve them before going to her Master. The First Officer does the same for the free crew, and on some ships, a slave serves in both positions, as First Girl and as First Officer."

Arthur nodded again, she continued, "This system works well, master. The Captain and Master has far more important things to do than work out matters such as scheduling. His function is to make money for the ship by contracting cargo shipments between ports, buying and selling. Unfortunately, former master Haalal did not appoint a First Girl, so some crew slaves would come to me with difficulties, some would come to the Engineer First, who was the most experienced of the crew slaves. As part of the function of a First Girl is minor discipline, I would perform that function, as would the Engineer, and sometimes we would disagree."

"And the cargo?" Master Steve asked.

"Some slaves did not wish to board, they were raw slaves, new to their collars, and untrained. They feared what was happening to them, and so fought being loaded and secured for shipping, the installation of feeding gags..." She shrugged. "We had our orders and had to meet scheduled times. We did not have time to persuade, so if they were stubborn, we forced them. As I said, these were raw slaves, trained slaves knew they had been sold and cooperated." She settled back on her heels, "Master, if I may suggest, if you wish me on board the _Taalah_ as a crew-slave, sell me to the ship, then appoint one of us First Girl, the other Second. Do this in front of the other crew, and then recollar us to give us the rings of First and Second Girls." She tapped her collar, "As I said, master, I desire your collar, it has been a while since I had a new one, and the new machine aboard him has many nice features."

"Wouldn't that hurt?" Steve asked.

"There is a switch on the control panel to enable that as a test, master. It is on by default, but if it is off, no, it would not hurt, and more importantly, it would disable previous control chips by writing new command codes between chip and collar, master." She shrugged, "Master, as I said, I will never be out of a collar, so I wish to have the best master I can. I think it understandable to seek the best I can for myself."

Steve nodded, "You were an experienced Captain, a trader before you were collared. Tell us something that would help us with the ship."

She eyed him; then said, "_Taalah_ was my ship before Haalal's, masters. While you hold the Owner's Wand, the computer must be informed of the change of ownership before giving verbal commands. I cannot be present, he is a slave ship, and would not permit the presence of a collar or hip implant that read slave while this change is going on. I was Enhanced and collared; forced to record the phrases, a free female standing in for me. I would suggest; if you cannot convince Haalal to do so voluntarily, to drug him and force him to record the transfer of ownership phrases. It is the method usually used by pirates, the compatible drugs are available."

Her younger new master clearly did not like this information, but the elder said, "Thank you. What Guild ratings do you hold?"

"Masters, as I said, I am out of date, and would need to study and retest. However, I held Guild ratings in both the Slavers and the Spacers Guilds in..."

* * *

Arthur sat back, "S'ana, have you heard of hotel slaves?"

"Of course, master. Their disposal is a waste of good slaves, if this slave may be so bold as to offer her opinion," she said.

"We agree," Steve said carefully. "We've been buying them and bringing them here under the fictional reason of religious sacrifice, in order to spare their lives."

Master Arthur leaned forward, "You were a slaver, and hold certifications in that Guild." She nodded, "As I said, I want your honest opinion even if, and especially if, you disagree with me."

S'ana nodded warily, "Yes, master."

"As background, we do not have slaves on our homeworld," Master Steve told her. "We find it offensive, for religious and moral reasons, to buy and sell sentient beings. Your opinion?"

S'ana sat back on her heels, "Master, this ... this comes at me from a strange angle," she said slowly. "Please understand that I come from a clan and house that has been slavers for several thousand years. It was expected that I would go into the clan business, that I would rise in it, that I would buy and sell slaves myself, as I have done." She sighed heavily, "However, masters, now that I am slave myself, I have a different perspective. I still desire your collar, master, as I said. This is to protect myself by crossing my wrists to the best available master; I think that understandable."

Both Arthur and Steve nodded as she continued, head tilted to one side. "I also spoke truth regarding my valuation as a slave, and by staying in a collar, preferably yours, master." She was silent for a minute, "Are you considering using the _Taalah_ for this purpose, master? You are aware that you cannot buy every slave?"

"Yes," Arthur ground out. "We are aware of this."

"Then you must be using a mask beside religion..." she mused. "You are aware that not all slaves you buy will wish to gain a dark collar, master? They will be terrified of freedom, especially the bred slaves."

"It is a problem," Master Arthur admitted reluctantly. "We cannot resell them, for moral reasons, and the existing structure is that the girls arrive, are tested for skills suitable for a colony, and go to a sub-colony, where they learn a trade, are paid and treated as free females, as sisters and daughters of the colonists, and to think outside their collar. For their protection, legally they belong to the Colony Governor, an Enhanced girl herself. They may petition at any time for a dark collar, but they will be in breach of contract if they do. Once they test for the trade, like a Guild certification, they are granted a dark collar. So far, out of a few thousand girls, only a handful are reluctant, as far as I know. We do ask the girls not to pressure each other, although I'm sure that happens."

"The ship also picks up specialty cargo, such as the collaring stations and med-tanks," Master Steve added.

"I can see where _Taalah_ would be attractive that way," she admitted. "However, I am also aware of the system defenses, master. A single moderate-sized warship could take the system."

"We are also aware of that, and do have a Lantern buoy in orbit," Arthur said. "That problem is being addressed. Our major concern with your ship was who Haalal talked to about this system, and what was discussed."

"I am not aware of any particular being he spoke to, master," she said. "The location of an undefended water world, especially where he had an existing business relationship, would be information of great value. He would not hazard that foolishly, and he would have kept the coordinates secure." She brushed back her hair, "Masters, I believe I can help you, if you are willing to keep me in your collar."

"We're only here a short time," Master Arthur said. "Let me introduce you to my father, who's the acting Lieutenant Governor. For now, what are you thinking?"

"To keep me in your collar, masters," she mused; then looked up at them, tossing her hair back. "Master, I suggest three things. First, upgrade my Enhancement to the latest model. This can be done by _Taalah's_ Healer on your command; with your permission I shall speak to her. The latest models read on a normal scanner as simple bone, they also remove the disk from my temple, among other benefits. Second, master, I suggest modification of my Enhancement programming to eliminate the forced 'Master' from my speech. Lastly, when I am re-collared as your slave, a programmable collar is used. This will allow you to modify my collar and implant. This will allow you to present me with the appearance of a free female with a dark collar or a collared slave, as master desires. A free female with a dark collar would be useful in certain situations, but not in others. I would remain your actual slave at all times, my hip implant still reading 'slave'." S'ana put her head down, crossing her wrists again.

"We have another ship," Arthur said. "As I mentioned, the legal requirements are such that their Second Officer, who wears a collar like you've described, is the 'priestess' of that ship, and is the one to actually buy and sell the slaves." He leaned forward, "Her hip implant is set to read 'free', instead of slave, although she normally, day-to-day, wears a lit collar and slave belt. It's more comfortable for her."

S'ana nodded, "Understandable, masters. If she is transacting business for the ship, she would need a free hip implant." She looked up, regarding the two Terrans. "This is what you are considering for the _Taalah_?"

Arthur nodded, while Steve asked, "How would the other slaves aboard the _Taalah_ react to something like this? What the other ship's slaves have is the _appearance_ of ship's slaves; in fact they are free and under Spacer's Guild contract."

S'ana chewed her lip, musing, "I would not trust former master Jaalal, masters. He would betray your trust, I would bio-sculpt and sell him as slave before he could betray and sell the _Taalah_." She grinned wryly, "However, I do not see you doing the sensible thing, so I would suggest keeping him ignorant and paying off his contract, then putting him off at some port like Tosul. He should have no difficulties gaining a berth, experienced crew are always in demand."

"I can live with that," Arthur said. "What about the navigator, what's his name?"

"Master Saarat is a master I do not understand," S'ana admitted. "He was slave, and was Enhanced, and gained his freedom and a dark collar. In his collar, I would admittedly be content, to be male with a dark collar, however I believe he desires to be a twenty-kilo slave girl. While I have not heard him say so, one may easily determine this, as he is Enhanced, simply control him and inquire, he would not be able to lie." She shook her head, "As I said, masters, I do not understand former master Saarat. However, if what I believe is correct, it may be done for minimal cost." She pulled her hair back, "Regarding the other slaves, masters, some will desire a dark collar, either on or off the _Taalah_. Others will be interested in acting as ship's slaves, as you have said, with a Guild contract." She looked up, "In general, a hip implant is checked when transacting titled business, such as buying or selling slaves. However for a retail sale, such as for food in a market, most beings will simply be guided by a slave's collar and tags the Portmaster installs, this will inform them of the passing slave's legal status. He would install one set of tags if the ship's captain allows an individual slave to purchase items, others if the slave is not permitted. It is a simple, effective system, and would work well for you."

Arthur nodded, "I've seen that in other ports. What about the _Taalah_ itself?"

"He has various items installed that are not legal for a civilian ship, master," S'ana replied. "They may either be uninstalled, or master's father may perhaps be persuaded to issue a license on behalf of this planet's government. I do not know of the legal situation on this planet, master; however stealth gear and a larger gun have saved the ship several times from pirates. If it can be done legally, it would be wise to gain the necessary permits and allowances." She played with her hair, "Assuming master can gain the necessary permits from the government, they must be registered with Lantern Bank, who will issue a new ship's identification chip. This will allow other ships in convoy or planetary governments to know they are lawful. Ideally, master, a Class Four or above planet like Tosul would be selected for this registration with Lantern Bank. Fees may be high, master, but it certainly can be done."

"Thank you, S'ana," Arthur said, rising and offering her a hand up. "I'd like you to meet with my father. For the purposes of this discussion, I'll grant you a temporary freedom, for say, a week."

"Thank you, master," she said, surprised. "I would be most pleased to meet with your father, and for what my word may be worth to you, I promise not to read his mind."

"Then let's go get you another cover plate, and I'll introduce you."

* * *

"I'd like to find out what's happened to Eleanor and Marie," Bill said later, inside the prison. "It's reading their collars in a slave processing office, and there's entries for them as Crown slaves."

"Wait a minute," Arthur said. "Collars? What's the deal?"

"They volunteered for this. The original plan to seize the ship was that they were to be my backup, and I was an arms dealer holding them hostage on their father. As such, we did some bio-sculpt on them, collaring them as slaves." He held up a hand, "Every thing we've done is reversible, Arthur, and like I said, they were fully informed and volunteered for it."

"Master?" S'ana asked. "I am confused. I thought you said you did not have slaves."

"The two girls have special abilities," Bill replied. "As the _Taalah_ is a slave ship, we planned to cover them as slaves. The ship was running behind schedule, they needed to be prepared quickly. They weren't where they were supposed to be when you arrived, they're apparently being treated as new slaves."

"They are slaves in a slave house," she nodded in understanding. "What is the difficulty, master? You retain title to them; you may do as you wish."

"My plan was that they were supposed to _appear_ as slaves, not _be_ slaves," Bill said.

S'ana snorted with suppressed laughter, "Oh, master, that is amusing. Why not simply use existing slaves with those abilities, instead of collaring two raw, untrained females?"

"Those girls were not available," he replied.

S'ana nodded. "Now you own two slaves with those abilities, and they are in your slave house, where they will undergo proper slave training," she said in approval "I still do not see your difficulty, master. Is it political?"

"To some extent," Steve said, entering the conversation. "This was apparently a last-chance decision, and while the two girls may have volunteered for it, their actual use creates some potential problems."

"Ah," S'ana replied, and rubbed her chin. "Master, I do not know your own political dynamic. However, you have two slaves now. You may keep them as slaves, sell them, or kill them; whichever is most profitable for you. As you have bio-sculpted them, I assume they are not readily identifiable as kin to the other families. You may enter negotiations with them, issuing a false death notice and keeping them in your collar or selling them back to their families, whichever proves more profitable. They were extremely foolish to volunteer for a collar, once they are collared, their old identities ceased to exist." She gestured at the outer walls of the room, "Masters, this is a colony world, a death notice is believable. The families will be sad, but will move on, and you may conclude the business with the slaves as you wish." She knelt back on her heels, "If the ability is a rare one, keep them in your collar and train other slaves as a source of profit for the colony, or Enhance them, record the skill, and license the recording to the Slaver's Guild."

"The ... ability depends in part on somewhat random biological factors," Arthur said carefully. "Efforts recently to breed for it have ..."

"... have proven a lessening of the ability over several generations," Steve said. "In addition, that sparked a small civil war, the addition of off-line genetics producing a stronger ability, not a lesser one."

"Interesting..." S'ana mused. "It would be interesting to consult the Guild's genetic slave database, masters; as a slaver I am interested in genetics. Another reason to visit Tosul, there is a searchable copy there. How many matched chromosomes?"

"Forty six," Steve replied.

"Forty to sixty is the base hominid stock," she said, gesturing at the four of them. "Shall we discuss the _Taalah_ and his crew?" Before they could, there was a knock on the door, and Clark put his head through. "Arthur? Steve? Close to 'done'?"

"Go ahead, but stop by and see Elena if you can," Bill said. "She's at Brazos, which is site 17 on an old map." He nodded, "Nice to see you again, Mr. Kent." He waved, "Go on, S'ana and I will talk. I assume I have your proxy, Arthur?"

"Yeah, dad," he replied. I'll see Elena. Shoot me an email about your deal. S'ana, I guess I'll see you sometime later, be safe." He waved, and left, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Eleanor, now Crown slave 11641, arose from where she had knelt. She had learned that if she simply obeyed orders, life was much easier, and the basic slave training she was going through wasn't that difficult, simply learning the difference between commands such as 'back' (in which she crossed her wrists behind her), and 'cuff', in which she actually cuffed herself to her slave belt.

Nor was she the only raw slave being trained, 11642 (Marie) stood next to her. In a minute, another raw girl (who looked vaguely oriental) stood next to Marie. Apparently raw slaves, which had been imported and sold by Elder Baasht, were taking the chance to escape their masters, and were showing up, occasionally in the 'seedling' colonies, but more often at the DHL islands and here in Riverside. She had overheard gossip between the experienced, trained slaves (who were not kept gagged as the 'raw' slaves were), that had the owners on Island falling into two groups. One group had worked out deals with their worker-slaves, while another seemed to be supporters of the new Traditionalist Party, and hadn't bothered, simply installing new chains and fences on their work-places. However, for slaves that had to move around and house slaves, that hadn't worked out well, and an informal 'railroad' had sprung up to transport escaping slaves to the two port towns on Island.

When they arrived in Riverside, they were given a (cold) wash down, a medical examination and haircut. Eleanor was rather pleased, while she liked long hair; long enough to trip over was too much of a good thing, in her opinion. A minor drawback had her listed with blue hair from the (now cut) tip, instead of her actual white hair. Still, she liked her thick 'tail' and hair that went below her knees.

Her basic 'slave training' was intended to bring new, raw girls to a uniform level of training before being sold or transferred to other training. While Marie and Eleanor knew they wouldn't be sold, these girls didn't. To them, it was a loosely-run slave house, with rampant speculation about the 'Temple' of the god 'Hoki-Poki' and the religious rites.

* * *

"Ah, it is a good thing you're still here," Sir Cuthbert said to the IT bloke.

"Just closing up for the day, what can I do for you?" George thought '_Something quick, I hope_.'"

"Oh, this isn't in regard to my computer," the English aristocrat said, waving at the door as he got his pipe out. "This is regarding your girl Marie and her partner Eleanor." His thumb packed his tobacco mix; he then scraped a kitchen match against his boot sole, puffing to get his pipe drawing properly. "Nothing like a good pipe, m'boy." He cleared his throat, "Don't know if I've introduced myself."

"You're Sir Cuthbert," George replied. "Formerly MI-6 as I recall." He gestured to the door as he finished shutting down. "Where's Marie? She hasn't been seen at her apartment, and I'm a bit worried."

"A tale to be told over drinks at the pub," Cuthbert replied. "Has Mr. Rowle returned from Island? This involves his girl Eleanor, and I dislike repeating myself."

"I don't think so," George said as he rattled the knob. "Tell me about Marie and Eleanor, please."

"At the pub, m'boy. This requires a drink or two to get down."

* * *

"I'm going to kill the son-of-a-bitch," George said.

"Now, now, he has his heart in the right place," Walter replied. While he preferred wine or sherry, this situation seemed to call for beer. "He needed to have something to go into action immediately, and from what I understand, the girls were fully informed and volunteered." He took a sip of the dark brew, "Mr. Morton's difficulty is he lacks experience in Intelligence work, which he was forced into. He is, or was, rather by all accounts, an excellent administrative staff officer in the American Navy. My objection is that he did not consult with a person with that experience." He swirled the beer, and took another sip. "I understand Dr. Lopez has backed up the configurations from their bio-sculpt, and they are currently safe in a slave house." He unfolded a sheet of paper, handing it over. "I presume you have their home email addresses; it would look better coming from you or Mr. Rowle than from I. This simply informs the rellies that they are on a classified mission, they are safe, and when we have more information, we shall provide it."

"Not happy," George replied, draining his pint and signaling to the girl for another round. "Drink up, it's on me. I appreciate you're letting me know; I owe you one."

"In that case, could you set up a few false email accounts? It would prove most useful in future," Walter asked, passing over another sheet of paper. George looked it over; then nodded. "Still owe you one; initial password's going to be '_Cuthbert_'."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, October 20, 2002: 14:49 (GMT)  
Seconday, 18 Octus, 162, 23:36 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, 'John's Pub':****  
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The tugboat _Hipper_ saluted the flag with her whistle, and Professor Franklin turned, looking out the back of the open-air end of the bar. "I think that's our animals," he said, and Sgt. Ross put down his mug of tea. "I think you're right, although I wish they had come earlier in the day. Shannon?" His big dog looked up from her bowl of ice water; then noisily crunched a few cubes.

"I think she's happy where she is," John said, putting away his 'mayor' paperwork that he'd been working on as he tended bar. He took the pitcher of ice water, came out from behind the bar and refilled the dog's bowl. She rumbled her thanks, her tail wagging, and Cad, one of the girls that worked there, took the pitcher from him. "Go, Palli and I shall be here. Should you see Aggie, please inform the lazy wench we need her here, not gossiping across the street." A smile took any sort of sting from her words; Aggie served as the pub's assistant manager, she was a 'captured' girl, not a bred slave, and handled supplies, scheduling and so forth when John had to play 'Mayor'. She had declined a ticket home for her own reasons, and was also one of the candidates for Town Council. She was petite, with vivid green hair and slanted eyes, and was constantly joking about working with tall people who gave her no respect.

Cad took the folder of paperwork from his hands. "I will walk this over to your Town Hall office when Aggie returns. Go, you know you want to see them unload."

"And I want to get my hands on Trigger again," Sgt. Ross said.

"Isn't that kind of stereotypical for a horse's name?" John asked.

* * *

"The way they are working it," Dr. Bujones said as they watched the boat's crew preparing the steel containers, "They are leaving the barge docked here. They move on, while our cranes and equipment unload the containers. We then remove the animals, moving them from South One to Two, along with our other cargo. We then reload the containers on the barge. It is much more efficient."

Herr Otto, their Portmaster/Postmaster, emerged from the boat, followed by two young women and a middle-aged man. He was carrying a sack of mail and looking something like Santa. Both his 'daughters' followed along with carts of packages, making their way up the dock. He saw them and waved, making his way to where the three of them watched. "Ach," he complained, "I am getting too old for this! Mein Damen und Herren, we have Herr Inspector Constantine of the Mounties, who will be working with Herr Ross (he gave a brief touch to the rim of his campaign hat). Joining us will be Frau L'ani, who is working with Herr Ross as his assistant." L'ani smiled, setting down her small bag. She was a native, who wore a light blue short sleeved tunic, secured with an equipment belt, navy jeans, ankle boots and a collar with light blue and green lights.

"Lastly, all the way from Riverside, we have Ensign Elena Morton, here to visit and solve all our problems," Herr Otto proclaimed with a jolly smile. "Now that we are all good friends, Frau Doktor, the Captain needs you for some medical thing."

"Thank you," she said, and moved off, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder. "The smell," Herr Otto said. "We shall need to clean those containers, but we can at least use the water and such on the gardens. You will excuse me, mein damen und herren, I have mail to deliver." He hitched the bag higher on his shoulder and followed his daughters.

"So," John started. "I'm Professor John Franklin, for my sins acting Mayor until our elections in a few weeks, when I become John the Pub Owner. This is Sergeant Ross, formerly of the Texas Rangers, who is our law enforcement." He offered his hand, and the three newcomers shook it, followed by Sgt. Ross, who said, "Fortunately, I haven't been too busy. Let's get the three of you squared away with rooms at the pub; something to eat, and you can rest. Still MRE's unfortunately, but the local beer's good."

"That's one of the things I'm here for," Elena said. She wore her naval uniform, and continued, "My mission is to clear out some of the BS from Riverside and do what I can to help you get seed in and bread on the table." She indicated her own large luggage cart, "I've got some seeds; liquid fertilizers specially brewed, diagrams and whatnot. I've also got information from my previous stop at Nueva Mexico." She picked up the other two's bags and put them on her own cart. "Ready when you are."

* * *

At the dining tent, Elena sat back with a tall stein of ice water, and said, "I expected MREs to be more… I don't know. Unpalatable, I guess." She took a swallow of ice water, and ruffled Shannon's head; who had come over to mooch. "Gawd, she's a big dog."

"Lazy as all hell," Sgt. Ross said, and Shannon turned to look at him. "I don't know why or how, but our critters seem to be a bit smarter than they were on Earth."

"I've noticed that," Karen said. "I wonder what Karl would say if he could talk. Anyway, we're keeping you up, I've noticed you yawning, Ensign Morton. We'll give you the ten cent tour tomorrow, and bend your ear with our complaints." She gestured, "Finish your water, and take another mug of ice water for overnight. I'd suggest leaving your room's window open for the sea breeze."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, October 21, 2002: 05:02 (GMT)  
Thirday, 19 Octus, 162, 07:49 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, 'John's Pub':****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Elena came down the stairs from her room, entering the open-air wing of the bar, which seemed to be something of a social center. Mr. Franklin smiled at her, asking "Local teas or military coffee? Some of the local teas are very strong."

"I'll give that a try," she said, and he made one appear as she put her notebook down at a table. He walked it out to her, "Just wave when you want a refill. We've got Terran honey if you want it, but the sugar beets aren't ripe yet."

* * *

"I don't see a problem with this," Chuck Rice said as he looked over the scale model. "Wood or metal. Bob?"

"Nah," Bob Jourdain said. "Build this up a bit, change some gearing here, and you could do a push version for a garden. For a powered towed version … half a day."

"Powered?" Elena asked.

"We've worked out a power take off module that can be towed behind a team, and that drives other equipment, from disk harrows to mowers," Bob said. He studied the model, then the datasheets, "Yeah, not a problem, now that we've finally got shonnen. Angie was excited, they're going to start burning the South fields today, if they haven't already, drive the damned wabbits into the rivers, then plow the fields and plant forage crops." He tapped the datasheets, "Get the fields surveyed in a day or so, gates built and installed…"

"Thank god for GPS," Chuck said. "We've got the fields plotted out, but what about getting the quick-grow fertilizer?"

"There's production problems in brewing it," Elena said. "Right now, they're forced to do liter batches, and each one takes several hours. They're trying to speed things up, but they've got problems in both personnel and equipment." She shrugged, "That's where we stand now. I brought a different one, it's a quick start, but it needs to be mixed and administered precisely – no fudging it, no 'if five is good, seven is better'."

"Okay," Chuck said, and looked at his friend. "We've got a morning's work, but who do we bill to?"

"Bill it to the town," Mr. Franklin said as he came up. "Want to see the barns and such? Can you get dirty?"

"Ready when you are," Elena said, standing and taking her teacup to the bar. "Give me five minutes, though, to visit the head."

* * *

"So, I have to ask, any relation to the acting Lieutenant Governor?" John asked as they walked toward South Two.

"My father," Elena replied. "If you've been listening to the rumor mill, I'm also the lush in the Governor's office," she said with a small smile. She took a deeper-than-normal breath, "They say the first step in defeating a problem is admitting you have one, so I fell off the wagon, I'm a recovering alcoholic." She held her notebook in front of her, walking in silence. She stopped for a moment, looking west toward the lakes, "There's got to be fish in those lakes."

"And deer in the woods," John answered. "As well as what we're calling bears, foxes, and of course the wabbits."

"Part of what I brought," she replied. "I've got both irontip and bloodvine seeds, grow fast potion … err, fertilizer…"

"Wizarding support?" John asked.

"Unofficially, yes. They're rather limited in resources at the moment; they can only brew in liter batches." She looked at John, "Officially, of course, I have no idea what you're talking about." He nodded, and she started walking again.

"How did you get wabbit blood?" John asked, unlatching the gate on the walkway over the locks.

She stepped through; then waited while he secured it. "They're not that bright. The docs have built a colony setup to study them. Bait with some fresh meat, they'll run down a PVC pipe like it's a tunnel. Put a narrowed section of pipe with the bait just beyond it, a cutout on the narrow part, and as long as you avoid their teeth, you can do what you want. Slit their throats; let them bleed out into a bucket." She shrugged and gestured, "Skin them, harvest their fats, and boil them down to make a wax. Makes a good lubricant." Walking for a bit, she turned and asked, "What's that, a fish ladder?"

"Yeah," John said, looking at the fairly narrow channel that went under the control tower. He pointed up, "You want to see the tower? It's got a great view of everything."

"Still unoccupied?" and he nodded. "I'll check it out later," and pointed. "That's South One?"

"Our transport and primary fuel storage," he agreed. "Biofuels like diesel and kerosene, and also our landing strip for aircraft. You can see South Two and the barns past it."

"I've got plans that your people can use to make carts that will mate with those cargo containers," Elena said. "Unfortunately, the Island engine people haven't yet come up with a diesel engine that has enough horsepower, so you'd need to use shonnen to move them. Now that you've got them."

"Now that we do," he agreed. "Shall we go see them?"

* * *

Elena and John went through the gate onto South Two. He commented as he latched it, "We're trying to figure out a mechanism that will open and close the gate quickly enough to keep out wabbits. Unfortunately, shonnen are big and slow, while wabbits are small and quick."

"Hmm," she replied, stopping to study the situation. "I see what you mean. Planting a tunnel of irontip hedges might help. I'm sorry, my brother Hank is the mechanical type, I'm the grounded flygirl;" she said, somewhat bitterly. "My fault," she added as she moved a few steps further south. "Those are the barns?"

"Yeah," John said. He gestured with an arm at the semicircle of buildings. "Now, we're looking roughly southeast. From the left is the shonnen barn; you'll notice the thick walls of the corral. It's only got twelve animal stalls, plus what I call the maintenance areas for wash down and medical care. Next to that is the dairy barn, and opposite us is the combined horse and hexataur barn. Total of forty stalls there, but they take the same amount of floor space as the shonnen." He shook his head, "_Big _animals."

"Word of advice," Elena said with a small grin. "Don't get shonnen drunk. Someone at Port Lincoln dumped some 190 proof hooch into their water tank, they started doing the polka, and they're downright mean with a hangover."

John chuckled. "I'll make a note of that," he promised. He pointed with his left arm, "After the horse barn is the smaller animals, sheep and goats. They're combined into one area, although we're going to have to borrow someone from the Aussie colony to teach us how to shear sheep. Texans don't shear, see?"

"Ouch." Elena said. "Just ouch. I thought some of the Buckeye jokes were bad."

"Give me a break, I'm coffee-deprived," John replied. "Tea just doesn't cut it. Hopefully someone will grow _Arabica_, but from what I understand we're out of its climate zone."

"From what I understand, there's a Philippine school planning on growing coffee," she replied.

"Praise Jesus," he replied. "Okay, some good news." He pointed again, "Past the goats are the pigs and chickens. The pigsty and the other barns flush their waste into the digesting lagoon, that's the blue area. It has a floating cover to capture the biogas, which goes to a turbine to generate power. One problem we have is the pig urine; it has a high copper content, which is toxic. We'd like to extract the copper somehow."

Elena made a note, "We need chemists; we also have a gender imbalance, if you've noticed."

"Yes, I have," he replied. "Can you do some recruiting? I've already sent email back to TAMU, but in general, we want good guys, ethical and moral, because otherwise we're looking at a multiple-wife type of social setup. Maybe something with graduate students or engineering students." She nodded, making additional notes, and he continued, "On the chicken coop, you'll notice three layers of fencing; the overhead and inner layer is electrified; the outermost also has slats in the chain link to keep the varmints from seeing the chickens. Unfortunately, they can still smell and hear them. Lastly, the end building is a pasteurization shed; it also has a gateway to the chicken coop for the eggs. Doc Bujones has her vet office in there, along with a small apartment above, so they don't have a late night trip back, they can just crash there."

"Makes sense," she said. "The green flags on stakes, and what about that building behind the milk shed?"

"The flags are where we want irontip hedges; you'll notice they curve around as a drive, but also to enclose the longing area in the center. That's where you get the horse on a long rope to train him. You also train novice riders that way."

"Like me," she replied with a grin. "The building?"

"That's number five, the slaughterhouse."

* * *

"Hope you don't mind getting dirty," John warned as they entered the interior of the shonnen barn.

"Not at all," Elena replied. She wore a jumpsuit and boots, and carried her notebook. She looked around, above them ceiling fans turned. They stood in a central area about thirty feet wide, with outward-facing stalls. Exterior doors could close off the stalls; they were now open for air circulation. Aside from the airborne dust common to livestock barns, it was cool and comfortable.

Above each stall was a block and tackle hanging from the beams that supported a gate made of large diameter pipe in channels. The unoccupied stalls, including a double-width 'birthing stall' had raised gates tied off to rungs set in the concrete stall walls.

Those stalls had common walls of block about three feet thick and five feet high. The shonnen could therefore see and smell their neighboring animals. On the back of each animal's skull was tattooed a black registration number which matched the brand on the rearmost hip. They watched as a girl moved around a shonnen's head, the lower part of a yoke appeared around the animal's neck as it ate. She climbed up onto the stall's wall, sitting on its fore-shoulders. Placing a top bar, she kicked two wooden wing nuts into place; then walked down to the gate, dropping to the floor. As she untied the line, she said, "You must be our new master."

"No, I'm John, I'm the mayor until the election," he corrected gently. "This is Elena Morton; she's from the capital at Riverside."

"Ah, an Imperial," she replied, looking Elena up and down. Obviously reserving judgment, she turned back to John. "You will need signs designating which stall is which. The animals are somewhat territorial that way, especially when they are like 744 here. He is male, and thus temperamental."

"Aren't they all?" Elena replied. The girl snorted in agreement, using the end of the line to slap the shonnen's rear, calling 'Back! Back!' to it.

"Gor blimey, those things are big," a man's voice said, while another said, "They need to be shod. Where… Dr. Bujones?"

"Over there," a familiar voice said, and Elena spun, "Arthur?"

"Hey, sis, I was in the neigh… oof!" he said as she tackled him. "Ooh, you big nit!" she said, giving him a fierce hug. Brother and sister moved off, talking quietly, and Steve cleared his throat. "I'm Steve, here as bodyguard for Mr. Morton. Just for the day, then we return to Earth." He indicated the bigger man, speaking in rapid, fluent Spanish to Dr. Bujones. "Mr. Kent, with the Yank newspaper _The Daily Planet_."

"Well, I'm John Franklin, acting mayor for our little town of Brazos," he replied. "You'll pardon our excitement, but we just got our animals in, which means we can finally start plowing and planting." He watched the two groups, "Mr. Kent seems to be rather familiar with farm life."

Mr. Kent looked up at his name; then smiled and said, "I come from the farm town of Smallville, Kansas, Mr. Mayor. We have different philosophies as farmers; I always shod a working animal like a horse, while Dr. Bujones disagrees."

"I say we need to wait for evidence," she replied.

Mr. Kent asked, "What about the mid-hoof splitting I see on that cow, number 138? If they're going to be in muddy fields, they'll need the traction…" and they resumed their friendly argument.

John and Steve looked over as Arthur held his sister by her shoulders, "Sis, Uncle Rich is an alcoholic who no longer drinks. You just suffered from a month long case of 'stupid'. It's not the same thing." He put his arm over her shoulder, adding, "When you get back to Earth, there's someone I'd like you to meet. One of my professors _is_ an actual recovering alcoholic, he and his wife have said they'll meet with you and help you." He gave her a hug, "Is there anything I can do to help you now?"

"Aside from writing more? I wish I had a camera; I'd like to get some photos. I know I'm not in Teela's league when it comes to art..."

"I've got Mattie's, and you should have been issued one when you got sent out here." He made one appear, "This is Mattie's and these..." (He made some Ziploc bags appear.) "Are spare batteries and memory cards; manuals are in the bags. Red are used, green is available. You know she's going to shoot me if..."

"Something happens. Yeah, don't worry little brother. I'll burn her stuff to disk and mail it to her in London," she said as she stowed things in pockets. "Thanks. I don't know when I'll get home leave, though, and that beer last night in the pub was awfully tempting."

"We kind of got on the wrong foot with my report," he said. "There was plenty of blame to go around, including some for me." He gave her another hug; then said, "I'm taking you away from your work, but I couldn't visit without seeing you. Anything you want me to tell anyone?"

"Write me more, you doofus," she said, giving him a poke in the ribs with each word. "Getting a letter from you is like prying it out with a crowbar." They moved aside as another girl rode a shonnen out. Elena gestured to the departed animal, "The girls are still kind of in the 'is this a dream' stage; we'll have to be more patient. The local slave girls are, in general, not as gun-shy as the imported hotel girls. I'd like to see that slave farm that Baasht had. I'd also like to see Baasht and the other Elders hung by their toes over a pit of hot coals, but that's a personal opinion."

"That's one of the milder ones I've heard," Arthur said. "Some of them involve ants and large amounts of honey."

John cleared his throat, "What about the warships I've heard about?"

"We've taken the _Wisdom_ apart, and managed to duplicate almost all of her systems, which cost serious cash," Arthur replied. "We're building shipyards in Copernicus and Archimedes craters, along with orbital yards. Our major problems now are duplicating her jump drive, replicators and inertial dampers. There are major R&D contracts out for those systems with business and universities. Once we get those problems solved, we should be able to turn ships out quickly; we're using a modular build approach." He took a few steps to the water fountain, drank; and then continued, "We're trying to keep things like control boards standardized, so people can go from one ship to another without having to learn a new layout."

"Thank you," Elena commented. She took his arm, "Oh, I wish you could stay longer. Can I at least get a picture of everyone?"

"Sure." They all lined up, their shonnen background turning her head in dull curiosity. There was a flash, a high-pitched 'moo' from the shonnen, and they separated. Arthur gave his sister a last hug, said, "See you around the farm," then he cleared his throat, "Mr. Kent? Ready?" He walked with Steve to the entrance and around the corner, Mr. Kent following them, and they were gone.

"Well, that was interesting," John commented. "Anything else you want to see here?" he asked.

Elena looked around. PVC water pipes ran along the beams, dropping hoses down between each two stalls. There was electrical conduit dropping down to the outside of the stalls; stairways ran up to the storage floor, there were fluorescent lights and a water fountain. She took a long drink; the water was refreshingly cool. Looking in the 'medical' stall, "That's where they plan to shoe the animals?"

"Yes, the locals don't do it, but their roads are mostly gravel. Dr. Bujones has dimensions for shoes if she determines they need it," John replied. "There's a debate, called 'naked hoof' about shoeing horses, so we're just going to play it by ear. If so, we'll move the appropriate equipment in there." John moved to the corral entry, and Elena joined him, seeing a thick octagonal wall built around several trees in the corral, the bricks were angled to both protect the trees and serve as a scratching post. There were several rungs built into the inner face of the wall, a large water tank and salt lick, and spaces for both shade and sun. He asked, "What do you want to see next?"

* * *

The horse barn, as John thought of it, was designed with a common central area and paddocks made of concrete block. They had kept as many of the native trees as possible, and like the shonnen barn, the animal entrance had an overhead pull for riders to open and close the gates, another defensive measure against wabbits. He checked before opening the lower half of the personnel door, this one had a short corridor, with the barn office to the left, a good size area for general tack and equipment on the right, and across the central aisle, a wash down and medical stall.

There were a total of forty stalls, and he could see Sgt. Ross outside one, caressing and talking quietly to a horse. He had already put a saddle on a wide horizontal bar; he turned at their approach, "Hey, there. This is Trigger. I'll have to get a stall sign made up. Won't I?" he asked the horse.

"We're going to have to offer riding lessons," John replied. "It's been years since I've sat a horse."

"Good idea. From what I hear, the hexataurs can be ridden, they just don't like it; they're not broken to saddle yet. That's something we can do, we've got a dozen of them, and another dozen or so horses."

"Are they broken to gunshots yet?" Elena asked. "If you're hunting from horseback, I'd think they'd better get used to the sound." She moved closer to Trigger, adding, "Just fire blanks, I would think." She patted the horse; and then moved away, "As I understand it, horses aren't ridden until they're two or three years old. We've got some mares, and there's some trading of sperm, but that seems like a long time."

"Not long term," Sgt. Ross said. "Not for a colony. Be patient, Ms. Morton; things will happen."

* * *

"… thank you, Professor," Elena said that night. "I'm not going to make a long, flowery speech, because that would delay dinner." People chuckled. "I'll say that I'm staying in room 15 at the pub, I want to talk to you because my job is to help you get seed in the ground and bread on the table, and tomorrow morning I'll be there, on the veranda. I'll even buy you a cup of tea, and I'll do what I can to help if you need something resolved with Riverside. If you don't see me there, I'll be walking about, poking my nose into your shops and saying 'Hello'. I'd like to meet with the business people, as well as your banker, Mr…" she paused to look at her notes, and someone said, "Mister Snaplink."

"Thank you and I'm sorry I didn't have the name immediately to mind, Mr. Snaplink." The goblin banker waved it off, and she paused, "That's really all I have for the moment, and dinner's getting cold. Thanks for letting me blather." She sat down, and took a gulp from her mug of ice water.

_Brazos community log, Day 23_

_Thirday 19 Octus, 162_

_Yesterday we finally received eight shonnen and a dozen hexataurs, one male of each, plus vials of semen for genetic diversity. In addition, we have received both personal horses as well as other Terran livestock such as chickens, cows, goats, horses, pigs and sheep. Our concern now is feeding them; we have a limited amount of pre-packaged feed. Dr. Bujones wanted them to have a day of rest before putting them to work, which she used in developing her 'system' for measuring and fitting a harness or yoke. _

_Our male hexataur will need additional breaking. While none of them are saddle or gunshot broken, the breeding database gives individual behavioral data, and he has a tendency to attempt to remove his harness, escape from his stall, and use improvised weapons such as sticks. The females do not exhibit these behaviors other than a desire to join him in his stall. They are apparently in heat, and he is the only male available. They do have hands, which will remain bound in a stall harness, as they have defeated simpler locks, which is why their stalls are common-key padlocked. Dr. Bujones plans to collect his sperm samples tomorrow, and inseminate the females. _

_I wonder if they are somewhat sentient, but I'm told that their brains are not complex enough and they show no social structure beyond a herd instinct. While they are tool users, so are monkeys and otters. I am wary of this, as it brings back older, racist arguments that were applied to blacks, women, and others. They do, however have a keenly developed sense of smell, and can be relied on to follow simple instructions. Our animals have been broken to harness, and will wear a protective skirt to protect them from the wabbits. They are also mature animals, formerly feral, which might explain their behavior. _

_Our shonnen are generally docile, but slow to start and stop. We have burnt out the South fields, clearing away pests like snakes, the small 'meeper' field mice, weeds, vines, and so forth. Crews went into the field with fire-cans to set and maintain the fire as it progressed, others followed with the gal-tech force-blades (which were instantly characterized as 'lightsabers') to fell trees and cut out stumps. Tomorrow we'll be able to use teams to move portable generators, a wood chipper for mulch and pulp, and a portable sawmill from the edge of North field to South. This will give us construction lumber (although green), which Mr. Rice has plans for. Crews will then pour foundations and build brick gateways and wire fencing for the planting of our bloodvine and irontip hedges, which will use the wire as a trellis. The roots will go down well below our estimated frost line, up to twenty or thirty feet, I'm told. They will invade any surviving wabbit dens, so that problem should be solved. _

_Regarding those hedges, the seeds are roughly the size of caraway or sesame, water loving, and are packaged with a strong desiccant. They are planted together, a few inches down and about eighteen inches apart, and given a shot of water mixed with two drops of wabbit blood per ten gallons and 'grow-fast', a nutrient fertilizer we have licensed, using a planting device. We should have knee-high hedges within a day, meter high in two, and two meter in a week. _

_By the end of next week we should have safe fields for our animals to graze in; we will then repeat the process (using smaller fields) in the North. Once we have generated sufficient income, I would like to see additional gravel roads built. Gravel and other stone and ceramics are import items, and expensive because of shipping costs in bulk._

_We had received several visitors; the first of them is our visitor from Riverside, Ms. Morton. She is visiting the 'seedling' colonies like ours in order to 'clear away the underbrush' generated by events in Riverside. Stopping by on a shorter visit is her brother Arthur, who is Miss Wayne's fiancé. Therefore Ms. Morton should have no problem generating sufficient political leverage; her father is the acting Lieutenant Governor. A bodyguard and Mr. Clark Kent of the __Daily Planet__ newspaper accompanied Mr. Morton. Ms. Morton (and her brother, and Mr. Kent) are likable people, Mr. Kent coming from a small farming town in Kansas. _

_We mustn't lose track that we are here to find out any crop diseases or harmful pests or insects. We are also scheduled to get some 'grow fast' fertilizer, which we will treat as another variable, planting a field with that, another with simple soil and water, and another with a ground cover like legumes, for additional nitrogen fixing. _

_I inquired of Ms. Morton regarding getting traditional farm tractors. She replied that we could import them from Earth; however there is also the problem of maintenance, spare parts, and the freight involved in shipping something that large. Local variants of the diesel engine are fine for powering smaller boats in the small cruiser size, generators, pumps, and so forth. This is what we are using in some locations, but they are not powerful enough for multi-gang plows. Those used for the riverboats are hand-cast and built, and are a good third of the ship's cost. They are also finicky, requiring constant 'babying' by the crews, while draft animals such as shonnen and our shire horses are available and 'self-reproducing'. _

_On other news, we received a software update for our business and accounting computers. Coin readers and secure interface devices will be on the arriving ships along with the new colonists, as well as point-of-sale registers and other necessary devices for merchants. Gringotts will be issuing both coins and bills, and when the ships arrive, we'll receive the actual items. For now, Mr. Snaplink passed around samples encased in plastic. They are similar to the Euro coins, as there are a thousand grams to the kilo; they are denominated in units of 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, 50, 100, and 200 grams. Each coin has a clear window with a small chip, which serves to authenticate it. The coin's serial number is also embossed on the edge, and the coin is made up to include that precise quantity of tungsten. _

_Bills are a different matter, and have a variety of security measures. They have embedded RFID chips, three of them, a bar-coded serial number, which matches the chips and the printed number. They are in one, two, five, ten, twenty, fifty, and one, two, and five hundred kilo denominations. Mr. Snaplink informed us that we deviated here from galactic custom in not using certified chips. However, those would be available to anyone instead of bills; that bills met all specifications and were legal tender. They were simply not as popular as chips on the galactic market. I personally think common usage will be like the dollar, in that the largest bill you normally use would be a twenty. Fifties and up get thrown under the cash drawer and put in the night deposit. _

_This is good news, as we have exchange rates now, as well as commodity prices for various metals, as well as Terran currencies such as the dollar, pound, and Euro. We can now start to set prices and labor rates; as well as tax rates. This way, when the currency changes from iron to tungsten based, we'll be ready. Mr. Ito did suggest we initially post prices in grams, dollars and Euros so we can become adjusted. _

_As we will be receiving fifteen new 'seedling' colonies on planet in the near future, Ms. Morton asked for two things: specialties we needed here, as well as volunteers to go to the new seedlings for technical assistance, the 'been there, done that, here's what worked' approach. She also mentioned, although she was somewhat embarrassed, for suggestions regarding the lack of young men – should preferences be given to relatives of existing colonists? _

_Finally, we have received an assistant for Sgt. Ross, one L'ani, a native girl. She arrived with Inspector Constantine of the Mounties, who will be getting our law enforcement up to federal standards. _

_No births, deaths or crimes to report. _

_John Franklin  
Acting Mayor,  
Brazos_

* * *

_(A/N: Jessie and Jas. W. Tickes & Sons, clocksmiths, are used with permission.) _

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, October 21, 2002: 07:43 (GMT)****  
Terra, London, 92 Diagon Alley:****  
**

* * *

Crystal pulled open the door of Jas. W. Tickes & Sons, browsing a bit while the proprietor, Jessie Tickes, helped an old lady with a mantle clock. She turned to hold the door for the elderly witch, who went off, and Jessie finished with the repair, tying a tag to it. "May I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Crystal, on behalf of Miss Wayne," Crystal said, putting her purse down on one of the barstools in front of the bench, littered with odd tiny bits of metal, springs, extremely fine tools and whatnot. She took the other, "She called, said I was coming by? She needed a modification for Mr. Morton's pocket watch; the one you found for her?"

The clocksmith's eyes glazed for a second as she thought. "The big sister? I didn't know she had one."

Crystal smiled as she pulled a small cloth bundle from her purse. "Bodyguard, actually." Jessie noticed this, unwrapping a pocket watch; "Oh, yes! A beautiful marine chronometer in a silver case, Mudge &co, 1758." She examined it; then placed it on a felt pad. "What would she like to have done?"

Crystal settled a bit more on the other bar stool, "The problem is that Mr. Morton hates to wear wristwatches, indeed much of anything beyond a wand holster. When he goes off planet, he uses a wrist comp, because he has to. That's why this was an ideal present. However, other planets use different hours, days and weeks, due to their different orbits, rotations and whatnot." Jessie nodded, and Crystal passed over several sheets of paper. "This is a list of the different planets, their corresponding days, weeks, months and years. Our places and our ships have a time sync with the Royal Observatory's master atomic clock, don't ask me how, I haven't a clue." She smiled, "Mr. Morton is fond of his pocket watch, and has started to wear a protective dragon-hide vest with it on a chain, looks very sharp, a bit seventeenth century. What Miss Wayne is thinking is to have a changeable inside, with different hands, black for Earth, blue for the local planet, and he could just switch them out as needed."

"Hmm," Jessie replied as she picked up Mr. Morton's chronometer. "Pity to damage the case. He likes this style? It is a bit big for a pocket watch." She set it down, "How many are we talking about?"

"Forty five planets on this list," Crystal said, tapping the sheet. "Is it possible to have them done by Christmas break?"

"Possibly..." Jessie mused. "I can get a price break on radio watch movements; I'll need to do some quoting." She looked up, "I'll work up a prototype, but this is likely to be expensive, several hundred to maybe a thousand or so pounds. I'll need a deposit of... £250, I think." Crystal handed over an AMEX card. "Can she come by in about a week? I'm thinking interchangeable movements without touching Mr. Morton's original."

"I'll arrange it."

"Let me get some measurements, and a receipt."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 22, 2002: 06:47 (GMT -5)****  
Terra, Metropolis, **_Daily Planet_** newsroom:****  
**

* * *

_Article by Clark Kent_

_The shonnen had arrived. _

_That was what the small community of Brazos were saying when their shipment of working animals finally arrived in their settlement on the planet of Windfall. There was a shortage of trained 'wranglers' for the huge oxen, some twenty feet long and twelve thousand pounds. However, now they could finally do their planting, harvest their crops, and stop living off Army rations. _

_The shonnen had arrived. _

_The people of Brazos, former faculty, staff and students in the College of Agriculture, Texas A & M (the Aggies) were helped by rescued former slave girls. These girls, most still wearing their slave collars (which are embedded in their spines), have been adopted with loving, open arms as daughters and sisters by the Brazans. They are about three hundred in this 'seedling' colony at the moment, an average population, with support and neighbors from all over. I spoke with Dr. Yolanda Bujones, the community veterinarian and native of Havana (most physicians are Cuban), who relished the challenge of keeping their livestock and food animals healthy. _

"_So far, we have had very few problems on the medical front." (She knocked on wood for luck.) "We are using three different native species of working animals," she told me. "The shonnen of course, six legs, slow but powerful. The hexataurs, looking like the illustrations of centaurs, but with horse's heads; about fifteen hands for our stallion, thirteen to fourteen for the mares. Lastly, we have the meepers, small rodents like field mice, little fuzzy brown scavenging herbivores about six centimeters (three inches) long that we are using along with our white lab mice." _

"_We are being especially careful with bacteria and yeasts, as it was contaminated breads that killed off the original Sandur male colonists," she told me. "Our research is being duplicated in Riverside, at the General Hospital. They are also working on anti-venom for the poison in the wabbit quills." _

_While the name may sound silly, the creature is not. It may be Windfall's top predator species, another reminder that while the planet is idyllic, it is still an untamed wilderness. The wabbit, about the size of a Pekinese dog, throws poison quills to hunt its prey. It is a pack and ambush hunter, and a single wabbit can squeeze through a small opening only two or three inches wide. Brazos found an infestation of wabbits when they arrived at the newly built site, due to a gate being improperly closed. Fortunately, they didn't lose any people, but they did lose several pets, dogs and cats, which challenged and lost to the wabbits. They lost several days cleaning out the infestation, and were fortunate. Other 'seedlings' lost people to the wabbits. _

_The shonnen had arrived. _

_That was the past. The people of Brazos and the other colonies learned from it, adjusted and moved on. Their current challenge is to get seed in the ground, and bread on the table. For now, they hitch up their plows behind their shonnen, and convert forest to farmland to productive fields. It's a lot of work, but they're not afraid of hard work. Their next steps are... _

"Kent, nice job," Perry White said. "It's a damn pity I'll have to spike it, unless you can explain how and why you got back and forth to Windfall so quickly. I'd love to have a beat on the rest of the world's papers." He reached for his coffee mug, "Now, you still owe me an article on the graft charges on Councilwoman Hill, and when you interview her, try to channel a _little_ bit of Lois? You don't need to make her piss herself, but I don't want to see a puff piece, either."

"Yes, chief," Clark replied.

"Don't call me chief!"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 22, 2002: 10:05 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2****nd**** year Mathematics:****  
**

* * *

"Good morning, everyone," Arthur said, covering a yawn. He took attendance; then said, "I must apologize, I got in very late last night. Last week, we continued with geometry and two-dimensional shapes, we're going to move on to three dimensions... Yes, Mr. Morton?"

Bill cleared his throat, "You started that last week."

"I did?" Arthur flipped through his notes. "So I did. Thank you for catching that, Mr. Morton. Please take two points for Hufflepuff." He reviewed his notes, "Did anyone have any questions regarding ... surface area of a three dimensional solid? Yes, Miss Bones?"

"What about an area that's not uniform, like a cauldron?"

"Good question, two points for Slytherin. However, to get an accurate answer means getting into at least intermediate calculus. We can get an _approximate_ answer by..."

* * *

As he was putting himself together after class, he looked up as Miss Canby cleared her throat. Setting a book aside, he asked, "Miss Canby, what can I do for you?"

"Um..." she chewed her lip, "I talked to, um, Miss Wayne a few weeks ago..."

"I remember, she said it was 'girl talk'." He gestured for her to take a seat. "Did you want to talk to Mattie again?" he asked the young Gryffindor.

"Um... well, my brother, he was injured, he's in the 5th Para's, and..." the story came out, along with some tears and hiccups.

"I see," Arthur said, conjuring a small washcloth and a basin of cold water. "Wash your face, and no, I'm not going to help you sneak out of school." She sniffled, and he said, "I will ask Professor Potter to get in touch with your parents and see if they'll allow you to go."

"But ... you're a bloke, you don't ... if you ... what must you think?"

"Yes, I'm a bloke, and I have four sisters," he replied. "If I were in your brother's place, I don't know what I'd do, but I'd want to know that my family supported me." He leaned forward, "Your brother has the choice of living his life partially blind and deaf, missing a leg, and staying a bloke. On the other hand, he could be completely healed, for the price of being a girl."

"Except, well, he couldn't ever ... um, ... father a ... um..."

"Ah. Damage there, too." Miss Canby nodded. "That's definitely a factor; a lot of decent guys want to have kids." Arthur scrubbed his face, "I would say the best way for you to help, as his sister; is to give him as much 'female' information (he finger quoted) as possible. After all, being a girl's not so bad, is it?"

"Well, no, but..."

"And you know girls aren't all the flighty, makeup and clothes obsessed types? My sisters aren't, and I'm sure your dorm mates aren't."

That actually got a small smile. "True. Some put it on with a roller brush; others don't bother. But..."

"Same thing with the guys. We're not all sports-obsessed jocks. I play basketball and golf, but I don't live and breathe the latest sports scores. You know guys in your house like that."

Another small smile, "True." She took a deep breath. "What did you mean, 'female information'?"

Arthur grunted, "Even though I have four sisters, there are still things they do that I don't understand, and I'm sure it's the same way round for the girls." She nodded, "For instance, if your brother decides to go over, one of the big concerns is going to be looking and behaving like a natural girl. We've had our entire lives to get that information, as male and female, she wouldn't."

Miss Canby chewed her lip, slowly nodding. "For instance, if ... going to the loo..."

"Right. In public, say you're at a Tesco and you need to. Let's take this step by step, only you're now a guy, and you've walked into the Gent's." He drew his wand, doing a quick sketch in midair. "Sinks here, baby change place here, paper towels and the air dryer, five urinals and three stalls over here. The first urinal is occupied, which do you go to, and remember, you're now a guy."

"Um... if one is occupied, I'd go to two ... wouldn't I?"

"No, you'd go to five. Next bloke in would go to three, you don't talk or look around, you don't even grunt, and you stand fairly close to the plumbing. You finish, sigh, and put it all back together, and most guys will wash up. Not all of them, though." She wrinkled her nose, and he nodded. "I agree, those rooms can stink. In the stalls, not every guy has good aim, so you might need to do some quick cleaning or choose another stall."

"Eww!"

"Yes. Remember, you're now a guy, so you deal with it; tell the Tesco folks the Gents need cleaning." He sat back, "That's the kind of information your sister would need, the messy stuff." He sighed and scrubbed his face. "There's really no way to say this politely. If I were your sister, I'd want to know ... stuff like what it feels like when your period starts? How do you know when to change a tampon? How do you know when it's seated correctly? What do you do with the old one?" He looked at her, "Not only the messy stuff, but things like do you flip up a skirt and hold it, or drop it down like pants? I've seen girls in the mall that seem to be wearing three bras; you can see three pair of straps, which seems kind of strange."

She nodded slowly, "That's a layered camisole; I can see why a guy wouldn't know that, or what a yeast infection feels like. Is that why guys always paw themselves ... down there?"

Arthur nodded agreement, relief on his face. "Exactly, that's jock itch, and ... We're getting off track, but you see what I mean. While it's not just the loo; you're the big sister now, and while there's going to be some goofs, she'll need to know what to say and do."

She sighed in relief, "Thank you, it's something I can do to help. I felt so ... useless. I can tell him... err, her that?"

"You can quote me," he replied, and gave her a grin in return. "In your place, I'd study the older girls, the sixth and seventh years. There are differences between a second-year and a seventh." Miss Canby nodded as Arthur added, "She's got an advantage in uniforms, everything's already matched. I've been described as a hopeless male there; you can give her a few small rules of thumb there. She'll probably be enormously grateful for the help." He shook his head, "I never understood the female shopping instinct. Why spend six hours in a mall to get one blouse?"

"Oh, why, everything has to match!" She started to explain, and he held up a hand. "Tell her. You and your mum can arrange that kind of thing." He banished the washcloth and basin of water, "Actually, with your permission, I'll talk to Ginny Potter about this." She nodded, "Was there anything else?" She shook her head, and he said, "Get your stuff, I'll walk you to the Great Hall for lunch."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, October 22, 2002: 11:55 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, 1st year English Comp:****  
**

* * *

"And thus we have the structure of the sentence," Professor Lupin said. The five-minute warning charm sounded, and he started to put things together, as did the class. He looked up, "Did anyone have any questions?" Various people shook their heads, he added, "Miss Branstone, I'd like a minute of your time after class, please." He checked the clock, "Don't forget the homework, and off with you, a minute early." The class left; Emma staying behind to wait.

Remus smiled, "She's not in trouble, Miss Sinestra." He turned his attention to May, casting a privacy spell. "Miss Branstone, I've noticed you're distracted, worried about something. Is it something I or someone else can help with?"

The firstie chewed her lip; then said, "I haven't received a letter from Eleanor, my sister. She's been emailing regularly, telling about her day. I sent a note to Mum and Dad, who haven't received one either. If she's going to be away from her home base, she'll let us know. I'm just worried; it's a distant planet and all." She blushed, "Windfall that is."

"Ah," Remus said. He sat back, "Mr. Morton was off planet over the weekend, I'll inquire and see what he and Miss Wayne knows. I'm sure it's perfectly fine, something just came up suddenly."

"Yes, I'm sure that's all it is..."

"But you want to know for certain," he said. "We'll sort it out," he smiled reassuringly, and dropped the spell. "Off with you to lunch, now."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 23, 2002: 06:04 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting:****  
**

* * *

Arthur wheeled Mattie into the faculty meeting, her left leg still enclosed in a cast and raised. Pomona saw them, and fetched tea and coffee (respectively) for them. Arthur yawned, then said, "Thank you, ma'am."

"Still in tha' thing?" Hagrid asked, coming into the room and making his usual beeline for the teapot and his liter-sized mug.

"Unfortunately," she replied, and cast a dark look at Poppy Pomfrey. "I plan to be out of it _very_ shortly. They x-rayed it in the hospital, you see..."

Hagrid nodded, "Well, tha' good. C' on by, y' can meet Buckbeak, take a ride on him. Y' look like y' c'd use a flight."

She put her head back, "Oh, yes..."

Poppy tried to recover, "I doubt, Rubeus, that a ride on a hippogriff would do her leg any good."

Remus Lupin tapped on his mug of tea, "Changing the subject, Arthur, I believe you were on Windfall recently? I spoke to Miss Branstone, neither she or her parents have received an email from her sister there for a while; breaking a regular correspondence."

"Yes ..." he said slowly. "Eleanor and her partner Marie are participating in a classified operation. My father is aware of it."

"I see," Minerva said, and Callista Vector raised a finger, "Miss Wayne, we submitted an invoice to Arrowhead for payment a few months ago, I just received it back marked 'Denied'." She pushed a file folder across the table. As Mattie read, Arthur asked, "What was it for?"

"I believe that would be mine," Poppy Pomfrey said. "Two crew members of one of Miss Wayne's ships required mediwizard services, as well as custom-brewed potions over the summer." She took a sip of tea, "It was most interesting, removing the collars and ... Enhancement from two young ladies, one of whom was a WorkForce girl."

Mattie looked up sharply, "You can remove those?"

"Not legally," Poppy replied.

Arthur sat up, taking the folder as Mattie asked, "What do you mean 'not legally'? Do you know if Blaise's Apothecary was paid?"

"I received a rather nasty owl from the British Mediwizard Association. As a mere school nurse, I am not authorized or licensed to perform experimental procedures, which is why the invoice was denied. I have also been formally warned, and I am on probation for doing the procedure. As far as Blaise is concerned, I do not know. However, if I repeat the procedure, or inform another practicing mediwizard of the specifics, I shall lose my license to practice."

"I see..." Mattie said slowly. She was silent for a minute; then asked, "Would you talk to my Aunt Lois about this? Remember, we have to keep this as muggle as possible, so patient confidentiality, no mention of any spells or magic. Can you do some diagrams for her, before and after type? How difficult, how long does the procedure take?" She smiled nastily, "Don't worry about the invoice, if I have to I'll pay it myself. Regarding your license, you're about to see the power of the press unleashed on a certain medical bureaucrat. It would be a shame if that business were to go overseas."

Poppy considered this; then a small smile appeared. "Come by later to remove that cast, Miss Wayne. The procedure itself is similar to what I performed on your Aunt Barbara a few years ago; it simply seeks to express metal from the body. It does require some custom potion-brewing, which is why Potion Mistress Ms. Granger was involved; Severus was in the university classes at the time. The duration is approximately a month, and does involve a considerable amount of itching as the metal works its way out of the body and the nervous system is regrown." She raised a finger, "Please note that this has been performed on one, and only one Enhanced girl, who was not a Terran. The other girl had a slave collar that she could not remove by muggle means. It is still very much an experimental procedure; there are things I'd like to change."

"Speaking of medicine," Arthur put in, "I had a request from the planetary hospital at Riverside. I understand Ms. Black, Bellatrix that is, has passed her muggle licensing exams and is studying for her Mediwitch license. Would she be interested in a position there?"

"I do not know," Severus said. "I shall ask her. Please inform Miss Branstone of her sister's status."

"I'll do that at lunch," Mattie said. "Also, please ask her if she'd be interested in a position as my personal physician. Callista, I have some information on an investment that you might want to look at for Hogwarts' portfolio."

"Later, please," Minerva said, tapping her own tea mug. "Let's move on. Severus, you wanted to expand your classroom..."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 23, 2002: 10:04 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, Intro to Business class:****  
**

* * *

Music was playing as usual as Callista got to Miss Wayne's classroom. The song ended, Miss Cortez passing over several CD's and receiving some in return. She found a seat; the class had become increasingly popular, and prepared her notebook.

"Good morning, everyone," Miss Wayne called, and passed a clipboard back. "If you're new to class, please make a note of your name and email address. I'll repeat that in this class, there are no houses, no professors or students, only investors. In addition, anything may be on the final exam. Anything," she repeated. "As I've still got a bum leg, I'm going to ask for a volunteer to assist me." She looked around at the hands, "Bill Morton? Come on up!"

He moved to stand next to her, and she asked, "Bill? You know the wand-writing charm?" He nodded, and she continued, "First off, our musical selection was '_Silver in My Pan_' by the Rock Rats out of L-4." She paused, Bill wrote it with his wand; those more experienced quickly made a note, Miss Wayne had been known to ask musical questions on her quizzes. "I am also still interested in music relating to money, business and investing, I'd like to thank Roshawn Cortez for six CD's of music." She waggled them in midair.

"Moving on, I'm going to get to the weekly investor's rankings ... Thank you," she said as the clipboard was passed back to her. "For those who signed it, I'm going to set up a practice account with Gringotts for you with a thousand galleons. Now, before you get excited, you can't withdraw it, but this is otherwise a real account. The winner at the end of the term, figured as overall average, wins a bar of gold." Bill passed it to her from the table, and she held it up so it flashed in the light. "Pretty, isn't it? Make sure I can read your handwriting." The clipboard flew back to someone at the rear of the classroom, and people chuckled.

She had a quick word with Bill, who nodded. "Moving on, Number ten on this week's investors' ranking is... (There was a drum roll, people beating on the desks.) ... Miss Felicia Dumbledore with 13.2%!" Mattie beat along with them; then said, "Number nine this week is ... (drum roll) Mr. Filius Flitwick, just beating out Miss Dumbledore with 13.3%!" Another drum roll, "Number eight, unfortunately dropping two places, is Mr. Severus Snape with 14.3%!" She paused, cupping her ear, and the drum roll started. "Thank you. Number seven, Mr. Bill Morton with 14.6%! Good job, Bill!"

"I can buy paint for Professor Snape's classroom with it," he said, and people chuckled.

"Number six;" and she waited for the drum roll again. "Ms. Ginny Potter, switching places with Mr. Snape, coming in at 14.9%! Ms. Potter, you missed your husband, who comes in ..." (She cupped her hand again for the drum roll.) "... at number five with 14.93%!"

"I'll get you, Potter, you and your husband too!" Severus mock-threatened. Mattie grinned, he had definitely been loosening up, and waited for Bill to finish writing, he had been adding the houses in. "Number four; and I'm glad because she's handling Hogwarts' portfolio, Ms. Callista Vector, with 15.6%!" There was another round of drum roll, and she continued, "I don't see her here today either, but number three, a surprising late entry, is Ms. Sybill Trelawney with 15.7%. I will not, I will not, I will not make a crystal ball joke." She added, "She's a Slythie, Bill," when he had hesitated on adding the house.

"Really?" he asked. "I would have thought she was a Gryff."

"Nope," she replied. "Slytherin. Moving on (she cupped her hand again for the drum roll), we have another member of the Den, number two, up an amazing three places from last week, she must have been very lucky, with 16.1% increase, Ms. Mattie Wayne!" She waited for the drum roll. "Finally, in first place this week, we have another Gryff. Up from fourth place last week, winner of this week's Hogwarts' Champion Investor Cup award, we have ... (she waited for the drum roll) ... Mr. Rubeus Hagrid, with 16.2%! Let's hear it for Mr. Hagrid!" She started to clap, and Callista got up, carrying the 'award' (a half-teacup with a discolored crack through the Hogwarts logo, mounted to a plaque) to Hagrid, who held it up, fishing out one of his oversized hankies as part of the joke, and mopping his eyes. With a loud 'honk' he blew his nose, saying, "Honored, truly am. Put this up in a place of dignity and respect, I will. Least until next week!" There was a lot of laughter, and Hagrid showed off the 'award'.

"Where are you going, Bill?" Mattie asked as he started to go back to his seat. "We got to get on with things. Now, we've talked before about futures, puts and calls, and I've mentioned our beloved textbook doesn't go into them. What it does go into is currency trading, although a limited definition." She reached, and Bill held up the textbook; then handed it to her. "Ministry textbook definition of currency trading: 'The difference between different forms of money.'" She snorted in disgust, "Everyone got that? That's the Ministry textbook definition, which will be on their test." She waited while Bill wrote with his wand. "Now, let's define 'currency'; it's either a specific one, like the dollar, pound, or euro, or to a specific type of coins and banknotes. Bill, could you pass those top two plastic sheets around, please?"

She waited a minute, "As you probably know, we're moving people into outworld colonies, where the galactic unit of currency is the tungsten gram. The principal interstellar bank is known as Lantern Bank, and yes, they are associated with the Oans. Gringotts is our associated bank, what's going around now are the coins and banknotes we're using in those colonies." She checked her notes, "As of the close of yesterday's business, one tungsten gram is worth twelve US or Euro cents or seven point six British pence. Bill, could you pull that first sheet off, please?" She turned her chair; an electronic display was shown. "This display is showing the current exchange rate between the tungsten gram, on top, whose chemical symbol is 'W'. Therefore that is shown as 'Wg'. Below that you can see live rates; this is the spot market, of half a dozen world currencies, the US Dollar, the galleon, pound, euro, and yen." She let them watch this, then asked, "The second sheet, please, Bill." That came off, she said, "These are commodities, gold, silver, and so forth, in both tungsten and euros."

"Moving on," she said. "With currencies, you have both exchange rates, in which you exchange so many pounds for so many euros or whatever, and currency speculation, which is a lot more risky. We talked earlier about puts, calls, and futures on commodities like sugar, iron, and so on. This is traded the same, you would buy futures on the euro or the yen. I will mention there is a trade on 'eurodollars', which are simply US dollars, held outside the US. It has nothing to do with the euro, the currency."

"Now, we have exchange rates," she continued. "There are two here, the _base currency_, in our case the Tungsten gram, and the _quote currency_. You'll notice that one gram of tungsten will currently buy twelve Euro or American cents, 7.6 British pence, four thousandths of an ounce of gold, two hundredths of an ounce of silver, or 14.7 Japanese yen." She was silent for a minute as people watched the flickering numbers. "So, how do you make money off it? The easiest way is to prepare, if you're going to travel, know the different exchange rates. Buy low, sell high. You can also transfer between currencies, if the exchange rate is better between yen and euros, you would buy one of those. You would buy euros when you get a lot of them for a pound, then use that to buy yen, or gold, or dollars." She waited for a minute for notes to be made, "It's almost time, but metals and currencies can be traded and tracked on your spreadsheets, I'll email everyone my own list of symbols." The bell rang, and she said, "Bill, please take fifteen points for Hufflepuff for your assistance."

"Thanks!" he said with a smile, as he accepted back the circulating sets of coins. "Need some help?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 23, 2002: 12:05 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table:****  
**

* * *

"May? Can you come with me for a second? You were asking about your sister?" Mattie showed the firstie into the faculty lounge, where Arthur and Professor Snape waited. She sat, tea was poured, and Arthur started, clearing his throat. "May, I was at Windfall over the weekend, taking care of some other business. Eleanor and her partner Marie had volunteered for a special project, and they were disguised." May nodded, and Arthur continued, "As part of that project, they were disguised, they were undercover, and it came up rather suddenly. That's why she hasn't written."

"I received an email from a bloke named George," May said quietly. "He's apparently Marie's boyfriend, from New Orleans, he said the same thing. She's safe, she just can't write at the time." She took a deep breath, "I... I want to go," she said, her voice quavering.

"Pomona will be seeing your parents this afternoon, May. Do not worry, she'll write when she can," Professor Snape said gently, leaning forward to capture her hands in his.

* * *

As Mattie escorted the Firstie back to the Great Hall, Severus said, "Mr. Morton, a minute?"

"Yes, sir?" He took a seat again.

"I would like to know exactly what is going on with Miss Branstone, the elder. Spare no detail." Professor Snape was coldly furious.

"What I said is true, sir," Arthur replied. "She was on an undercover mission in which they needed wizarding backup. They were trying to capture a slave ship; one of the Elders had a private deal to sell their citizens into slavery and receive galactic technology in exchange. We have no idea what or who that slaver talked to about Windfall, which was a massive hole in the defenses." He sighed, rubbing his face, "My father is there, and he's aware of this, and they have backup so they can reverse the bio-sculpt."

"You've disguised Miss Branstone as a slave girl. I expected better of you, Mr. Morton."

"Sir, I didn't know about it until after I arrived. My father was just as disgusted; he was going to play the part of her master. You know him; you've met him. He wouldn't do this willingly, and he would insist on informed consent. Even then, he wouldn't be happy about it, he's set things up to get them back to normal as soon as possible." Severus grunted, and Arthur continued, "The idea was to win the ship by cleaning them out at cards; the slaver is a known compulsive gambler. Next, they were..."

"They? Them?"

"There was another witch, Eleanor's partner, who's also been changed. Marie, from New Orleans."

"Wonderful," Severus said with a deep sigh. "Very well. Add me to the 'not happy' list, Mr. Morton. If I have a suggestion, or you need my skills, we shall speak again."

"Yes, sir."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 23, 2002: 13:02 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table:****  
**

* * *

Roshawn and Shaundra dropped their bags against the wall as they moved over from Ravenclaw, while Felicia stacked her books neatly on the table. "What's happening with everyone, ready for the big ball?" Shaundra said, reaching over to snag an apple as she sat cross-wise on the bench. She took a bite, "I still need to lose a pound to fit into my dress, want to shoot a few hoops later on?"

"One advantage of having two Transfiguration professors as adoptive parents," Felicia said. She sighed, "Still, I could use some exercise. I'll join you."

"Girls against the guys?" Charlie suggested. "I'm in, although I don't know why you girls get all..." he noticed the wattage the girls were sending him in their glares, "Shutting up and sitting down, now."

"You've been contaminating her with muggle sayings again, haven't you?" Amanda asked as she arrived from Gryffindor. "What are we talking about?"

"Basketball," Arthur replied.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 23, 2002: 18:47 (GMT)****  
Terra, No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey:****  
**

* * *

Vernon Dursley grunted as he unlocked the front door, bending down to scoop up the post from the floor. '_I need to get that girl in to clean again, now that lazy freak boy is shirking his duty. What have we … Bills, bills… Hello, what have we here_?' he thought as he dropped the others, opening the letter addressed to Ms. Petunia Evans from Arrowhead Development. He scanned the letter, giving a soft chortle. '_Oh, Petunia, I've got you and that freak boy now! You thought you could hide from me with that chit Wayne? No, I'll get you and Dudley back under my roof and in your proper places yet_!' Dropping the letter on a dusty chair, he strode to the phone, looking up a number for an old mate.

_21 October, 2002_

_Ms. Petunia Evans  
No. 4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging,  
Surrey TW15_

_Dear Ms. Evans: _

_Please find enclosed your flight information to Geneva, Switzerland and hotel reservations for Friday, 25 October. You will be meeting in Geneva with Governor Sullivan as her Chief of Staff and representatives of Gringotts Bank for the currency distribution on the planet Windfall. _

_Once these meetings are concluded, you will take the shuttle flight with Governor Sullivan, the Gringotts representatives and the currency shipment to Dock C. You will then board the _M/V Ben Nevis_ for the voyage to Windfall. Please bring this letter with you as confirmation and your boarding pass… _

* * *

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, October 24, 2002: 11:05 (GMT)  
Firsday, 22 Octus, 162, 25:42 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, 8****th**** st. carriage stop:  
**

* * *

The public 'bus' carriage stopped between the side platforms, under the common roof, and the driver checked her list in the light of a hanging lamp, "Eighth street stop. Laundry, public biological function room, and hair care to the south. Next stop is Twelfth street, old maids quarters."

Elena laughed, getting down from the low-slung carriage, and putting her laundry basket down under the overhanging roof on a bench. She asked the driver, "Where did you learn that phrase, and how much is my fare?"

The driver looked down at her, "Mistress K'ren said it applied to un-mated females that were of age," she replied with a grin. "Your fare is paid by the town; it would be four grams." She climbed down, filling a water bucket and wheeling it to the hexataur mares in harness as Inspector Constantine set down his own wicker laundry basket (courtesy of the pub) next to hers, then put hers on top.

"You said there was someplace I could get a haircut?" he asked, fending off Elena's attempts to grab her laundry back with a grin. The two mares whickered as they drank.

"Yes, master," she replied, pointing. "The semi-circular area. To the north is the hair shop, the middle is the place for taking care of biological functions, the south shop is the laundry shop. The carriages run until the twenty-eighth hour," and she pointed to a printed schedule stapled on a signboard. "People will discuss the news while they wait their turn for hair or their laundry to finish."

"One reason we're here," Elena said as she succeeded in stealing her laundry basket back. "To get the local gossip."

* * *

"What's the etiquette?" Elena asked the group of locals who sat on benches on the wide porch. "Do I just claim a washing machine, or reserve one?"

"If there's a basket on one, it's taken, otherwise feel free," Sgt. Ross said, tipping his chair back and taking a drink from his bottle of beer. "Get your soap and bleach from the attendant, tell her to put it on my account. If you want a haircut, make your reservations, Roger's with Caitlin, his biological daughter, tonight. His new daughter caught some sniffles and she's with Anna and Dr. Enrico."

"Anything serious?"

"I didn't hear of anything serious. Just a case of the sneezes that won't go away." The local version of crickets chirped, the kerosene lanterns swung on their hooks in the light sea breeze, and the bug zapper glowed as it killed another bug.

* * *

"I put your second load in, the colors," Inspector Constantine said as he entered the barbershop. "Same settings, you owe me for some detergent and bleach," he told Elena, who was having her hair washed by Caitlin. She gave a blissful groan; then jerked up, "Same settings! Those were in hot water!"

"Nope, you had them on cold," he replied with a chuckle. "Trust me, even we frozen Canucks can tell hot from cold water in laundry." He settled into the barber's chair with a grunt, "The discussion outside is about the proposed constitution, and I thought it best to stay apolitical."

"I can see that," the barber said as he washed his hands. He turned the chair around, "I'm Roger, and you're our visiting Mountie. Good Evening."

"Peter," the Inspector said, shaking hands and having the usual towels put in place. He leaned back with the chair with his own sigh as Caitlin rinsed Elena's hair. Roger commented, "I also do shaves with a straight razor. Several of the guys do it on a weekly basis, just as a treat for themselves."

Elena shuddered, "A cutthroat razor? I'm glad I'm not a guy."

"Caitlin's shaving me with it for practice," Roger said. "Have you had a chance to look over the little pamphlet on the issues?" Peter nodded, while Elena said, "I've glanced at it. The original Sandur law, the proposed new law, and in some cases, the Traditionalist party proposal."

"Where did they come from, and why aren't there any other political parties?" Caitlin asked as she levered Elena up.

"I didn't get a chance to ask my brother when he was here, but I've emailed him," Elena replied. She added to Caitlin, "I'm actually glad not to have to futz with long hair. It has to fit in a vac helmet, so no longer than about chin length." The girl got to work, and she continued, "Political parties kind of caught Mattie, I mean Ms. Wayne by surprise. I don't know why, she wants a functioning democracy, and more than the old two-party system."

"I kinda enjoyed the excitement of the last election," Caitlin said as she worked. "Except for Florida coming in with Luthor and throwing him the election. You said 'Mattie' when you referred to Miss Wayne."

"Almost sister-in-law," Elena confessed. "She's engaged to my brother, so I've seen her walk around barefoot and with her feet on the coffee table. I've also been to her house in Gotham City, which is a huge museum of a house," and she shook her head. "That's a really wild town."

"Those crazies actually exist?" Roger asked.

"Oh, yeah. I've got a photo of myself with Two-Face. Nice enough guy for a lawyer, I would guess, but his road doesn't go all the way, y'know?"

"I've run across a few like that," Peter said. "Trappers, the mountain man, black powder types. Doesn't really like civilization, but they still need to come into town every so often. We could use a dozen or two here, do the survey and exploration work." He worked a hand out from under the sheet, waving it. "Drones in the sky are all well and good, but we could use boots on the ground."

"Only problem is the damn wabbits," Caitlin said; then blushed. "Sorry, dad."

"'Kay," Roger said. "Maybe do the northern areas during winter, when they hibernate?"

"You had some problems with the wabbits when you first got here, didn't you?" Elena asked.

"Yeah, they're a pain in the butt," Roger said. "We've got some live and dead traps set up now, but that and the electrical re-work put us a week or so behind." He worked on Peter's hair, "At least we're figuring out a couple uses for them, and the money's going into a town fund. Next problem is figuring out the new currencies and pricing for everything. For instance, back in Texas, your haircuts would run about eight bucks or so each. Add in a wash and you're right about ten, which would put it about eighty grams. That seems high to me, I just try to think of grams as yen or pesos. Right now, everyone's keeping a paper record of who owes what; we figure we'll settle up, adjust prices and whatnot after the New Year. We've gotten preliminary assessments from the town for things like water and power rates." He continued to work on Peter's hair, "Our problem is figuring out labor rates and servicing the mortgage, and for the town, doing the same thing to Riverside and Ms. Wayne."

He gestured to the old fashioned cash register sitting next to the phone across the room. "Peggi and her husband are doing the laundromat, pardon me, the 'Wash 'n' fold' next door. We partnered on the flight out, and we get a discount from the Town on utilities by keeping the public bathroom clean and stocked. We've gotten Al, the town inspector a couple of times, and now that we've got the critters in, Peggi is thinking of doing a delivery service, as well as a diaper service for when we get some kids in."

"It's going to help when we get the new girls in," Caitlin put in. "Something like two hundred of them, I think. I can sympathize with them, and they try so hard, but it's really hard not to be ... impatient with them sometimes." She held up a mirror, "Whaddya think?"

Elena examined the results, "Pretty good. I like it. What are you doing about dyes and other things?" She accepted the legal pad, Caitlin had written '_LW&Cut_' in one column and her initials in another.

She wrote in '_Elena Morton_' and '_+10 percent_' on that line as Caitlin said, "The problem there is finding ones that are 'eco-friendly'. We get things like cleaners and soap in to Supply in these fifty-five gallon drums, as well as these ten liter ones we use." She gestured to the bottles on her sink, "They're greener, but also more expensive, which is why we're using bulk and repackaging them for retail and home use. We could really use some chemists here."

"As well as some young men," her father said, turning Peter around as Caitlin brushed off Elena. He held up a mirror for him, who nodded in appreciation. "Decent guys, ones that I would approve of for my daughters. Right now, the ratio is four or five to one, and with the new girls, it's only going to get more lopsided."

"I've emailed my brother and future sister-in-law at Ohio State," Elena said. "As well as my mom, who works in the university library. I know Mattie and Arthur are aware of it, Arrowhead's HR department sent out a memo to their employees asking them to work their contacts at their universities and former employers."

"I've done the same thing," Peter said as he accepted the legal pad. He signed '_Peter Constantine_' and added '_+10 percent_' next to '_MW&cut_'. "They might not be university types, but they're good, solid blokes I know, and some are tired of Arctic weather."

"We don't know what the weather's going to be like," Roger said. "We can see the leaves changing color, and there's a nip in the air at night. Winter's coming, which means a certain daughter of mine (he glowered at Caitlin), will need to pack away her favorite short skirts and wear more appropriate clothing."

"Daaaad!"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, October 24, 2002: 11:46 (GMT)****  
Terra, London, Arrowhead testing:****  
**

* * *

"Okay, here we go..." Chantal Rivers pulled on her safety goggles; then flipped the switch on her laser, which was aimed at a sensor and then at the stone wall of the basement. Status lights came on, the machine started to hum as she moved to check the readouts. "Power cycling is good, lasing..." she said, as a hair-thin green beam emerged, vaporizing the sensor and hitting the basement wall. A few seconds later, the power went out, and the emergency lights went on. "Oh, what happened?" she asked as she frantically saved data before the computer's battery power went out.

"There's a blackout," someone called. "We'll have to take the stairs." Chantal removed the small USB drive she had saved her data to, clicking off powerless switches and disconnecting cables before she headed to the stairs.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, October 25, 2002: 06:08 (GMT)****  
Firsday, 22 Octus, 162, 14:55 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, docks:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Elena Morton waited with the others under the overhang, sheltering from the drizzle as the _Wagner_ approached the dock. On the top deck umbrellas flapped in the wind; tables were laden with upturned chairs. On the dock, Herr Otto and his extended family waited, she could hear him directing things. Lines were tossed, bumpers compressed against the dock, and lines were made fast as the gangplank was put in place.

A ship's officer with yellow and red tags on his uniform wheeled out a cart full of parcels and bagged mail, ducking under an overhang as girls started to leave the ship, some with bags of their own, some wearing only their collars and slave tunics. People around Elena started to stream down the wooden walk, greetings and hugs were exchanged, and Elena kicked her own luggage cart, tilting it to wheel down the wooden ramp to the dock.

Herr Otto saw her and waved her over, "Frau Morton! Come; wait out of the rain with us. There will be a slight delay while cargo is transferred." The officer added, "We will also need to clean the cabins, which will take a few minutes."

She set her cart upright again, pulling out Mattie's camera and taking some pictures. She saw one short-haired girl with a judicial collar and a backpack hug the blacksmith and his wife, and introduce several girls, while others found their own new families. Another fellow joined them under the shelter, "Peter Morse, Transport Canada, this is my wife Lisa and my birth daughter Carrie, and my new daughters Rhonda and Helga." Carrie was a teenage bleached-blonde about Elena's age; she seemed to be the only one wearing heels. They were giving her trouble with the wooden dock as it floated in the river, the spike heels slipping between the dock's planks, but she ignored it, her nose in the air. The two girls sized each other up, and an instant hatred was born. "Charmed..." Carrie drawled. "What are you?" Lisa rolled her eyes behind her daughter.

"Ensign Morton," Elena replied coolly, "Pilot and Aide to the System Governor's office," she added. "This is a wonderful little town, I'm sure you'll get along _fabulously_ with everyone... There's _so much_ work still to do..."

"I'm sure..." Carrie said. "It might be suitable for _you_, but it's not _me_... _Ensign_."

Herr Otto interrupted, "Frau Morton, your cabin is ready. You will excuse us, _Fraulein_?"

"Whatever..."

Elena followed Herr Otto, who said quietly, "Apologies, Frau Morton. They have been the ... guests ... of DHL _gruppe_, and now they are here to implement ... ach, she is our problem now."

"You have my sympathies, sir," she said as she was handed off to a ship's officer. "How long to Polonia?"

"Fifteen hours, Frau Morton," the officer replied. "Let me show you to your cabin."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, October 25, 2002: 07:55 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, 'Royalty' class:****  
**

* * *

Julie Morton edged her way past the fourth-years going into Professor Snape's Potions class (not without a few dark looks), nodding to Colin, the bodyguard posted in the corridor. He nodded back, she was known to all of them, even though she was only here every other week, like her little brother Bill. She enjoyed the tutoring sessions with Professor Sprout on the weekends; she just hated to lose the free time. Bill, on the other hand, was doing well with his extra Charms work, although he was missing Quidditch practices.

She tapped the door to Classroom 17 with her wand, giving the password, and saw Anne Bundy in a tight snuggle with Prince Harry while the others looked away. Princess ... well, Bea looked over from pouring a cuppa and motioned her close, whispering, "She was here when we arrived, just immersed in something, and then she just started snogging him."

The door opened to admit Mattie, using a cane, and her brother Arthur. Following behind them were Charlie and Sprink, and Amy Johnson, who moved to one side, speaking to a bodyguard, who nodded, arranged some chairs, and transfigured them into a hospital-type privacy screen. She sat down her bag on a chair; then moved to fetch a cuppa herself. Charlie and Arthur came over, Charlie jerking his head toward the screen; "She hasn't seen him for a while."

"Really, Captain Obvious?" Arthur said with a slight smile.

Bea sipped her tea, "Perhaps you can explain why so many of the superhero crowd call themselves 'Captain'. There's Captain Britain, Captain America, Captain Light, Captain Marvel, and so on."

"The 'cape and tights' bunch?" Mattie asked, coming up. "Dunno. At least some of them have some imagination, and some of them get named by the media; like Superman and Fat Broad. Once you get tagged with a name, it tends to stick." She accepted her mug of coffee, taking a gulp; then sighing. "Who knows? If I'm lucky, historians may call me 'Queen Mattie the mediocre'. It beats 'Queen Martha the First.'"

"Better you than me," Sprink said as they made their way back to the group of chairs.

Mattie settled into hers as Crystal said, "Oh, Arthur? Your watch; thank you."

He shook his head; "Keep it. It's compromised."

Mattie banged her head on the desk, "This again? Arthur, the watch is not compromised; Crystal simply borrowed it for me."

He shook his head, "Then why didn't you tell me why you wanted it?"

Sprink groaned, "Mate, look at a calendar. What happens in six weeks or so?"

"The first week of December?" Arthur replied, puzzled.

"Arthur..." Mattie sighed. "Crystal, did the watch leave your sight for any length of time? Even for a second? Was it opened or otherwise modified?"

"No, and the top cover was only opened to take measurements." Crystal regarded Arthur, "Total of maybe two, two and a half minutes it was out of my physical possession. Are you thinking some sort of tracking device was installed?" Before he could answer, she answered herself. "As long as you keep to your word, the only locator you carry is your panic button on your belt. There would be no need otherwise; we'd have to make arrangements with the elves for cleaning and whatnot. Take your bloody watch back."

He reached over to take it, giving it a microscopic examination, as Julie said, "Arthur, you're my brother, I love you, but sometimes you can be a real asshole." He blinked, "Steve and Crystal are protecting your life, they protect mine and the rest of the family, and you have the gall to sit there and say you don't trust them? I find that insulting, and I think you owe them an apology." She crossed her arms, "Right now, if you please."

"But..."

"That was extremely rude, Arthur," Amy said. Bill chimed in with, "Anyone got a glove? I'll slap him for you."

"Really, Arthur, sometimes I wonder about you," Mattie said. "Lord knows I'm not perfect, but you can take inflexibility and bullheaded stubbornness to new levels. Crystal, Steve and the others are _family_, Arthur, and you've just insulted them."

"But you've bugged the house, and you read my email, and..."

"My mother showed your mom where the transmitter is, and that was when Luthor was active. Since then, we do not have any active or passive bugs in your house. Regarding your email, did I not advise Julie about password security and encryption?" (Julie nodded.) "Did I not inform her of how to use a one-time pad cipher? Did I not point her at software that would automatically encrypt and decrypt messages? I have no knowledge of what your cipher key is, and therefore no way of reading your email, Arthur, nor do I have any time or desire to." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "As much as I can appreciate paranoia, this hits below the belt, Arthur."

"Another apology," Julie said. "You're racking them up today, and we're waiting."

"That transmitter is disabled?"

"Unplugged, as far as I know," Mattie corrected. "Mom showed your mom how, and then left the room." She regarded her fiancé, "You could have asked instead of assuming. The last places I bugged were the Elders' offices on Windfall. Some great video, maybe I should upload it to the 'Net."

"Wouldn't they be speaking Trade?" Sprink asked. "Well, Arthur?"

"Since Luthor?" He sighed, then said, "It looks like I jumped to a conclusion, and ... and I owe people an apology. I'm sorry; I was in error. I'll try to think before sticking my foot in my mouth."

Crystal regarded him with one eye, then turned and asked, "What do you think, mates? Should we make him grovel a bit more?"

"Groveling does have its attractions..." Steve mused. "Still, I think once he's chewed on his boot a bit, it will be acceptable. Mattie?"

"Maybe some steak sauce with his grovels," and Charlie conjured a small bottle, passing it to Arthur with people's chuckles. She looked at Bea, "I know you go from here to see your mom, Lady Sarah. I don't mind that, it's a nice back-channel communication system." She looked at Arthur, "Anything from your dad about Marie and Eleanor?"

"Nothing new. There's a new group setting up as an opposition political party, they call themselves the 'Traditionalists'. Under the proposed Constitution, that's legal. Their market is among the large property owners that are comfortable with the way things were" He took a sip of tea, "You didn't spend that much time on Windfall, on the island, but they've got a definite political base forming, even among the slaves. Their market there is the bred slaves, the frightened girls, the disaffected ones. The pitch is 'A safe collar' with some political protections, a few more rights that wouldn't cost that much."

"Such as?" Charlie asked.

"You know that slaves are, in theory, protected from abuse; they're owned by the state and leased out," he said. "They have the right to a bank account, with these reforms (he finger-quoted) that stays in place; there are some workplace safety rules, which are billed to the slaves' owner, not the leasing business, so we, the government would be paying for it."

"Ouch," Charlie said. "I can see fur-lined commodes and gold safety meshes on machinery."

"What's more, universal health care, once again billed to the government, with tax credits per slave for all this." He took a sip of his tea, then set the cup down and extracted papers, setting them on the table. "We pay for all the benefits they get."

"You mentioned 'A safe collar'," Bea said, not being able to read the Trade in the campaign paperwork. She took a sip of her own tea, "I can't see how anyone would want to be a slave."

"There is some response, particularly among the disaffected rescued girls who have grown up as slaves," he replied. "Remember, until very recently, the absolute best they could hope for was a kind private owner, freedom was out of the question; not even a possibility. Their pitch is: "You have more protection and security in our collar, just cross your wrists to us." He sat back with his own cup of tea, "They're getting some response primarily among the bred slaves; with the captured girls they don't have nearly as much traction, but there's not much we can do legally if a girl wants to cross her wrists to someone."

He took a sip of tea, "We need a political campaign staff; the problem is that the Traditionalists have a head start on us." He gestured to the documents with his mug, "Remember, the proposed Constitution is sectional; and each one is voted up or down. They got additional, alternate versions of several sections in before the deadline, so they're on the ballot." He looked through the documents on the table; then folded down the top of the one Sprink was reading. "Yeah. Like I said, they've got a head start and traction with the conservatives, who have money to finance the campaign. It's very likely that our new Constitution is going to be a mix of sections, the original Sandur legal code in medium yellow, the one we're putting forth, and the Traditionalists, or 'Blues'."

"Which would mean that slavery is legal under a local planetary option," Sprink said, passing the ballot to Charlie. "Still part of the criminal code, o' course, but in order to fight this, we'll have to set up a political party, have campaign staffs, all that kit." She took a gulp of her tea, "Which we're past the deadline on this campaign, so the Traditionalists have a free ride on this one."

"Joy. Why is this the first I'm hearing about it?" Mattie complained.

"You wanted a democracy. That means you're not always going to get what you want," Arthur replied.

"I never thought I'd be a Labour supporter," Bea said. "Me, a good Tory."

"Can't you be an Imperial Party supporter? Use the color grey?" Julie asked.

"That might work," Bea said as she took a sip of tea, "I need to be able to read these, as does my Mum and Gran," she added, tapping the documents.

"It's an implant," Mattie said, tapping her jaw. "Unfortunately, I think I have to stay apolitical here, but we need to get a few people out there. We've got some space left with Christine, but she's going to be on our freighter, the two passenger ships are booked solid with colonists." She sat back with her coffee, thinking. "I need to call Uncle Fidel, but the last time we talked, he tore a strip off me for not using Fuel."

"No, let me," Bea said. "I don't go to Hogwarts; I'm not associated with you. You call and introduce me; then I'll take it from there. You can stay the Queen, be apolitical, if someone asks, you have been briefed but have no opinions. The decision is totally up to the citizens of Windfall. By the by, what are the citizenship requirements?"

"Old or new?" Arthur asked with a crooked grin. "Old one was male property owners only; the new one is more inclusive." He held up a hand, index finger up. "You have to have a bank account on Windfall;" the second finger went up, "You need to be resident, full time, for at least two months, third," the third finger went up. "You need to be a native of Windfall or a Terran citizen or brought to Windfall by a native or a Terran citizen. Last, you cannot have committed a crime on Windfall and been judged guilty by a court." He waggled four fingers, "Bank account, resident, citizen or brought, and non-criminal."

"It's about 3 AM in Havana now," Mattie said. "I'll send him an email, give me your mobile number, he has mine if he needs to verify your identity. You can then give him a briefing, and set up something with his embassy here in London. I know his charge'd'affairs has an implant."

Bea scribbled it on a bit of parchment, as Amy Johnson said, "Those ships are due to leave shortly. They've been loading for a week; they've got another few days. They're scheduled to depart on the first." She turned to Arthur, "What about that new ship I've heard about?"

"The _Taalah_," Arthur replied. "It's a bigger ship than we've been using for the slave rescues, originally just a tramp cargo ship, but it's been modified to carry about 1500 slaves. It's also got equipment that qualifies it as 'shoot first' by any planetary government." He shifted to look at Amy's raised eyebrow, "Mil-spec stealth equipment and a primary weapon too big for a civilian ship to carry. It also had counterfeiting equipment. That's the basis of the charges against the former Captain that Gringotts is pressing. That was removed as evidence, but what the hell do we do about it? I'm not going to simply _give_ it to the Empire."

"What do you mean, 'give'?" Bea asked. "You own it?"

"Yep, I won it in a Tonton game, along with the crew slaves, the cargo, which is slaves and other equipment, and a nice stack of cash and valuables." He sighed, set down his tea mug and scrubbed his face, "I really, really don't want to own slaves again." Picking up his mug, he said, "My dad has my proxy, and was negotiating with the First Girl. She suggested using it with a license from the Windfall planetary government, with the usual ship's slaves working under Guild contracts, like our other ships do."

"We'd need to install comm equipment and a couple officers, if Greywolf isn't going to operate it," Amy said. "Want to subcontract operations?"

"They were talking about Windfall issuing a Letter of Marque, and have it on file with Lantern Bank," Arthur replied. "Another government may not _like_ it, but you'd be acting as an agent of the Windfall government, and therefore you'd be legal."

"Why the First Girl?" Mattie asked.

"S'ana was the previous Captain before Haalal," Arthur explained. "She lost the ship in another Tonton game; she was then collared and Enhanced. She's also a weak psi, and has quite a few qualifications from both the Slaver's Guild and the Spacer's Guild, although they're expired. She'd have to study and re-test for them, which she'd like to do. She'd also like to stay a slave. I floated the idea of freeing her, she said it would be 'incredibly foolish' (he finger-quoted), to free her." He sighed, taking a sip of tea, "From her background, I can see that. She's grown up in the Slaver's Guild, in one of the trading houses, so that's what she knows, that's how she thinks. Now that she's on the inside of a collar, so to speak, some of her perspectives have changed, but not all."

"Why doesn't she want her own freedom?" Bea asked. "I would think that would be a no-brainer."

"She sees it as a matter of her personal security. By staying in my collar, she's not as likely to be stolen or kidnapped and wind up in someone else's collar. She did suggest my selling her to the _Taalah_, as she's such a valuable slave. In terms of my freeing her, she pretty much said I'd be an idiot to do so, as she would sell for close to a hundred kilos with current certifications." Arthur took another sip of tea, "She's been bred, so she's known to be fertile, and if she were to gain a dark collar, she thinks she wouldn't have it long, someone else would snap her up, she'd wear someone else's collar." Arthur took another sip of tea, "Like I said, I can see her point, even if I don't agree with it, or the culture she comes from. She wanted me to recollar her, but I put her off. My Dad has her controller and the Owner's Wand to the _Taalah_."

"What about the slave rescue?" Mattie asked.

"She thought disposal of the slaves as animal food was a, quote, 'waste of good slaves', end-quote. She can see us buying them to spare their lives, but thinks we should keep them in our collars, as it is 'foolish to lose the investment' (he finger-quoted)." He took a sip of tea, "I would like to toss her out an airlock, but it's better if I keep her, possibly as a XO on the _Taalah_, which would be the highest she could go as a slave in the Spacer's Guild, her skills are valuable, but at the moment, she can't see beyond the collar." He sighed again. "Physically, she's a good-looking young woman, early thirties, usual long dark hair. She didn't get any sparks on a wand, though, so she's not a witch."

"You reported buying some property on Tosul as an Embassy," Mattie said slowly. "Former school building, as I recall. Any photos?"

"Yeah, except I loaned your camera to Elena," he said. "She should really have been issued one; Dad has her going about to the different sub-colonies. For that matter, they should each have one."

"I'm going to go through camera withdrawal," she replied with a small grin and an exaggerated twitch. "Okay. Tell me about this school."

"Four floors above ground, two below," he replied. "No roof leaks I saw; looked solid, made out of yellow brick. Playgrounds, nice big windows, public transit right outside, security fencing, all it needs is some refurbishment to change classrooms to offices, put in some partitions, computers and whatnot." He turned, "Steve, anything to add to that?"

"A good, solid building," he said. "I think it needs a good, thorough scrubbing, a coat or two of paint and some additional lighting in the basement. You'd need to run cable for computers and set up local security in the building. A secretary doesn't have need-to-know for some things."

"Good points," Arthur said, and cradled his tea mug in both hands. "Tosul has as a basic requirement, what we would call a law degree, like an extended Batchelor's degree. Employment, housing, wages, all that are run through guilds, and they do have slaves, although it's more through the courts than anything else. I can live with that; there is some vertical social mobility. Work is done through 'enablers', people who know people, and take a cut. Seems to be very honest and above-board, and once again, I can live with that."

"So we're going to need to get plans done to refurbish this, local contractors, then ... what?"

"The place wouldn't be so much as a branch of government, what we think of an Embassy as, but rather a business' foreign office, like the logistics office in Germany. They would follow local laws, and if we wanted to operate intelligence services there, it wouldn't be much of a problem." He turned the mug of tea in his hands, "I saw a sweet little ship there, but we thought we could license-build the engines and things we're having trouble cracking. That would get some ships out of the dock and to places we need them."

"Export the engines from Tosul," Amy suggested. "You'd also need any specialized equipment necessary to build and maintain them." She sat back with her own mug of tea, "Regarding that ship, the _Taalah_, put in someone that's used to covert ops, perhaps a commando from Special Boat as the Captain of that ship, then have it re-registered on Tosul with all the proper permits and whatnot. After all, you won it in a card game, as you said, and just because something's illegal now, doesn't mean that it can't be made legal with the proper paperwork."

"Don't forget the comm officer," Sprink said. Bea raised her eyebrow in question, and Sprink continued, "Assign the slaves like S'ana there temporarily while they have their Guild certifications done and updated. Shouldn't be difficult, Tosul is a major port, and that's how our 'enabler' earns her pay. Once all the forms are filed and properly registered, no one can say anything about that ship. It shouldn't be at all unusual, and it would give us political cover here. No one could possibly question opening a branch office, especially in a major port, and especially with all the solicitors there. Totally legal and above-board." She took a sip, "Any objections to a firm like Greywolf renting a bit of space?"

"A sub-lease? Shouldn't be a problem," Mattie agreed. "In any case, the first step would be to get the place cleaned and remodeled while we think about personnel for it."

* * *

As the meeting was breaking up, Arthur pulled Crystal aside, "Look, I really would like to apologize. It was a stupid thing to do and say."

She grinned, "Buy me a cuppa in London and all's well. Anything else?"

"You really don't like the tracer thingies?" he asked, curious.

"No. They need to be hand-sewn into clothing, monitored remotely, and are destroyed on about a monthly basis. I'll get you one to show you, but think about where you'd put one. Knickers, shirts, trousers, skirts, jackets all get laundered in machines, which flex them and soak them in hot, chemical-laden water. That not only breaks the tracers, they usually leak chemicals which stain the garment, which the misbehaving subject notices, so you have to replace the garment." Arthur nodded slowly, and Crystal grinned to herself. One thing you could always get Arthur on was his frugality. "Was there anything else?"

"Yeah; I wanted to go into London on Saturday, to Harry Winston's." At Crystal's raised eyebrow, he explained with a grin, "I'm surprised a girl doesn't know about that place. It's a high-end jewelry store, and I want to go with you, to get your advice, too. Anyway, I'm letting you know so you can make your arrangements; I've already cleared it with Professor Sprout."

"Good. We can meet you at the Great Hall after brekkie, so about 7:30, then floo to the Cauldron."

He cleared his throat, "A bit later, they open at ten."

"No other shopping to do?" She made notes.

"Well, I wanted to go by the Wheeze, I had some ideas regarding the Grand Conspiracy to get Ron and Hermione hitched." Most of the various Alleys' shopkeepers were in on it; Ron remained blissfully clueless. Crystal smirked and commented, "For someone so mild-mannered and straightforward, you have a devious side. Mind if we take any hitchhiking ghosts?"

Arthur was surprised by the request, thought a moment and shrugged. "It might be interesting to take the Grey Lady. She was minor nobility, and she's not bound to the castle, like Myrtle. Draco's always interested in a trip to the Alley to see Blaise."

Crystal smirked, "That should be an interesting trip to the jewelers; and maybe it will help drop their pricing. What are you getting her?" He motioned her close; and then whispered. She straightened, and he added, "I don't care how many photos they have on their web site, I want to look them over with my Mark II eyeballs before dropping five figures."

"Oooh..." Crystal said. "Very nice. Since Julie's going to be here tomorrow, doing her makeup tutoring with Pomona, I'll borrow her bodyguard Laurie for another opinion. Since Steve's going with Mattie..."

"Yes, what's that?"

"She mentioned something about a ship design meeting she needed to be at."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, October 25, 2002: 08:32 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Canary Wharf, 'Imperial Building':****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The lift 'dinged' and Petunia stepped out along with others going to work; and turned down the corridor to suite 600, the newly created Department of Outworld Affairs. She took a breath; then pulled open the door, asking, "Is Ms. Bayliss in?"

Before the receptionist could answer, the door opened, and Mary Bayliss came in, carrying a take-away tray of doughnuts. She set the sweets down, asking, "Ms. Evans, why aren't you in Geneva? Was there a problem?"

"Was I supposed to be?"

"Yes! You're supposed to be meeting with Governor Sullivan and the bankers there today." She checked her watch, "In about an hour, with the time zones."

"That's why I came, I hadn't gotten tickets or anything, and you hadn't returned my calls." Mary looked at the receptionist, "Please take care of these?" and with a motion, "Let's go see why."

* * *

Dropping her purse under her desk, Mary settled down and started up her computer. While she waited, she unlocked a file cabinet, digging through it and pulling out files. "Here's a copy of the letter we sent you, receipts for the airplane and the hotels, your business credit card... all on Monday the 21st."

"May I?" Mary passed over the file, and turned to log in to her terminal. She looked over her shoulder, as Petunia said, "No wonder, these went to Privet Drive! Vernon undoubtedly read the letter; he read all of our mail. Didn't you get my new address on Hempmarket Lane? I'm staying with my son and his fiancée."

"Apparently not. Who is Vernon?"

"My ex-husband. A large, loud bully I escaped from; he's contesting our divorce," Petunia explained.

Mary swiveled the folder around, opening a web page and typing in numbers. "The ticket was used, as was the hotel reservation. Quite a bit of alcohol has been charged to the room, as well as the company credit card, and some large cash advances."

"It wouldn't surprise me if he used it to pay prostitutes," Petunia sniffed. "Undoubtedly thinks I'll have to pay for it."

"Well, we'll just have the police in Geneva pick him up and charge him with theft," Mary said with a small, evil smile. "Have you your passport? I'll fax a copy to them so he can't say he's Petunia Evans." She sat back, "How close are you to being ready to go? I'll send the Gringotts people an email explaining the situation; you can do the signing and whatnot in orbit. I'll warn you, piccies I've seen of the docks are somewhat ... industrial in style, and the transient quarters are just that, a hotel."

"I'll want to say goodbye to my son Dudley and his fiancée Donna Thomas," she replied. "They've got a bit of school to finish up. I assume my other kit is sent up?" Mary nodded, "Well, then shall we say ... Sunday morning?"

"Sunday it is! Go have brekkie if you haven't; be back in about an hour, and you'll walk out with your tickets. The _Nevis_ is a cargo ship, so it doesn't have all the amenities. The other two ships are fully booked with colonists, but you've got full communications and it's comfortable enough."

"I can live without a swimming pool and tennis court," Petunia said, gathering up her things. "I'll see you in an hour."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, October 25, 2002: 11:54 (GMT)  
Firsday, 22 Octus, 162, 18:41 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Computer Services office:  
**

* * *

Thomas knocked on the open doorframe; the office's occupant waved him in, motioning to a chair. "No, I need to know _which_ printer on the third floor is jammed..." he said into the phone. "There's a white label on the front with a bar code... no, they're all reporting operational. Okay, get back to me. Thanks," he said, and hung up. He regarded his visitor, then turned and entered some information in his computer. "Logging the call details," he said. "What can I do for you, Tom? Business or pleasure?"

"Bit of a social call, actually," the Mountie said as he carefully draped his uniform tunic over the back of the other chair, placing his hat on one corner. "I am off duty, and I miss Eleanor. I mean, I know what Bill Morton had to do, and all that, and I don't really care too much what she looks like..."

"Too much?" George asked, reaching out for his mug of tea. He winced, "My kingdom for coffee..."

"Yes, too much. Dr. Lopez showed me photos, and even if they can't be switched back..."

"... or choose to," George replied. "They're adults, y'know." He sat back, tenting his fingers. "Take it through, Tom. What if, for whatever reason, they choose to stay disguised as slave girls? Collar and all, or even Enhancement? It's their call, their decision."

"Why do you ask that?" Tom asked sharply. "Enhancement."

"I mention that because when the _Scythe_ went in for refurbishment and repair of her collaring station, they accepted a promotional deal. It was part of their cover, y'know, as slavers, and WorkForce was apparently really pushing the whole Enhancement bit. Software, kits, the whole nine yards. The _Scythe_ got a new unit installed and two crated ones for what a single old one would have cost them, they picked up half a dozen crated med-tanks and a crap-load of kits, almost enough to Enhance every slave girl on this planet. Apparently they've redesigned the installation process, now a mere Healer third can install them in a few minutes, which is just a couple notches above a med student on the skill chart. Hell, a damn dentist could probably plug one of these things in!"

"And you're saying ... what, George?"

"I'm saying that the slaves we've got running that intake center are good bureaucrats. They're going to use what's available, and they've already installed one of those collaring machines and four med-tanks, _and_ grabbed the installation kits. Hell, they asked me to go over there and network the machines!"

"You didn't!"

"I sure as hell did! How else could I wander around and eyeball the place and talk to some of the girls? I didn't get a chance to talk to Marie or Eleanor; they weren't in the 'cellblock' (he finger-quoted) I was in."

"And..." Tom motioned with his tea mug.

"Hell of a lot cleaner, neater, and in general I'd call it more comfortable than some of the jails I've visited in the Big Easy. I didn't hear anything more than routine complaints, the girls spent a lot of time gossiping out of boredom. The slaves in charge are running the place 'the way a slave house should be run', which apparently has the approval of a majority of the inmates."

Tom lifted a dubious eyebrow, and George snorted, "Hell, the girls are kept naked; the one girl that was helping me install some web cams didn't seem bothered by it. Why should she? That's normal for the girls, and you know slaves have no privacy, they don't expect any. The majority of the girls are bred slaves, they're used to being property; a 'dark collar' is just not an option to them."

"You didn't say anything?"

George shrugged, "What could I say? 'Hey, things are different now.' You've seen it yourself; the 'captured' girls are having an easier time than the bred slaves. We're trying to overcome a lifetime of conditioning with those girls. Hell, the bred slaves are signing up for Enhancement so they can get a 'better collar'!"

"You approve?"

"I didn't say that, I'm simply telling you my impressions. Anyway, you can help me test the setup." He scribbled a note on a bit of scratch paper, "The girls are assigned to block 'C', as they're wearing judicial collars. Look for their white hair, and they're still locked in their feeding gags." He took a sip of his now-cold tea; "I've been working on a database of the slaves that's almost ready for installation. I got 'sample data' for a couple dozen of them, _including_ our two girls, and the software that's installed in their Enhancement modules." He swiveled in his chair to dig into a pile of folders; then tossed Tom a couple of slim file folders.

"I'm almost afraid to open these," Tom said.

George snorted; "The software? Standard issue search and database software, it looks like. I want to check the firmware, from what I've heard that's where the forced 'my master' and 'this slave' settings are. I didn't see anything unusual, no 'kamikaze' command programs."

He turned, twisting to grab a framed photo off his desk. "This is Marie's graduation photo from Loyola." He grabbed one of the file folders back from Tom, opening it to a particular page. "Her intake photos from the slave processing center." This was a full-length ID photo of the slave girl Marie appeared as now. She stood nude in front of a lined background, with her height shown to the left. Her expression as she looked into the camera could be summarized as: '_You may have collared me, and forced me to call you 'Master', but I am not your slave girl_.' Her white hair was long and looped down on her left front; she stood at about a thirty-degree angle to the camera, looking over her left shoulder. She wore the silver judicial collar, the typical dark grey leash collar with a silver chain looping down between her high, firm breasts. A black leather gag was locked on her lower jaw; her lower arms were locked into a silver cage behind her, pulling her shoulders back. Silver bells were locked on her ankles; she wore woven sandals with about three-inch heels that her hair trailed around.

Tom grunted, passing Eleanor's file over, and studying Marie's. "What's with the cage-thing their arms are in?"

"Cuthbert's idea, actually. Since slaves trot around almost naked, there's no place for them to conceal a wand. He's ordered a wand measurement kit shipped out from Hamburg. They order a metallic one that gets integrated into that cage; they're wearing something he conjured up. That lets people, including the girls, get used to seeing them wearing and being confined by it. They need to use their wand; they reach behind them and unscrew it, then put it back when they're done." George took a gulp of his tea and winced. Tom leaned forward, tapping the mug with his wand to warm it up.

"They seemed okay?"

"The girls I spoke to said this was an 'easy collar' so far," George replied, finger-quoting. "Now, our girls are in a different group, one that's going through slave training, which is basically exercise, physical fitness, and learning the different commands. Sweat won't kill them." He sat back, "You know we're putting in more security for the greenhouses, which reminds me..." He swiveled, finding another file folder and passing it over. "Sign for your card."

"What's this?"

"All-access, all-times security card for the greenhouses; sign for yours and stick it in your wallet. Ken, you and I have these, along with Cuthbert and his successor when she gets here. I've got Governor Sullivan's implant data for her access."

Tom put the card in his hanging ID pouch as George swiveled back and forth, "The girls of course will be using their normal implants for access control; along with the new witches we've got coming in."

He took a gulp of his now-hot tea, "I talked to Cuthbert; you were out of the office. Marie is going to be their 'Fifth Girl' once they graduate, their boss, so she'll have five of the glowing rings above her collar." He shrugged, "Sorry, but Eleanor is too passive, I think."

"Agreed," Tom said. He looked at the file folders; then passed them back. "What else?"

"Second thing, there's a proposal to move the slave center back to the slave farm, consolidate all the facilities in one secure location instead of building new. We'd rework the slave center we have here at Riverside as a law enforcement facility. There's space for lab equipment and so forth, and using a couple of the cargo shuttles, the swap could be done in a few days. This place is getting pretty cramped now with all the slave girls, and they've got room there."

Tom grunted. "I've been there, they have added more lighting and ventilation, and it is more secure, not nearly as dark and gloomy. What else?"

"Put your hat back on, this is for you and Ken as counter-intelligence." Tom did so, "There are two other slaves in the center with Terran genotypes, a total of six 'slaves' (he finger-quoted) on planet, including our two girls. Apparently at least a couple governments back on Terra are running spies in on us. We don't know who until we can actually sit them down for a chat, but one benefit, if you can call it that, for Enhancement, is the girl cannot lie – she's just not able to when she's restricted."

Tom grunted, accepting four other files from George. "How did you find this out?"

"Database searches; I stumbled on it; then did a quick search. Once I finish debugging the database and replicate it to Port Lincoln, all 64,494 female and the forty-nine males wearing active slave collars will be online. Anyway, when I find out something else, I'll give you a shout. You can take your hat off now."

"Okay;" and the hat came off again. He glanced at the file folders, "I'll sit down with Ken and decide how we're going to handle the other four girls."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, October 26, 2002: 10:23 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, 171 New Bond St. (Harry Winton's):****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The doorman held the door as the Mercedes limo pulled up, blocking a lane of traffic. This had been Laurie's idea, as had Arthur's suit, the hovering assistant (Laurie), the bodyguard (Crystal) and the ghost. They almost got a blink out of the doorman with the floating ghost in attendance, but he simply held the door for her as the limo sped off.

"How may I help you, sir?" the receptionist asked. He didn't impress her, once you'd seen actual _royalty_ pull up without wetting your knickers... although she did admit to herself; the ghostly thing was a neat trick. She wondered how he pulled it off.

"This is Mr. Morton," the ghostly thing said in a 'Isn't this obvious?' tone. "He wishes to look at your emerald necklaces." She leaned toward the receptionist, and the girl got a whiff of death and decay, as well as the cold radiating off the ghost. She kept her cool (so to speak), and touched buttons, speaking softly into a hush mike. "One moment, please. Mr. Morley will meet with you in Salon Nine." She gestured, "Fifth on the left, please."

* * *

"Are you quite certain you only wish the stones, sir?" Mr. Morley asked. "We have a variety of expertly crafted settings that would complement them beautifully." When they had introduced themselves, Mr. Morley had recognized the name and face; he knew exactly who the youngster in front of him was and whom the matched emeralds under consideration were intended for. Having Winston stones worn by the Queen of the Terran Empire would be a serious coup.

"I know," Arthur admitted. "I'd like to make Christmas presents myself, but I also have to admit my time is very limited. You've got some beautiful stuff, and my efforts might not be as nice, but I don't want it to be something that she might see in a catalog."

"Ah," Mr. Morley nodded. "I understand. Do you have any experience in jewelry design?"

"I can do the lost wax process in my sleep. Being a wizard doesn't hurt either."

"I understand, Mr. Morton, and we do have a wizard or two on staff ourselves. However, I will guarantee that any design would be exclusive." He cleared his throat, "Were there any other persons you were considering?"

"Yes, my four sisters and mother. I've got some rough sketches of what I'm thinking of."

"Perhaps, Mr. Morton, we might strike a deal if you are willing to consider our products for those ladies."

Arthur raised his eyebrow, "How quickly can you do it? I need to have it in hand by the middle of December."

"Depending on the complexity of the designs, I can have paste mock-ups available by the middle of November. The final products would assuredly be finished by the middle of December, although you may need to pick them up in New York instead of London. I would accompany them to New York and meet you there personally." He sat back in his chair, "As I said, you would retain copyright to these designs, in return you would grant us permission to use the images in our marketing, and we can undoubtedly adjust the fabrication costs as compensation."

Arthur nodded, reaching in his suit pocket and pulling out some sketches. "This is what I'm thinking of," he said.

Mr. Morley examined the first one. "Very nice. Might I suggest..."

* * *

"Well, that was fun," Arthur said, somewhat peevishly. "Remind me never to go shopping again with women. Can't the three of you agree on anything?"

"Yes, it was enjoyable," Helena Ravenclaw (the Grey Lady), agreed. "It was pleasant to get out of the castle, and London has changed so much since my time. It was such a sleepy little village."

"A thousand years will do that," Laurie agreed. "Now then, Mr. Morton, since we've got you dressed so well, I think a bit of wardrobe expansion will help."

"We'll also help you get something for Mattie, I have her sizes," Crystal added. "Onward to High Street!" Arthur groaned.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, October 27, 2002: 13:07 (GMT)  
Thirday, 24 Octus, 162, 07:54 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Operations office:  
**

* * *

"The slaves your master requested. Sign here and here, mistress," Eleanor heard as another guard knelt her, efficiently resetting a neck ring before locking it tight above her hood's lock. She settled herself to wait; she didn't know who would have asked for her or the other slave unless it was either Bill Morton or Lord Cuthbert.

* * *

Marie heard the heavier footsteps of a man and the greetings of the office slaves as their master entered, and with his distinctive cough, identified Walter Cuthbert. One slave said, "Master, a package came for you yesterday after you had left for the healer's office. Was she able to assist you?"

"Ah, thank you, I've been waiting for this." (There was a slight rattle of a package.) "The healer was not able to effect a cure, but she did help somewhat, and endorsed my moving to Port Lincoln." There was the slight scuff of boot soles, and he said, "Ah, the two slaves I had in mind. Good. Please call Mr. Morton's office and ask if he could come by for an hour about nine. I'll call out for the two slaves shortly; I have other matters to attend to first."

"Yes, master."

* * *

"The slaves, master."

"Good. Secure them over there, facing out, please. What did Mr. Morton's office say?"

"He suggests a half-meal meeting, master." There was a grunt; then Lord Cuthbert said, "That won't do at all." Eleanor felt one of the office slaves lock her hands above her, while her ankles were locked into low stocks a foot apart. She heard a ratcheting sound; her arms were raised as she heard the rattle of a keyboard. "Close the door, and do not disturb me," Lord Cuthbert said.

'Yes, master," and she heard the door close.

"Well, we shall have to proceed without Mr. Morton," Walter Cuthbert said, and Marie tensed slightly. He must have seen her, because he said, "This is in the nature of a briefing. Let me ward the door." She heard his steps, and mumbled Latin. More footsteps; and she was released, and her hood was unlocked. "Close your eyes until they adjust;" and she felt a pair of sunglasses placed in her hand. Sir Cuthbert continued as she adjusted the sunglasses, "Point one dot one. I will not remove your gags, as there is no need to do so, and I do not wish to impose the discomfort on you to re-install them. For now, in this room, I consider you free females. When I return you to the slave centre, I will need to re-hood and bind you once again as slaves. Are you reasonably comfortable?"

Both girls whimpered once as they knelt, and Eleanor tapped her slave collar. "Yes, this is why I wished Mr. Morton's presence. I had spoken with him about this meeting, but he apparently has other, higher priorities. A luncheon meeting will not work because of the security of what we must discuss; therefore this is what we shall do. Continuing with point one dot two; you know this is a slave planet." The two girls whimpered once, and he continued, "For my own knowledge, have you at any time voluntarily crossed your wrists and submitted as slaves, other than to myself?"

Once again, both girls whimpered once, and Walter repeated, "Voluntarily? To Mr. Morton?" They whimpered again, and he said, "Drat. You do know that by doing so, you have crossed a legal Rubicon, you are now legally slaves? By crossing your wrists to Mr. Morton, you became his property, his slaves. A difficulty is that he did not mark your collars and implants as his property in any way, shape or form, and slaves are considered titled property. Therefore, you were legally available _as slaves_ for anyone to claim when I found you. This was not slave theft, as you were untitled slaves, and why I defended you against the attempted theft of that wench. Additionally, all privately owned slaves on the planet will become the property of the Crown at the turn of the year. By crossing your wrists to me in the name of the Crown, you then became owned by the Crown and are managed by the Slave Control Agency, part of the Ministry of Commerce." The two girls looked at each other, then at him, giving a whimper as he reclined in his chair. He swiveled, extracting a pipe and filling it. As he struck a kitchen match on his boot, waving it out and putting it in a glass ashtray, he contemplated the two girls, clearly thinking things through as he got his pipe going.

"Drat," he said again. "This means we shall need to proceed with my alternate plan. I had hoped … well, never mind. Mr. Morton is apparently of the belief that your collars are part of a theatrical show, which we may, if you will pardon the expression, wave a wand and everything will be reset to _status-quo-ante_ after the final curtain. That may be true for him; he may subtract two slaves from one column and add two free girls to another, thus having his accounts balance. I am accustomed to operating at the much more realistic, smellier end of the stick." He drew on his pipe, "For instance, as Marie and Eleanor, I believe you shared a flat?" Eleanor nodded, as did Cuthbert. "Imagine, if you will, what the reaction of your neighbors would be if two cat-girl slaves suddenly appeared and took up residence in that flat. I believe that there would be curiosity, questions about the two of you and the current whereabouts of Marie and Eleanor. Also a difficulty would be accessing the bank accounts of Eleanor by the slave girl 11641, and those of Marie by the slave 11642. While the accounts may be sorted eventually, there would be difficulties in the interim."

Eleanor waved her hand over her torso, and Sir Walter nodded. "Yes, resetting you to your human forms. That is entirely your decision, however I wish you to consider this question. You are currently Enhanced slaves in judicial collars. Your records as slaves are as one species, the cat-girls. Your collars and Enhancement cannot be removed, therefore on the assumption you proceed with the reversal and it is successful, you will have two human girls wearing judicial collars with the same slave numbers as the two cat-girls. Once again, what will your neighbors say, and how will Eleanor Branstone answer those questions?"

Marie mimed writing, and Sir Walter nodded. "My apologies," and extracted a pair of legal pads and pencils for them. Eleanor held up hers, '_What about our relatives? I haven't written mine in a while_.'

"Ah, good question. George has written the both of yours, saying that you are on a covert assignment and out of communication." He sat back, contemplating them, then turned around and minimized several windows on his computer, calling up a new one. "Your laptops and wands are with your respective boyfriends," he added. "If you are willing to continue with the 'covert assignment', which is in fact truth, you can use my terminal to send an email to your rellies. Include something that will let them know it is you, and let them know you are safe and healthy, please."

_To: May Branstone (school)  
From: Eleanor Branstone  
Date: 27 October, 2002  
Subject: Status  
_

_Hello!_

_I'm sending you a quick email to let you know I'm all right, and safe and healthy. Marie and I are out of contact for now, it's taken some doing to get to where I can send this. Please give Mum and Dad a call; they can use George or Tom as a contact. _

_Please let Professor Sprout know I'm looking forward to seeing November's Plante and Weede catalog! _

_Love to all, _

_Your sister, _

_Eleanor _

She stepped back from the terminal, and Sir Walter raised an eyebrow. "I will trust you, Ms. Branstone, and do not need to read your mail. Send it if you are satisfied with it." Eleanor took another step, and clicked 'Send', then pulled her hair and tail back, kneeling and letting Marie take her place. '_What next_?' she wrote as Marie typed her message.

"Next, my dear, is point one dot three. As you will recall, I said I would procure a method for the two of you to carry wands. The difficulty is that as slaves we must have a method of concealing a wand on said slave girl. This method must conceal the item in such a way to prevent discovery whilst you are chained, shipped, and otherwise handled and bound. Your ownership starts with the Slave Control Agency, who will monitor your apprenticeship contracts and leases. Beyond them, your chain of ownership goes to the Ministry of Commerce and the Governor's office."

Marie smoothed her hair and tail back as she knelt, holding up her own legal pad. '_What about taking us out of the slave house and freeing us_?' she had written. '_Isn't Mr. Morton Lieutenant Governor_?'

"He is _Acting_ Lieutenant Governor, (he emphasized the word 'Acting') and my recommendation is to leave you in there for now, for several reasons. Let us take this step by step. Firstly, removing you from the slave house; we would need reasons to do so. As a private citizen, I do not have a legal claim on you. Without that, it could be construed as attempted theft of Crown property. Today, I have signed you out, and I needed to redeem some favors to do so. I am not in the Ministry of Commerce or the Slave Control Agency; I am in Operations, an independent department under the Governor. Ms. Castellano, as Lieutenant Governor, could remove you, and I will recommend she do so _if_ you are being mistreated, but otherwise we would need a solid reason to do so. Are you being mistreated … (he held up a finger) … _as slaves_?"

The two looked at each other, then they reluctantly shook their heads, Eleanor scribbling '_What about our Enhancement_?' on her pad.

"Yes… My information is that you volunteered for that and thumb-printed consent forms. What surprises me is that it is apparently a popular option among the bred slaves, the 'captured' slaves (he finger-quoted) such as you not so much, but there are enough." He steepled his fingers; "If in fact you were coerced, we shall deal with that. However, that would not change your own status – you will still be slaves, and therefore, your Enhancement would still be legal." He shifted in his chair, "Moving back to removing you from the slave house. You have not yet finished your slave training, by doing so you will be better protected legally, and it will correspond to the completion of construction on your greenhouses. This is anticipated to be shortly, another two or three weeks, at which time we shall integrate you in with the arrival of new colonists and new slaves. You will become 'lost in the crowd'. He regarded them, "We are planning to move the slave centre back to the old slave farm on Island, and use that as a control point for incoming slaves. It has been refurbished to a great degree to improve lighting and ventilation, but the facility you are in, and which you shall graduate from, is much brighter. As long as slavery is legal on the planet, in order to maintain our licenses and such, we need at least one slave house for training and such. The farm will suit our needs admirably, but you two will not be in it."

The girls nodded, and Sir Walter continued, "Regarding freeing you, that is more problematical." He held up a small device, "George has programmed this to update your hip implants with false data to match your penalty brands and slave records. I have one for each of you; please stand and we shall update you." As the girls stood with their left hips to him, he said as he strapped them on, "Make certain they do not move, it should not take long. The brands, your alleged history and your judicial collars all show a long history of misbehavior. Essentially, you are both career criminals. To move to a common collar, a judge must endorse a petition from your owner, which in your case is the Crown. Mr. Morton, for some unknown reason, gave these brands and this history to you instead of a simple common collar. Think of this as an application for parole; were you a judge reviewing a prisoner with such a long history of sometimes violent crime, would you be likely to grant said application? I myself would not."

The devices beeped, and he accepted them back. "Please turn with your back to me; I shall be replacing your improvised cuffs with different ones." As he worked, he continued, "Therefore, we must be able to demonstrate to that judge that you are 'reformed' (he finger-quoted), and are ready to become productive members of society. To do so, we shall assign the two of you, and the other four incoming witches who are also disguised as slave girls, to the greenhouses and the Ministry of Agriculture. The Governor's office will then contract with you for a series of purchase orders for the production of brewed fertilizers and other specialty products. Successful completion of these contracts will help to convince our judge that you have reformed and deserve a common collar, and thus your manumission. Regarding Mr. Morton, in his acting position, he does not have the legal authority in the judicial system to release you. Governors Sullivan and Castellano do, but they have legal … challenges of their own."

He stood, "One dot three one, please stand naturally; the cuffs should be at wrist and just below the elbows, holding your shoulders back and chest out. They should be tight enough to secure you, but not enough to restrict your blood flow." He made some adjustments; then motioned, "Marie, as Fifth Girl, this is how you release the cuffs; you must push in here and here simultaneously." Eleanor's cuffs clicked open, and he said, "My apologies, but I must test this. Slave 11641, restrict." The slave girl jerked, her arms flashing back, and Marie leaned forward, her own arms held behind her as she studied the cuffs, whimpering softly to herself while he made adjustments. She nodded; then turned to Sir Walter for her own arms to be released. He did so, saying "Slave 11642, restrict," and her arms were adjusted.

"Excellent. Slaves, release," and they jerked again, their arms still held behind them. "This is part one dot three two, you heard this morning of a package being delivered? That was the wand measurement kit from Hamburg. I wanted to test it myself, please turn around, we shall measure you, and the other girls when they arrive. Hopefully we shall receive your new wands with our incoming ships. Marie, let's test you first."

* * *

"Very well, I do believe that covers everything," Sir Walter said to the two kneeling girls. "Had you any other questions for me?" Both girls nodded, Eleanor writing '_There are new girls coming in_?' while Marie wrote, '_What is the Governor's legal problem_?'

"Ah," he replied. "There are four witches coming in with the colonists, as well as twenty or so other girls who will be undercover intelligence agents. Some bright spark on Earth has decided that it would be advantageous to collar and Enhance all of them, we have been overruled when we protested. You may not be aware of the ongoing political campaign of the Traditionalist party here, but if this information gets out, as well as the existence of witches and wizards on this planet, zarroji, there would be… problems." Eleanor held up her pad, '_Traditionalist party_?'

"Yes, one that wants to revert to a male economic and political power structure, as existed with the Elders. They are well-financed and appeal to the older power structure, and have several options on the ballot that we will be voting on. Unfortunately, the slaves 11641 and 11642 cannot vote, as they were illegally imported and are wearing judicial collars. Marie and Eleanor are not here to vote." He fiddled with his pipe, "Regarding Governor Sullivan, she was apparently improperly freed, and so her previous history in office is that of a slave masquerading as a free female. This calls into question not only her own legal authority, but Ms. Castellano's, Mr. Morton's, and indeed the entire government. This is something that will be addressed by others; we are hoping to resolve the question very, very quietly, as one of our founding principals is the rule of law. Anything else?" The two girls looked at each other; Marie stood, fetching a hood and removing Eleanor's sunglasses as she prepared it.

* * *

"Here we are, pick up two slaves and return them to the processing centre," the guard said, releasing the neck rings on the slaves. She looked up as one of the office slaves said, "My master has stated that he shall need them again after the new colonists arrive in three weeks or a month, and to keep them secure until then. Personally, this slave thinks they are fat, and could lose a few kilos. See how their bellies bulge, mistress?"

"Yes, we'll take care of that," the guard said, then yanked at the two slaves' leashes.

* * *

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, October 27, 2002: 16:14 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Orbital Dock 'C' transit quarters:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Petunia slid the key-card for her hotel room door with a deep sigh. With a kick, she wheeled her luggage in, the door sliding shut behind her with a sucking sound. It was a simple, economy room, a single because of her 'elevated' status. She pulled the suitcase next to the dresser, and noticed the light was blinking on the picture-phone. '_Bugger that_,' she thought. '_Shower first_.'

* * *

Feeling much better after a shower and small bottle of wine from the room's mini-bar, Petunia sat at the window (which more than made up for the inexpensive room). She gazed at Earth for a second longer (she could make out Japan from here), then consulted the instructions and keyed the unit.

The screen lit, and the girl answered, "Front desk, how may I help you?"

"Apparently I have some messages; this is Ms. Evans in 215."

"Yes, Ms. Evans... Here they are. First one is: Harry, Ginny, Dudley and Donna wish you Godspeed and a safe voyage. They love you, and promise to write."

Petunia sniffled a bit, "My boys and their wives; bless them. What's the second one?"

"Department of Outworld Affairs, just a notice that a Vernon Dursley was arrested by the police in Geneva, charged with multiple counts of theft, assault, battery and resisting arrest." The girl looked at Petunia on her screen, "Anything we should be aware of, ma'am?"

"My ex, a loud, obnoxious bully I am well shut of. The police can have him. The DOA mistakenly sent my tickets and whatnot to my former address; he took them and had a good time on Miss Wayne's shilling." She took a deep breath, "Thank you, I... What's the next, please?"

"Governor Sullivan asked to be notified when your shuttle docked; she wanted to sit down with you before a meeting tomorrow. I can connect you now."

"Oh, please do." The desk clerk nodded, disappeared, and a 'Please wait...' notice appeared. A shorthaired blonde appeared, "Sullivan."

"Ms. Sullivan, I'm Ms. Evans in 215. I understand you wanted to meet?"

"I do indeed. I'm Christine, bring your stuff, we'll sit down, have a drink, and try to get up to speed."

"Petunia, and let me find my shoes."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, October 30, 2002: 05:57 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting:  
**

* * *

"Good morning, everyone," Mattie said with a yawn as she dropped her materials on the desk, covering her mouth. "Excuse me," and spotted Hagrid coming in the door. She picked up his enormous mug, filling it and handing it to him. "I would love to get a mug that size, or larger," she commented. "It seems all I do is fill mine with coffee."

"Been wonderin' wha' t' get 'ye f' Christmas," he said with a grin.

"Only if you give _me_ the name of the potter," Arthur said. He passed her a normal-sized mug as Harry and Ginny walked over, "Did I hear my name?"

"Potter as in ceramics," Arthur said. He passed Ginny's over, "I'm finally getting everyone's drink preferences down." He passed over Harry's, and finally took his own blackberry tea.

"Now that drink orders are consummated," Minerva said. "Tomorrow, as you know, is the annual Halloween ball. As such, today I am releasing third years and above from third period on, the dressmakers and assorted craftspeople on the Alleys are arriving to do last-second fittings." She passed out sheets, "These are the classrooms assigned them. Students and faculty will pick up their orders at that time; the ball starts tomorrow evening at nine p.m. sharp."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, October 31, 2002: 12:22 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:  
**

* * *

Julie stopped by the Ravenclaw table, leaning over to give Tomas a brief hug. All around the Great Hall, other girls were doing the same thing – rushing in to grab a quick bite or wrap a snack in a napkin; then hurrying out. She told him, "I'll see you in the Entrance hall a little before nine, dear. Look good for me."

"We'll make sure of it," the Cortez sisters assured her. Shaundra asked, "Check out Ewan for me, would you?"

"No worries," Julie said, and the girls sailed off.

One of the guys at Hufflepuff asked, somewhat loudly, "The ball's at nine. Why do they take that long to get ready?"

"It's more than a shower and a deodorant charm," a girl replied from Gryffindor. Another added, "You guys are so lucky!"

* * *

Couples milled around the Entrance hall while the lower years watched from balconies (Gryffindor and Ravenclaw) or the entrances to their tunnels (Hufflepuff and Slytherin). The doors to the Great Hall remained firmly shut, although music could be heard as the band tuned up. The fireplace flared occasionally with Floo arrivals, one woman's voice was heard to say, "But Charlie, it's forty two seconds slow!"

"Miss Tickes is here," Bellatrix drawled, amused. "Hello, Severus, you're looking dashing, as always."

"And you, my dear Bella, are a sight, as always, for hungry eyes," he replied gallantly. "Perhaps later we might steal away..."

In another part of the hall, Lois was on the arm of her husband, Madame Pomfrey commented to her, "I am ready, Ms. Lane, just in case."

Lois replied, "I'm willing to use a dull butter knife to get this overdue kid out." She winced, and Clark tensed. Poppy laid a hand on his arm, "Don't worry, Mr. Kent. Everything will be fine..."

Julie met Tomas on an upper floor, looking over the railing at the milling crowd; then inspecting him. She fiddled with a lapel on his tux, and he presented her with a corsage. As he pinned it on, he commented, "Are you as nervous as I am senorita?"

"More, I think. This dress is two years old."

"You look lovely."

She took a deep breath; then said, "Thank you. Shall we go?" In reply, he offered his left arm, and they walked to the staircase.

"Good evening," Minerva said to the unknown, but very well dressed couple. "I don't believe I recall your names."

"Why, Minerva, I'm insulted," the dashing blond gentleman in the perfect tux replied with a smile. He gestured to the pale skinned young lady with an old-fashioned off-the-shoulder black lace gown and large silver ankh necklace. "Allow me to present my date for the evening, the Lady Death, and I am, as always, Lord Lucifer Goodfellow." Minerva blinked twice, and Albus rescued her, "I must sit down with the both of you later; I have a few questions..."

"Of course, Albus," the pale, dark haired Death said; then leaned over, "My dear Lucifer, your hoofprints are smoking again."

"I do apologize," he said, and the hoofprints vanished from the slate floor. Minerva recovered, "I do hope that we won't see any ... trouble tonight."

"My dear Minerva, you have my solemn word that I shall have no part in any mischief," he sighed. "Such a terrible reputation I've gotten, and unjustly, too. No, this is purely a social occasion."

"I do have one scheduled tonight, but it is otherwise also a social occasion," the Lady Death said. "You must excuse us, please. Luc, there's someone I think you'd like to meet..."

In another part of the room, Mattie was on Arthur's arm, chatting with an older couple. She turned, "I don't believe you've met some of my good friends, milady. Arthur, Molly Weasley, this is Phillip and Elizabeth."

"She has gained quite a bit of polish over the last year," Elizabeth said as Molly dropped into a quick and somewhat awkward curtsey. "Oh, do get up, dear. You don't see me curtseying to Empress Martha, do you?"

"Don't you dare..." Mattie said with a grin. "Empress Martha, my foot."

Phillip cleared his throat, "That's a new uniform, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's the naval variant, although I understand Beatrice is looking to go into Imperial Intelligence. In that case, she'd wear the Marine variant, which is black tights instead of my white..."

Gred and Forge appeared in the floo, turning to help out their wives, who also turned to help out their fellow shopkeeper, Blaise. After everyone was dusted off, Blaise saw Draco hovering, looking for her. She waved, as Bill Weasley appeared with his wife, Fleur, who turned to help out an elegant, somewhat balding fellow wearing a tasteful tie with a green question mark. Aurora came over to give her fiancé a kiss, accepting the brush and dusting him off.

Callista entered with Alastair on his stool, asking him, "Ready?"

"Oh, precedence is giving me fits," he complained. "Who enters first? Who enters last? Magical, temporal, or physical power? Time in office, or territory? What about age? We have people here that are billions of years old! Oh, I have a headache..."

"You'll sort it out, you always do," she said, and raised her voice. "We're ready, for those of us not on the 'A' list; you know who you are..." She tapped her wand on the doors to the Great Hall, which opened; she dashed through with Alastair, who called a minute later, "Mr. Remus Lupin, escorting Ms. Nymphadora Tonks." There was a pause, "Please forgive me. Tonks. Just Tonks." Another pause, "Mr. Charles Adams, escorting Ms... Ms. Just Sprink, please, Tonks. Oh, the Black sisters..." Another pause, "Mr. William... are you sure you wouldn't prefer Bill? All right, Mr. William Weasley, with his wife Fleur." He paused, "Another Black. Oh, well. Potion Master... there's no need to be snarky, Professor... Mr. Severus Snape, escorting Ms. Bellatrix Black..." Another pause, "Mr. Charles Weasley, and just when are you going to get around to popping the question, Mr. Weasley? If Lupin the terminally shy can, you can. Now you can come forward. Charlie Weasley, escorting the Chairwoman of the Combined Alley Chamber of Commerce, Ms. Jam... oh, all right. Charlie and Jessie Tickes. I still want an answer to my question. Moving on, Mr... are you sure you don't want the other? Oh, all right. Mr. Clark Kent of WGBS and the _Daily Planet_, escorting his _very_ pregnant wife Lois Lane, also of the _Daily Planet_ and the publisher of the _Wizarding Reporter_." Another pause, "Next, we have..."

* * *

"... And another Weasley, Mr. Ronald... no, I will not support the Cannons by turning myself orange, and don't you dare, Mr. Weasley. Don't you know what their record is? Why, their fool of a Keeper... Yes, sorry, Ms. Granger. Ahem. The thickheaded Mr. Ronald Weasley (honestly, the Chudley Cannons?), escorting the ever-sensible Potion Mistress Ms. Hermione Granger." Another pause, "Anyone else? (Deep sigh.) Right, best get to it. Let's see... (Alastair cleared his throat), Our hosts tonight... Albus, d' you want the whole thing? Right. Albus Dumbledore, who doesn't care about the alphabet soup behind his name, he's kind to an old hat like me, escorting his wife, Headmistress Minerva... what? Oh, thank you. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall..."

Alastair cleared his throat. "Moving on. Grand Mage... oh, all right. Just Merlin, please, I'm nobody special, escorting the Grand Mage Zatanna, member of the JLA. Well, what are you going to do, _clean_ me? Right... (throat clearing). Moving on, Prince Harold of Wales, escorting the Lady Anne Bundy, Chief Scientist for Arrowhead and Viscount Essex." He waited, "Well, I'm glad you sorted yourselves out. Next is... Prince Phillip of Edinburgh, escorting his wife, Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II..." The appropriate music started, and people bowed or curtseyed, as necessary. Alastair waited; then continued with, "Crown Consort to the Terran Empire, Mr. Arthur Morton, escorting his betrothed, Empress Martha the First." The band struck up the 'Imperial March', and several bets were paid off. Mattie ignored this, entering with her head high, as Alastair continued, "And finally... Oh, all right. I need a pain potion. Lord Lucifer Goodfellow, escorting his fellow immortal, the Lady Death." A funeral dirge struck up, and people craned to see the infamous couple. There was a pause, then the band started a waltz, and the 'A' list started the dancing.

* * *

Arthur looked up to hear humming. His eyes widened as he saw a Guardian of Oa standing in midair, humming along to the music and tapping his foot. He started to draw his wand, and the Guardian said, "Do not bother, Mr. Morton. I am simply here to observe." He continued to hum; asking "Where is Miss Wayne?"

"In the ladies' room," he replied warily. "Which is for _women only_."

"Ah. Gender-based segregation. I can wait." He went back to humming along with the music.

* * *

Ron Weasley was having a good evening. No, an excellent evening. The Twins had suggested he try this new muggle thing called 'vodka', and he'd had a glass of it. Or three. He really didn't remember, but it didn't matter. He tipped the bottle (it had a red picture of a castle on it, which must be Hoggy, hoggy Hogwarts) into his glass, and only got a few ounces. There was another one, which read ... Island... Iceland... something like that. That bottle had more, and he quickly poured it in his glass, before his Mum came back. Now all he needed was some ice... there was some at the bar...

Arthur Morton watched as a drunken Ron Weasley, with one shirt-tail hanging out, staggered over toward his table, with a half-full drink glass in his left hand. The Guardian (who he assumed was Ganthet), continued to hum along to the band, tapping his foot as he stood in midair. He wasn't noticeable, as he was back among the crowd, watching the dancers twirl. (Dumbledore was surprisingly graceful.) However, he somehow drew Ron Weasley's attention, who stopped, swayed a bit, then said, "Blue. Y'blue. Y'should be orange, support th' Cannons," and drew his wand, casting a spell.

The poorly aimed and cast spell caught the Guardian, turning his red and white robes a nauseating orange, which clashed horribly with his light blue skin and the green Lantern logo. Ron turned away, tripping over his own feet and crashing to the ground, breaking his glass and cutting his palm. He crawled about a foot, then puked violently, rolled over, and went to sleep with a happy smile and a mumbled "'...nge".

"I have no idea what you see in him, Ms. Granger," Bellatrix stood behind her at the doors to the Great Hall, into the ringing silence.

"Neither do I..." a horrified Hermione replied as people looked at the somewhat – orange Guardian. "He's... he's so powerful he could put out the Sun with a finger-snap." She looked over at the Weasley table, where Molly regarded her youngest son with equal horror.

"Are you referring to this?" The Guardian strolled across the air toward her, stopping to regard her. He extended a hand, and snapped his fingers. He looked down at himself; then waved a hand and his appearance was restored. Another look and Ron was clean and healed, although he continued to sleep the deep sleep of the drunkard.

"Please... turn the sun back on..." Hermione whispered. The Guardian regarded her for several seconds, standing so they were eye-to-eye; then snapped his fingers again. A ripple of relief went around the room; then Molly started, "Ronald ... Bilius ... WEASLEY ..."

Incongruously, the Guardian then gave Hermione a small smile, commented, "Such a momentous day. One not like this in centuries..." and walked back toward Arthur.

* * *

"Such a pity..." one girl said as she leaned into the mirror, wand moving carefully. "Didn't I say last year that Wayne would chew up and spit out Morton? Well, I heard that Lady Death bitch say she was here for a 'scheduled appointment'." She snorted. "As IF that's the actual Grim Reaper..."

"Didn't Wayne summon demons? Now she's brought in the actual Prince of Darkness, we're all going to Hell!" one girl worried.

"You would know if your fate was Hell," a young woman said, gazing into the mirror. There was no reflection looking back, and she continued, "I am here for a social function." One of the WC's flushed, and she continued, "Would you prefer this appearance?" Instantly, a tall, black robed skeletal figure appeared, holding her scythe and the two girls screamed in terror.

"Oh, be quiet," Julie Morton said, and sniffed, looking the two sixth-years over. "I'd suggest you go back to your dorms, wash and change. Your dates are waiting." She glanced at Death, "We need to go shopping sometime; that outfit is so... last eon."

Death (now back to her original form), nodded. "I am unfortunately very busy this time of year. She froze for a second; then recovered. "Drunken driver. Forty-two fatalities. As I said, I am rather busy."

* * *

"Clark? It's time." Lois said. He picked her up with infinite gentleness; then hurried out of the room, almost flying up the stairs to the Infirmary.

* * *

Edward approached where his fiancée Aurora and Emma waited outside the Hogwarts Infirmary, where his niece and her fiancé, Mr. Morton waited. He was pleased to see they were not drinking alcohol, somewhat more displeased to see a Guardian of Oa standing in midair, discussing something with them. Aurora saw him, flicked her wand, and he nodded in gratitude as he settled into the chair.

"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Ganthet, but I really don't want a Ring," Arthur said. "Mattie has tried to give hers back on several occasions, you insist on her retaining it. We don't know why you do when you don't call her."

The Oan regarded the young Terran. "My reasons are my own, Mr. Morton. Suffice it to say that it is necessary, both for you and your fledgling Terran Empire. I will pledge to you that neither of you will be summoned unless there is a dire emergency, requiring the full strength of the Corps. That would include the support beings such as you that wear a Ring. I would add a few trivial requirements for support of Corps members to your Empire; in return they would be available to protect your planets."

"And Lanterns that own or transact business with slavers?" Aurora leaned forward to ask.

"Provide that information and we shall inquire into it," Ganthet replied. He turned his head to look at the stone wall as a scream of pain was heard. "Activity. I must observe this..."

"No, wait!" Mattie said, but he had disappeared. He reappeared a few seconds later, crashing through the wall and several others before finally being stopped by one of Hogwarts outer walls. An enraged Kryptonian father stood in the opening, breathing deeply, and bellowed, "AND STAY OUT!" He looked at the five of them, then tapped his temple and said warningly, "Arthur?"

"Not even thinking of it, sir," he said.

"Good man." Kal-El of Krypton gave them a brief nod, turned and walked away. The five of them watched the opening for a minute as another scream of pain, along with the tearing sounds of metal came. "Push, now," Poppy said, along with another scream of pain. Aurora stood, conjuring a white sheet to cover the opening; adhering it to the wall with a sticking charm.

"Didn't your Mom mention once you had a old Ring in your vault at home?" Arthur asked to fill the silence.

"Yes, we think it came from the destruction of Krypton," Mattie replied, when Ganthet re-appeared, wobbling a bit. "Your Battery, please," he asked. Mattie dug it out and passed it over, and he clutched it to his chest. He closed his eyes, "I do not know why he became angry when I appeared, I simply wanted to observe a momentous bit of history; the birth of Cir-El." He took several deep breaths; then returned the Battery. "Gratitude. You said you had an old Ring?"

"Yes, it's highly radioactive, possibly a Kryptonian Lantern had it. My Ring couldn't get any information from it beyond that it's a genuine Oan Ring."

"That is of interest to us; we do have several missing Rings, and would like to account for it. Please have it available on my next visit." He turned, "Mr. Morton, your decision?"

Arthur looked at Mattie, who gave him a small nod. Despite the encouragement, Arthur stalled for time. "There must be hundreds... thousands of people better qualified to wear a Ring than I am."

"You acquitted yourself adequately for an untrained novice, Arthur Donald Morton. I require a decision."

Arthur sighed. "I am not a cop, and I can't accept the Ring without taking the job that comes with it. I just can't, I'm not built that way."

"Why do you assume that you would be acting as one of our 'cops', Mr. Morton?" Ganthet asked. "There are those who wear the Ring who also serve as a support function. I have my reasons that I am extending this offer to you, I desire you to accept it."

"Those reasons, my responsibilities to the Corps would be?"

"Explained at a later time. You may also return the Ring, although you will need to explain your reasons to a Guardian."

There was a scream of pain, and Arthur said, "I'll consider it, but I want to know your reasons and what my duties and responsibilities would be. I'm not signing a blank contract."

Ganthet regarded him. "Acceptable." He extended a hand, "Come with me, Mr. Morton. We shall go to Oa." Arthur nodded, and they vanished.

* * *

"You have a daughter, Mr. Kent," Poppy Pomfrey said with an exhausted smile as she wrapped the newborn in swaddling clothes. Narcissa, still in her ball gown, took the infant off to be weighed and measured, while Bella attended to Lois.

* * *

With another 'pop' Arthur re-appeared, stumbling a bit. He caught a chair, conjuring a glass of water, which he gunned down. After taking his time with another, he said, "Why is it I never seem to have a camera handy when I travel?" He finished that glass, conjuring a third, "God, that's a dry world, but you're right, Mattie, the Central Battery isn't as big as you would think." He turned the glass in his hands as Edward leaned forward, "Did you accept?"

"Conditionally," he said. He took a drink, "One reason was the Guardians are well aware of our status as Zarroji, they want me to stomp on any misbehaving wizards as part of my duties as your Investigator, Mattie. Otherwise, they'll do it, and we do NOT want to piss off the Guardians. Another reason is that they would prefer that we remain covert, muggle to the wider galaxy. They are aware of things like potion brewing for agricultural use, and as long as it _stays_ covert, they're good with it."

Mattie sighed, "That's a relief, and I don't have a problem with that. We'll stay covert and keep that secret (she glanced at Eddie, Aurora and Emma), won't we?"

"We shall," Aurora said, and squeezed Emma's hand. "Won't we?"

"Duties?" Edward asked.

"Aid and support to other Lanterns as needed," Arthur replied. "We wouldn't be called up unless there's an emergency and they needed manpower. Like GL's can draw funds as needed from Lantern Bank, that's part of their license agreement." He took a sip of water; then drew a chip from his shirt pocket. "These are parameters that they want us, meaning the Terran Empire, to observe, and we'll be the primary tool they're using against the slave trade. They prefer to have others do their work, without their official notice, and in return we can call on them for unofficial support." He looked at Emma, "Ganthet found it interesting that you and your sisters, what he called throwaway slaves, would have (he finger-quoted) 'The touch of a zarroj.'"

"Interesting..." Mattie said, and looked at the first-year. "If your sisters have the same abilities..." She regarded the young girl, "This bears investigating; don't you think?" She glanced at Aurora, "Has she had the standard tests given when a witch first shows her magic? How's she doing in classes?"

"No, it was too sudden," Aurora said, gently pulling her daughter around to face her. "Emma? How are you doing in classes? Any giving you trouble?"

"Transfiguration and Charms, mum," she replied softly. Arthur glanced at Mattie as the firstie continued, "I enjoy Herbology, the plants, my hands in the soil, growing things, and I'm not always certain about what to do in Potions. History confuses me, as does Religion, you do not follow the Path of the Source?"

"It is a different outlook," Edward told his daughter gently. "We can take you out of it if you want. What else?"

"The computer, you do not simply speak to it, tell it what to do? You must touch buttons on a panel?"

"No, not yet," Edward replied. "What else?"

"I enjoy the sport, the running in the grass, and kicking the ball, but I am not good on the flying thing you clean with. I tried to use one in my dorm to clean, and I was shouted at, so I have not tried to use it to clean after that. Instead, I use a cloth to scrub the floors and walls as high as I can reach, and to clean the fresher."

"Cleaning is not part of your duties," Aurora said. "It is the duty of the house-elves, as is things like laundry. Are your dorm-mates insisting that you clean?"

"They say I am youngest, and it is therefore part of my duties to clean and polish their living areas and personal items. They will not teach me cleaning spells, I must do these by hand."

Arthur looked at Aurora, "Ma'am, as a Huffie, do you want me to..."

"I'll speak to Pomona, Mr. Morton, and thank you. Possibly..." and there was a nasty smirk. She turned back to her daughter, "Emma, while it is good to keep things clean, you do not need to do so for others. I'll speak to Professor Sprout, but if your dorm-mates continue, please come to Mr. Morton or me. Quietly. We don't want them to know."

"I'll teach you some quick cleaning spells," Arthur said. "A general purpose one is '_Evanesco_', but for things like polishing floors, you would use..."


	5. 1 15 November 2002

(Author's Note #0: Please note that Chapter 4 was re-uploaded and therefore an email wasn't sent. If you'd like to read the (substantially) revised chapter, press that 'back' arrow at the top right --- )

(Author's Note #1: There are some Bad Things that happen to people in this chapter.)

(Author's Note #2: My long-time editor (and friend), Ghostie, has moved on to greater opportunities. I wish him all the best, and find myself in need of another editor / sounding board. If you're interested, please email me: karanne AT gmail DOT com. Thank you.)

(And now (as the Great One said), on with the show …. )

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Chapter V: 1 ~ 15 November 2002**

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Friday, November 1, 2002: 00:00:00 (GMT)****  
****Terran orbit, **_M/V (A) Ben Nevis_**, VIP quarters:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Christine looked out her cabin's port as a 'clank' announced the last grapple releasing. Nothing seemed to happen for a minute; then she could tell the dock was getting further away. She saw docking arms and access tubes folding back into their stored positions. She returned to her laptop's mail program and considered re-opening the letter to her mom and dad. Unfortunately, she'd hit a bit of writer's block there.

_To: Benni Castellano, Bill Morton  
From: Christine Sullivan  
Date: 1 November 2002  
Subject: Leaving orbit  
_

_Hi!  
Well, there's a slight change of plans – on the way out, the _Nevis_ will jump ahead of the _Manhattan_ and the _Dover_ so we can get some time in at Tosul. There are two reasons for that: the first is to drop a shuttle and get a few people on the ground; getting the refurbishment of our 'foreign office' there underway. _

_The second I'm not really happy about, but the lawyers in Geneva and elsewhere have this 'told you so' look on their faces. They got that way when some things I had ruled on before I left were over-ruled on challenge. As you said, Benni, it was only a matter of time before my previous history as an Enhanced slave came up as a legal obstacle, and now you can tell ME 'I told you so.". _

_Bill, a quick summary, Benni can give you more information. When Edward Nigma freed me, he didn't do it the correct way (probably because neither one of us knew any better). He essentially waved his hand and said, 'You're free now,' which isn't the way things are supposed to be done. Legally on Windfall since then, I have been a slave masquerading as a free female (which is a serious crime, and cause for severe punishment of such an arrogant, uppity slave), and as a slave, ie; livestock; this calls into question every single thing I've done since then. _

_The Traditionalists have called into legal question my authority (and by extension yours and Benni's), as well as the legality of our reforms and proposed new laws. They want to put things back in their 'proper order' (with their taking over as oligarchs from the Elders). _

_So … _

_We have aboard some high-powered (and high-priced) lawyers to argue the Empire's case in the local courts, and to set up a judicial framework, depending on how the constitutional vote goes. They also want, and this is the part I really, really don't like, for me to submit to Captain Alvarez as a ship's slave. She will send me down to Tosul to have me properly re-collared and have my Enhancement upgraded to the latest model. This is to eliminate the potential argument that I am, or have been, remotely controlled through my existing malfunctioning equipment. When I have new equipment installed that can be turned OFF (as much as it ever can be), that will eliminate that possibility. One positive point is that it should eliminate the persistent, low-level headache that my current bad equipment gives me._

_Once that is done and the slave 51720 (me) has been returned to her owner, Gloria, as Captain of the _M/V Ben Nevis_, will find that slave in excess to ship's needs, and release her. At this point, I go into 'hiding' (in our new building and with a few Marines for security) for three days. This accounts for the lead time for the _Nevis_, and also for the start of refurbishing the facility. (I won't be able to help with that; I'm 'hiding'.) Also during that time, we're going to start looking into or buying either a small shipbuilding company or a way to license-build or export jump drives, inertial compensators and ship's replicators. I think that's where I can be of help when I'm 'hiding', I can review that, especially since I'd like to see some of that business go to my Benecee system. We need to build up our space-going industry!_

_Once those three days are done, and have been properly witnessed by the Portmaster's office as to my 'escape' and the ship's release, I will have proof that the slave 51720 is now, by the laws of Tosul, a free female, and will have my hip implant suitably updated, documentation, and so forth. I'll still be wearing a collar, but it will be a 'dark' collar, and I'll have my controller chip and a 'free' implant. At that point, I can buy passage aboard the _Nevis_ to Windfall and be re-appointed to the Governor's post, and can then re-appoint Benni as Lieutenant Governor. _

_Whew! What a pain in the butt! _

_Admittedly, it's a bit of a mental shift, but different planet, different society, different rules. While there are occasional bumps in the road like this, this is still a lot of fun! _

_If my sums are right, today is Landing Day and the election is ongoing. Yes, we dropped the ball with regard to political parties. That's something we're working on, for now; we've got a couple people we borrowed from the UK and the ever-resourceful Cubans. The new Imperial Party will use a light purple color scheme (purple being the traditional color of royalty); these people are simply setting up the Riverside offices. Eventually, political parties will undoubtedly spread to the 'seedlings'; for now I think they'll have more important things, like growing crops, on their minds. _

_Speaking of crops, how are things going? I understand that brewing of the special fertilizers is halted while our production staff is down, but what's the prognosis? Can they be up to speed in two weeks when we get there? What about supplies? We've got some of the more exotic ingredients in several cargo containers, set up as miniature greenhouses, and apparently some of them require animal parts or blood – same thing there, a miniature zoo. Those will need to be bred; we've got someone along to take care of them, a Japanese witch, Ms. Yuki Fukuda. She'll be taking over Walter Cuthbert's office in Operations as he makes a lateral move to Port Lincoln for health reasons. _

_We've also got mature horses (of several types) and milk cows, as the existing stocks of horses apparently can't be used in the fields or for riding yet, as they're too young. This will help to fill in the gaps in both the existing and the new seedlings._

_Regarding the sex differential and getting some guys in, there is certainly no shortage of applicants, although they do tend to lean to the country-specific. In that, I mean that applicants from the US and Canada tend to apply to those seedlings, Europeans to those seedlings, and so forth. I also note the provision on the ballot to legalize, or should I say, authorize, group marriages, which had the Terran religious types in an uproar when they found out about it! No, they thought it better to have ONE man and ONE woman and leave the other five or six women 'deprived'. _

_Of those applicants, good percentages are already with someone (of either gender). It's still early days, and we've got a few chemists along, but most of the guys on board are either army infantry troops or retired cops. You can let Piotr know that his wife and daughter are aboard the _Manhattan_, I've met them and they're fine. _

_Jamie Burnet is aboard with a whole bunch of money. I know we were supposed to do the switchover to Tungsten today, but various factors intervened, so we'll have to push it back a month. That will give us time to get there and distribute everything properly. As I understand it now, everyone's simply keeping a scratch-pad tally; we've got all sorts of banker's equipment (cash-counting machines and so forth) as well as licenses (and modifications) for business and accounting software. _

_Something weird happened last night – the Sun went out for about thirty seconds. There doesn't seem to be any lasting damage, but there's a lot of speculation about what happened._

_Well, that's all I've got for the moment. I need to send this off before we go into warp.  
Christine _

Christine stopped, read over her email, and clicked 'Send', then leaned back in a stretch, lacing her fingers over the back of her collar. '_I thought I was adjusted to this thing_,' she mused, twisting her neck. '_I know I'll never be out of it, I just wish it wasn't so ... noticeable. Even after, it still marks me as a slave girl_.' She ran her fingers over the top and bottom edges, sighed, then moved to the next item on her pre-warp checklist.

A deck below, Yuki Fukuda contemplated a small holo display of the planet Windfall. '_We shall reach Tosul in a week or so_,' she mused. '_At that time, I shall lead a small shore party to negotiate for contractors, housing, and such for our new offices_...' She sighed to herself, '_There is plenty of honest profit to be made, but my superiors not only desire that profit, but to control the planet. I would not have agreed except_ …' She looked out the port and told herself, '… _except, Yuki, you must betray your word to your new co-workers to restore your family honor after your disgrace in wanting to be what and who you desired; not what they desired of you. They have decided that is your way to atone. What you must do is find some way to restore both your family's honor without sacrificing your own_.'

She looked up as the shower cut off, and after a minute, her temporary cabin mate, an older muggle named Petunia emerged from their small shared fresher. "Thank you for letting me go first."

"It was not a problem, but you have missed final undocking," Yuki commented. "If you hurry, you should be able to see some of the orbital installations as we pass them."

Petunia moved to stand next to the window, towels around her hair and torso. "I don't think so… " she said after a minute, and sighed. "Oh, well. I'm going to put my dancing shoes on, and see what the ship's pub has on offer. This may be a freighter, but …"

"Hai …" Yuki nodded. "I do have my little black dress. Let me duck into the shower and I'll join you. I've heard a drink or two helps the transition to warp."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 1, 2002: 05:16 (GMT)  
Thirday, (Landing Day), 163, 07:29 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, Benni's office:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Benni yawned as she entered her office, greeting her staff as they settled in for another day. Her office door clicked, unlocking as the sensor read her hip implant, and she settled down behind her desk, thinking '_It's so nice not to have to bother with a purse_…'

She turned, logging into her terminal as Jasmine, her office manager brought in her first cup of tea along with the interoffice mail. She smiled in gratitude as the petite green-eyed girl smiled in return, taking the materials from her outbox, her thick plait of black knee-length hair swirling, obscuring her collar's lights as Benni opened the first envelope.

She had gotten through the routine correspondence, reading various reports and steadily refilling her outbox. Finishing with the routine status reports, she turned to her email, seeing one from Bill Morton:

_To: Benni Castellano  
From: Bill Morton  
Date: 1 November 2002  
Subject: Slaves  
_

_Benni – _

_Sorry I was so abrupt with you the other day, I've been trying to get the backlog from Christine sorted out before she returns, which means some long days. _

_Let me tell you my position regarding the two slaves you asked about. What I've seen is a permission slip where they requested Enhancement. To me, that means they want to stay in slave collars. This matches a number of other slaves who have expressed similar desires; as far as I'm concerned those two can stay as cat-girl slaves. I said I'd have them out of their collars, but that presupposed that they'd want out. If they change their minds and later decide they want their freedom, they'll need to follow the same procedures any other slave wearing a judicial collar would need to follow. Until that happens, they'll be treated like any other new slave; and if they don't like something, tough shit. They volunteered for this with full, informed consent, they've crossed their wrists and made their decision; they take the consequences. They're adults; we're not here to coddle them. I won't stand for mistreatment of them, but that would apply to any slave, not just these two._

_Bill_

'_Hmm_…' Benni thought. '_Now, if the Traditionalist's version of Sections 95 through 105 goes through, we're going to see a lot stricter treatment of those girls wearing judicial collars; and we won't have too much kick, it was enacted by a democratic vote of the citizens of Windfall. We can argue about some of the particulars, but this would be planetary criminal law_…'

She sat back and sipped her tea while she thought. She had gotten a secure video call from Walter Cuthbert regarding the two girls, and was glad that he was keeping an eye out for their well-being. She was concerned about the report of half-a-dozen other Terrans on-planet masquerading as slave girls, and asked Walter to get together with their counter-intelligence people.

She sighed; she also had Bill Morton's report on the operation to take the slave ship. That report was very clinical with a recommendation to issue a Windfall Letter of Marque through Lantern Bank to permit the ship to retain her illegal equipment, and a secondary recommendation for the usual contracts with the ship's slaves and the First Girl, and also to take the ship to Tosul for their upgrading and the ship's licensing. He had included an estimate from Gringotts' as to costs, while it wasn't cheap, it was certainly affordable, and it gave the planet's government a useful option.

"Still…" she mused in the quiet of her office, and took a sip of tea. She shared Walter's disgust at the idea of importing new witches as slave girls, and agreed, even if they had to come in as slaves, have them be imported as slaves in the light of day, illegal imports and smuggling was something the Traditionalists could use against them. The same for the other girls that were to be used as spies, import them, pay duties and such on them, and have them appear as normal slave girls. While she could see the advantages of data recording and their 'final friend' suicide option, she thought there must be other methods of doing so than Enhancing them. Still, as Walter had commented in his dry-as-dust upper-crust drawl, they had taken the Queen's shilling and supped of her biscuit. Between the two of them, they would figure out a way to circumvent the Terran bureaucrats.

Converting the slave farm into a slave house … she wasn't sure. She could understand doing so in regards to the planetary licensing requirements, and the way the current girls ran their temporary facility was certainly more humane than what she had observed under Baasht's farm. Certainly the lighting and ventilation had improved over what she remembered. '_It's in a small valley, a secure area, to be used as a customs and immigration control point, if they haven't pre-cleared with the orbital station_…' she mused. '_Then have new persons go to West Port and on to DHL, although we need something faster than shonnen buses! We can have temporary quarters built there, convert part of the old prison into medical facilities. Meanwhile, the security and law enforcement people get newly built facilities in the planetary capital of Riverside_…' She nodded to herself, "Yes, that will work," she said softly, and added it to the agenda for the upcoming weekly video conference call.

She turned back to her email and opened the one from Christine, pursing her lips as she read. Pushing the monetary distribution back made sense, that way they could actually hand out cash instead of printing IOU's. It would greatly relieve people who had been nervous ... well, terrified, actually about the conversion from iron to tungsten. '_Maybe fiddle with the exchange rate a bit_?' she thought, then pushed that aside. She'd talk to the bankers about that…

She looked over the incoming manifests from the _Nevis._ The US Army had donated a thousand of the surplus M-1 Garands they still had in inventory from the Second World War, as well as a million rounds of .30-.06 ammo, and the Russians had donated two thousand of their World War Two infantry rifles, and two million rounds of ammo. Of course Murphy had stuck his nose in; the two types of ammo were not the same size, and the Germans had included five thousand brand-new Zeiss rifle scopes!

She snorted in amused disgust as she copied and pasted the relevant parts into an email to the colony's three gunsmiths, the American in Brazos and the Russian in Novy Rodina were both military-trained and experienced hunters, while the Taiwanese fellow in Qian wasn't a hunter, but a competition shooter, a former member of their Olympic team. Adding in the single word; '_Comments_?' to her email, she started a new paragraph regarding last week's discussion about body armor. They had suggested a few things, both horse/hexataur armor and personal armor using a combination of boiled leather and 'scale armor'. The Taiwanese fellow was apparently a medieval reenactor; he had made the comment on the video conference: "Our people are not being shot with arrows or bashed with swords; our target market is the woodsman and hunter, so we want light weight protection against quills and possibly bear bites or antlers."

The Russian had nodded, "Da. In hunting, your aim is to recover usable meat along with furs and hides we can use. There is a difference with the wabbits. With those, you want an instant kill, as the meat is not usable. That is why we are using shotguns and the rat-shot ammunition in pistols."

The American, Bob Jourdain, had agreed, "In hunting, you want to drop an animal in its tracks with minimal damage to the valuable meat and hide. Arkady, I'd like you and Jack to review something I've been working on; a .22 caliber revolver should be really cheap to make and shoot. Keep everyone safe and armed against the damn wabbits."

"A good political move as well if we sell them on Island," Arkady had chuckled. "Imagine the reaction of some of the conservatives there to the slaves walking down the street with revolvers clipped to their slave belts." There had been some nasty chuckles, and then Jack in Qian said, "Getting back to armor, I should be able to adapt the loom I brought to weave chain mail. I brought it because of the wabbits; we should be able to create a punch-press for aluminum plates."

Arkady suggested, "Send Bob and I some of your chain mail. This is something that we should manufacture near cost, the worst case is hand-sewing the plates to the mail."

"No reason we couldn't use rivets to attach it, as long as there's padding on the back. We'd need to make the plates small, and with an anodized surface…" Bob rubbed his chin, "Can we do this as an intermediate layer with camouflage cloth and padding? They will need insulated clothing."

"What about an orange safety vest?" Benni asked. "We can make it part of the hunting license requirements."

"Sizing is not a problem," Jack put in. "With boiled leather, simple wooden forms and hooks. The difficulty there is the short reaction time for the molding process…" He waved that off. "We can discuss this later, Ms. Castellano."

"Not a problem, thank you," and she had closed the call.

She shook her head, returning to the present, and wondered how the election was going. She glanced at her monitor, where a web page from the elections office in Riverside was posted. So far, the Traditionalists were projected to win handily, as they had no real opposition to their platform and candidates. Still, the voting hadn't started yet...

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 1, 2002: 06:30 (GMT)  
Thirday, (Landing Day), 163, 09:43 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, Town Hall, Community room:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Oooh..." Nicole fretted as the clock ticked toward the 10:00 opening of the vote. "Is everything ready? The ballots, the cloths, the boxes..."

Ellen George grabbed the young girl by the shoulders as she frantically flipped through her clipboard. "Nicole. Relax. Sit down, have some tea. Everything is ready, we've got customers lined up (she gestured to where people waited behind an improvised barrier of tables and chairs), and everything's going to go smoothly."

Nicole counted to ten, took a deep breath; and then adjusted the white 'Election Officer' vest she wore over her normal smock. Taking another breath, she said, "Yes. You are correct; it's just that I... I've never..."

"Nicole. Don't. Worry." Ellen said. She gently turned the girl around, plucking the clipboard out of her hand. "Have some tea. You won't have time later. Go on."

"It's time, everyone," Ellen George said. "I have ten o'clock," and several people nodded in agreement. She pulled two folding chairs away from the improvised barrier, and started to count, "Eighteen at a time, please," then held up her hand and the line stopped as the voting started.

Karen took her place in line with her marked practice ballot folded and shoved in a pocket. She watched as someone, she couldn't make out whom, called, "Five, please." Ellen counted five people; then held up a hand before Karen. "How are things going?" she asked the glass maker.

"For the election; or over-all?" She grinned. "It's a long ballot, with the proposed basic law, plus local options and our new Town Council. I'm just thankful we handed out complete sample copies of the ballot for people to look over. Still, it's going about as fast as we can expect. I'm glad we have two days to do it, though. Not like back in Texas, where you'd have to go before or after work."

"True," Karen said. "What about the clock vote?" There was a proposed illuminated clock to be installed on Town Hall; privately Karen thought that while it might look nice, it wasn't something they needed now. However, Ellen wanted the business.

"I am an election official and have no opinion on any of the issues," Ellen replied primly. She flashed a smile, "No, I wasn't behind Issue #3, the Town Clock. No further comment."

"Of course," Karen said. "I'd rather see it on the passenger dock with a nice, big 'Welcome to Brazos' sign. Better marketing, I think, and without a Terran clock. This is our home, now."

"What about the Northern Area?" Chuck Rice asked. "We need a secure area there."

"Yes, but not to live," Karen said. "We've got what, 450 or so people here, including the new girls? It's much too early for suburbs. I'd plow it flat, put gravel down so we can use machinery there, and install an equipment barn and a small corral for livestock, maybe a total of ten or twelve acres at the most. That also gives us an airlock for the bridge across the dam."

"Add a lumber drying barn and you've got my vote," Chuck said. "Airlock?"

"Against the wabbits," Karen explained. "Y'see..."

"Two, please," and Karen and Chuck were let through.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 1, 2002: 07:38 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 'Royalty' Class:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Arthur tapped his wand on the door to classroom 17, whispering the password, and entered. He raised his eyebrow to see Mattie immersed in paperwork. He went to the sideboard, preparing a cup of coffee for her, and put it next to her elbow. She looked up, "Thanks."

"I didn't see you at breakfast," he said, taking a seat next to her as Beatrice was let in (being a muggle, she didn't have a wand), and Mattie replied, "I'm trying to keep up to date with everything, on top of school and studying. I'm never going to be in shape for the Marine Corps Marathon at this rate!"

"You need a staff you trust," Bea said, putting down her own tea. "Even I've got a part-time one at Buckingham, and I'm just a college student. Just because you're the Queen doesn't mean you track every single detail on every single planet."

"Therein lays bureaucracy, and problems slipping through the cracks," Arthur objected mildly.

Raising an eyebrow, Mattie commented, "Your brother Bill suggested that we divide it up, you and I, as an 'in case'. We've been lucky so far, but we do need to clarify the succession." She leaned back and stretched, then added, "As part of that 'in case', I've made arrangements with Narcissa to bank my eggs, and for a few artificial wombs."

"And a surrogate mother," Sprink added as she joined the conversation with Charlie.

"I've made similar arrangements with Madame Pomfrey," Arthur said, somewhat embarrassed. "Stasis spells and whatnot." He took a sip of his tea to cover his embarrassment; then looked at Beatrice, "Thoughts?"

"You two are already joined at the hip," she mused. "It does make an awful lot of good sense; to keep the two of you briefed in; there would be a minimal amount of 'settling in' as an 'in case'. Phillip is briefed in, although not to the extent that Uncle Charles is, as first-in-line." She settled back, "You do not need to go into detail, read the weekly reports your System Governors send you." Sipping her tea, she said, "Now then. Gran wanted to know how the defenses were going, and about antimatter."

"I've been hesitant to release any information about it, primarily because of terrorism," Mattie replied slowly. She sat back herself and took a gulp of her coffee, "Are you familiar with it?"

"Not really," Bea replied. "Tell me about it."

"Skipping over the physics and the production, it's a grey pea, around a gram, with a forty kiloton yield," Mattie sat back. "It needs a perfect vacuum; it's shipped in a magnetic field to prevent it from touching the storage container, which is a softball-sized sphere. Something like that would be too easy to hide in someplace like a shopping mall, all you'd need to do is crack the sphere open and it goes 'Boom'."

"Which is why you don't want nukes," Bea said.

Mattie nodded, "Which is why the UN can crawl all over the reprocessing center on the moon. They won't find a single thing toward building atomic weapons. Lots of uranium and plutonium are being recovered and mixed as fuel for reactors; lots of the atomic poisons like cesium are being burned in the gal-tech reactor." She took a swallow of coffee, "We need nuclear power for things like space stations, satellites, and processing stations when solar won't do. Everything's remotely handled and monitored, so it would be really difficult for someone to steal something. They'd have to bring in their own space suits, for instance."

"I thought we issued space suits."

"They each have a unique transponder beacon, and the ones on the moon use a different design. They're more a command module for surface equipment. You lie in them; and you're docked to the crane, bulldozer, or whatever. You'd have to steal an Apollo or Soyuz suit out of a museum, and those were custom-fitted to each astronaut, and would need to be refurbished." She shook her head, "No, if you want to steal fissionables for some sort of terrorist bomb, it will have to be on Earth. The antimatter production sites take care of the 'boom' I need for mines and missiles."

Mattie took a sip of coffee. "The problem there is shipping and handling. That's why I've got a dozen production sites on Far side, the normal vacuum on the moon isn't good enough. A single bit of dust; a stray oxygen molecule at the wrong moment makes the operations chamber go 'boom' and I have to rebuild and reinstall equipment." She took another sip, "That's happened twice. We lost a shipment when there was a wobble in the lift to lunar orbit; fortunately that was only the space frame and two-dozen softballs, no people. I try to do everything remotely if possible. The flight out to Titan is the one with an actual crew, their module is designed to jettison at the first hint of trouble; they can operate the _Big Easy_ by radio then, although it's a lot less comfortable." She took a sip of coffee, "They named the ship, by the way."

"I was wondering," Arthur said. "Once they get to Titan..."

"The cargo of softballs is offloaded to their orbital ammo dump, it's mated to either a missile or mine frame, and delivered to the final destination." Mattie sighed and took another gulp of coffee. "By the way, Arthur, my Mom talked to your Mom, we're inviting all of you for Christmas this year. We've certainly got plenty of room." She looked over to Steve, "That applies to you and Crystal. You can come or not, we'll be secure enough and you need some time with your families."

"Thank you, but Crystal and I; well, we both..." Steve cleared his throat; "I'll discuss it with her."

"Do that, but if you come, you're family when you're at the Manor," Mattie said. "Clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," and Mattie looked at Arthur, "Uncle Eddie was also invited, I don't know if he's accepted or not. I wanted to let you know so you can pass the information on to Julie and Bill."

He nodded, "Okay." He added to Beatrice, "I saw this news report about a LEO base expansion, but I didn't have time to look into it."

"Well, we're expanding LEO base again, only this time it's for passenger service." Bea looked confused, and Mattie explained, "The airlines are going to _hate_ us. Let's say you need to fly from London to Tokyo. Now, you hop on a non-stop flight that takes twelve hours or more to go halfway round the world. With us, you get on a low-orbit flight to LEO; which will take you half an hour or so to get up there; then you change shuttles to one going to Tokyo. Worst case is maybe two hours if you have to wait – it's more like taking a city transit bus than having to sit in a crowded airport."

"And," Arthur put in, "Tickets would be about the same cost."

"If not less," Mattie added. "Right now, a ticket to LEO is a few hundred pounds; versus that flight from Heathrow to Tokyo is a few _thousand_ pounds. The key to making money with equipment is to keep it in service. With something like an aircraft, you keep it in the air..."

"Aside from scheduled maintenance," Arthur added. "Now, airlines are set up for long-haul flights that last hours. They're going to have to re-align themselves for the shorter flights to airports like Heathrow, O'Hare and JFK. Which means all those two hundred fifty million-dollar 747's is obsolete."

"Wait, now," Beatrice said. "I don't understand. How can a flight to Tokyo go from eighteen hours to half an hour?"

"Probably more like two hours total," Mattie corrected. "Let's say you board a British Airways shuttle at Heathrow, and at that time LEO station is directly overhead."

"Same longitude," Arthur corrected. "It orbits over the equator."

"O-kaaay, mister smarty-pants," Mattie said, giving him a gentle swat to the chest. "Anyway, the key here is ground speed. That 747 is flying at maybe five hundred miles an hour, while LEO orbits..."

"In a low orbit," Amy Johnson put in as she joined the conversation. "You're looking at a ground speed at three hundred kilometers altitude of around eight kilometers a second, or..."

"...28,800 kilometers an hour," Arthur said after a moment. "This translates to 17,900 miles an hour. Earth has a circumference at the equator of around 40,000 kilometers, which means there's one orbit every ... 83 minutes."

"Lower orbits are faster, but because of drag need to be continually boosted back to the proper orbit," Amy said. "That's a maintenance cost, which would be factored into the cost of the ticket." She took a sip of her tea, "That's why a shorter hop doesn't pay, like London to Paris, but London to Tokyo, or New York, that's what pays, and we're already doing this with DHL. Given that track record, I think we can finance shorter, more comfortable shuttles than the bare bones ones we're using now. Anyway, to get back to the shuttle flight from Heathrow, by the time it catches up to LEO, it's already half-way round the world, the trick is then to leave orbit in time to catch the destination on the ground. That's why a city bus is a good metaphor, this shuttle to Tokyo might leave every 45 minutes or so. From there, you would catch a short-haul flight to your final destination."

"Right-o," Bea said, checking off a note. "Next item from Gran, ships and fuel."

"She knows about the office on Tosul?" Amy asked, and Beatrice nodded. "We've got people on the _Nevis_ that are going to be setting up that office, contracting with the locals for cleaning, painting, cabling and whatnot. They're going to be dropped there when the ship gets there in about a week, the _Nevis_ will go on to Windfall, then come back to pick them up, probably about three or four weeks. I know Greywolf will be sub-leasing part of the building; we're looking into staffing it now."

"My dad sent me an email about the _Taalah_," Arthur said. "That slave ship I won?"

"Oh, yes, please go on," Beatrice said after a minute of thought.

"Yes," and he took a sip of his blackberry tea. "S'ana is the combination First Girl and First Officer. They're using her suggestion of a Windfall Letter of Marque, so they shouldn't get shot out of the sky, and they'll go there and be made legal, update everyone's credentials, and so forth." He looked at Mattie, "It's basically an intelligence ship, and I'll talk that over with you later. Anyway, since the _Taalah_ started out as a stock freighter design before becoming a slave ship; we may be able to ship some manufacturing equipment that we need in her." He took another swallow of tea, "At least for the smaller ships, like patrol boats and fighters."

"We're also looking at larger cargo ships; the idea is to mount those patrol boats and fighters, which are sub light designs, into a frame so we can ship them to our other planets for system patrol duty," Mattie added in. "We're taking a page from the Russian light missile boats, light ships that could be built in civilian yards. They'll also serve as training ships and customs boats."

Beatrice nodded, "Size and crew?"

"For the patrol boats, the _Lake_ class, thirty point five meters long and ten meters diameter, with twenty five or so officers and crew. _Pond_ class fighters are local defense with crews of two. Once we get things started, we should be able to just ship in things like electronics. There are also maintenance and supply ships; we're using the working class names of _Mechanic_ and _Stevedore_."

"Silly names," Beatrice said with a grin.

Mattie shrugged, "We have to call the classes something, if for nothing else than to keep things organized. In any case, for those people that want to stay part of the Solar Guard as opposed to joining the Imperial Navy, this gives them a way to do it. Right now, we've got two _Lakes_, four _Pond_ fighters; and one each _Mechanic_ and _Stevedore_ in builder's trials or fitting out."

"Hmm, are there any women on board?"

"Integrated crews," Mattie replied with a grin. "The plank owners of the _Stevedore_ are one of those huge Italian families; their _Mamacita_ has threatened to call her the _Waitress_ and issue pink uniform dresses as part of fitting out."

Beatrice, who had just taken a swallow of tea, sputtered into her cup, "Oh, you… I can just imagine that." She made a note, "What about Fuel production?"

"Well, Professor Snape has made it go 'boom'; Mattie replied. "Not a very big boom, you'd get a better yield with ANFO. Still, it's progress; making the same alloy we make antimatter from go 'boom' in a vacuum do it in an atmosphere."

"What is the alloy?" Arthur asked, returning from a refill trip.

"Iron and five percent nickel, I believe," she replied, accepting her coffee with a smile of thanks. "He's also made good progress with aluminum alloys." She sat back and tented her fingers, "The _Scythe_ picked up that shipment on Eridani III, and they delivered it to Eunomia."

"I am obviously not to know what that shipment is," Beatrice said.

"Sorry," Mattie replied with a smile.

"Are you ready to go?" Steve asked Arthur quietly as the meeting broke up.

"I've got Phys Ed at ten," Arthur warned softly. "We need to move quickly."

"Not a problem, I spoke to Professor Sprout," his bodyguard replied equally quietly. "You're doing something for her those two hours, specifically; you'll be showing her the photos of the jewelry samples. You don't need to be back in school until your Potions class at one; the Grey Lady and Laurie will be joining us to give the woman's eye view."

That afternoon, at quarter till three, Professor Snape told the class, "Clean up, submit your potions, and Mr. Morton, a minute of your time after class, please." As Arthur used the charm to seal and label his potion vial; depositing it in the fifth-year rack, the Professor added quietly, "Personal, not business, Mr. Morton."

Tapping twice on the doorframe, Arthur entered Professor Snape's office, and was waved to a chair, a cup of tea floating over to him. With a flick of his wand, the Professor sealed the door, and asked, "I am given to understand you visited a particular jeweler's this morning, Mr. Morton. I am seeking to purchase a bit of jewelry myself for Bella, and I was interested in your experiences."

Arthur took a sip of tea; then set the cup aside. "Overall, I'm very pleased. They do have staff wizards, I was shown paste samples of my custom designs, and I have a set of photos. They have the approval of Laurie and the Grey Lady as well, although they are a top-end jewelry store."

"In other words, expensive," the Professor drawled.

"Yes, sir," Arthur said, leaning forward to extract from his bag a large envelope of photos. As he passed them over, he said, "I'll be picking them up in New York when we floo home for the Christmas holiday. I've made arrangements to bunk with the Cortez twins; then I was going to stop by Metropolis before going on to Columbus." He nodded at the photos, which showed the various rings, necklaces, and so forth on white plaster heads and hands. "Mr. Morley also inquired about the Imperial Crown Jewels, I thought he might like to do some design work, and he asked about the size of jewels available." Arthur smiled softly, "He almost had a heart attack when I mentioned there was a raw diamond the size of a basketball in Arrowhead's front display case. If you would like, sir, I will call him and refer you, you could meet him this weekend. Do you have Ms. Black's sizes?"

"That is something I shall need to acquire, Mr. Morton, but I would appreciate the referral. With your consent, I shall show these to Pomona at dinner. For now, and for Ms. Wayne's curiosity as well as my own, what is the current status of Ms. Branstone and Ms. Laval?"

"Not what I would like and I'm somewhat concerned about my father," Arthur replied. "His last email seemed … off … to me, and from what Ms. Castellano is saying, he's stressing out. Marie and Eleanor were Enhanced, which will mean they're in those collars for good…"

"Unless Poppy's experiment proves out," Professor Snape commented. Arthur nodded and continued, "His attitude seems to be that they signed a consent slip for Enhancement, therefore they want to stay slaves, and he's washed his hands of them. Ms. Castellano and another fellow, a Mr. Cuthbert…"

"Walter Cuthbert?"

"I believe so, sir, but that's second-hand information."

"If that is Walter Cuthbert, he's moved on from MI-6. He was in Slytherin, and if he has decided to protect their interests, I feel better about their condition." He gestured, "Please continue, Mr. Morton."

"Yes, sir; at the moment they are in the middle of a planetary election to determine the Basic Law, elect people to the local Town Councils, to the Planetary Assembly, and local referenda. From Ms. Castellano's email, I am rather concerned about several of the sections that would treat the slaves as slaves, instead of girls we are trying to free. I'm also rather concerned about a proposal to revert a slave farm once owned by one of the Elders into a prison ~ slash ~ slave house." He gestured, "Unfortunately, I missed a trick, when I set up the system, I wasn't thinking of population density, and that gives the planetary Assembly seats on Island a disproportionate share of power."

"How so?"

"Of a planetary population of around 200,000, each seat is worth about 2,000 people. I was thinking a small population base would have the Assembly member more responsive, and that gives an Assembly size of 100, which is manageable. I also made sure that most of the slaves could vote. However, right now, sixteen of those seats, the ones for the new sub-colonies, are inactive, which means we have 11 of those 84 seats, including the 'Orbit' seat. The others are on Island, and the new political party, the Traditionalists, have a lot of influence on those remaining 73 seats; they have 86 percent of the vote…" he trailed off.

"Humph," Professor Snape grunted. "Have Walter Cuthbert go to work on those; not only is he Slytherin, as I said, he's former MI-6. What about our own corresponding political party?"

"The Imperial party? We dropped the ball there, sir. There are some political consultants on one of our outgoing ships, but we will be playing catch-up. What most worries me is the criminal sections of the Basic Law, they can force just about any girl in a common collar into a judicial one, and therefore Enhancement as a 'security measure' (he finger-quoted)." Arthur took a sip of tea, "One of the things a lot of slave owners would do is to charge and convict their slaves into a judicial collar to make certain she'd never get free, the Basic Law holds that a freed girl can't sue her former owners for mistreatment, as she was livestock at the time."

"Which makes sense," Professor Snape agreed. "Therefore, not only are Ms. Branstone and Ms. Laval not likely to gain their freedom, they will stay as they are, assuming the proposed laws go through." He took a sip of his own tea, "What of the general slave treatment they are likely to receive?"

"Ms. Castellano said that is one of the brighter spots," Arthur replied. "The Slave Control Agency is actually being run by slaves, they're part of the Ministry of Commerce, and as of the turn of the year, any privately owned slaves on the planet now belong to the System Governor."

"Aside from ship's slaves, I assume."

"Yes, sir. The Agency slaves are running things 'as they should be run', which means fair but strict discipline, no sadistic guards but slaves as guards, clean, well-lit cells, good ventilation and nutritious food, proper medical care, that kind of thing. They are where the proposal to recondition the former farm came from; into a properly run slave house. Apparently our various licenses with the Slaver's Guild require at least one slave house per planet, and if it's also an immigration facility…" He shrugged, "It's not a fancy hotel, but from what she said, it's certainly cleaner and better run than a lot of prisons. As far as out-and-about, they will be wearing a slave collar, belt, and a slave tunic, but aside from that, they can go where they want. There is a nighttime curfew, but that applies to everyone, I think. One question did arise as to brewing larger quantities of agricultural potions, instead of the liter-sized ones; they'll need to crank out 200 liter drums of them quickly."

"Part of the sixth-year curriculum, as are aerosol and solid potions. I do not believe Ms. Branstone took potions her sixth and seventh years." Professor Snape waved that off, "I can send her a detailed reply once communications are restored. I presume they still have their wands?"

"Mr. Cuthbert apparently arranged for replacement wands for them, metallic ones, through Hamburg. As the slaves trot around naked or nearly so, there is no place to conceal one, no shirtsleeves, boots, or so forth. They also wear metal, their slave belts, bells, and so forth, so a wooden wand would stand out, leading to questions. As far as what happened to their original wands…" he shrugged, "I don't know, sir." He looked at his pocket watch, "Sir, I'm late for my fourth-period class."

"Yes, let me write you a pass, Mr. Morton, and thank you for the information. I'll ask Pomona to return your photographs to you tonight."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 1, 2002: 13:06 (GMT +5)  
Terra, Virginia, CIA Operations:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"… Thank you, Peter," the Director of Operations said, checking off an item on the agenda. "What about Operation Bagel Dumpling? (The computer that assigned code names had given out primarily food terms recently.)

Oscar replied, "That's been my baby. We have several volunteers from among our covert staff, and after briefing them in, we sent four to London for appropriate bio-sculpt and collaring. They should have shipped out with others early this morning aboard … (he checked his notes) … the _Nevis_. Once on Tosul, they will have various bits of hardware implanted, along with the Enhancement control board, and then they'll be re-installed in stasis tubes. Shipped to Windfall and integrated into the local slave population to gain the slave mindset, then they'll ship them out as training slaves to off world offices." He shrugged, "We lose some control by letting the Imperials have control over our people, but they'll also be reporting to us. C-in-C (the President) wanted to make up to Wayne over Luthor's shenanigans, so this is part of it. We're providing trained personnel; officially they're deployed to the Empire's training facility on Corfu, reporting through the Athens embassy. As far as anyone knows, that's where he or she is. They're just TDY off world."

"With all the noise Wayne's been making about slaves, and those Chinese women, she's likely to kill the program if she or Morton find out about it," Alex commented.

"She shouldn't," Oscar replied. "Officially, they're US Embassy personnel assigned to the Athens embassy, TDY to the Corfu training island, along with Defense personnel. In that, we're no different from the Brits, the Germans, the Russians or the Israelis. My information has all of them contributing personnel similar to Bagel Dumpling. Once there, the Empire's 'six' department takes over, ensures personnel fit the physical requirements for their operation 'Yellow View'." He shook his head, "Bad choice of code name, there. One of the implants is an optical device, and yellow is the slave color; the girls have to wear something yellow, even if it's just a cloth belt." He took a sip of coffee, "We're more concerned with Morton finding out, he doesn't like covert operations. We've arranged for one of our people that's ready to retire to take the fall in case he finds out about it; he seems to believe you can find out everything you need from Lois Lane and the _Daily Planet_."

The DO snorted, along with several others; then turned to Alex. "What about your project…" (he checked his notes) "… Apple Biscuit?"

"Both of my people are covered as slave girls. They were successfully landed, and they did their initial reports by email drop box," she replied. "One went to ground on Island to build her cover, the other managed to worm her way into Lieutenant Governor Castellano's outer office. She's reported steadily but nothing out of the ordinary. The 'Island' girl is the one we borrowed from the Marines; she's going to play an 'escaped slave from an abusive owner' and try to get into Riverside according to her last email. Nothing since then, though." She took a sip of coffee, "I'm a little worried about her, but her choice of cover was hers. As an 'escaped slave' (she finger-quoted) she's had to live rough, but an actual slave in that position would have to worry about her owner finding her through her collar transceiver. Still, it's not like she can walk into a cybercafé; order a latte, and report in."

The others chuckled, and the boss nodded, then asked, "Okay, Bill, what about your project Avocado Table?"

The balding man put down his mug of coffee, checking his notes. "It's going …"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 1, 2002: 08:18 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 'VIP' quarters:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Ohh…" Lois groaned as she woke. "Clark? Where's Lana?"

"She's over here," her husband said softly as he floated in a sunbeam. "I gave her a bottle and changed her, she's sleeping now. Professor Harry loaned us his house-elves, they're used to taking care of infants and toddlers."

"I can…"

"Honey," he interrupted, "she's already started to solar charge. She was waving her fists around and broke some of the wooden bars on her crib. We'll need the magical assistance." Clark looked over at her when she didn't answer; she had fallen asleep again. He smiled and cradled the sleeping baby in his arms, "Now, little Cir-El, let me tell you of the House of El, and the planet Krypton…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 1, 2002: 9:21 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Infirmary:  
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"Good, you're finally awake, Mr. Weasley," Madame Pomfrey said with a sniff of disapproval. "As you are no longer a student here, we shall be forwarding a bill to you for services, including laundry." She drew the privacy screen around his bed, adding, "You have received quite a few owls, I have redirected them to the Burrow."

"Ohhh…" Ron Weasley groaned, and swung his feet over the side of the cot. He scrubbed his hair; then saw a note left on the table. He reached for it, missing the first time; then got it open.

_1 November 2002 _

_Ronald ~ _

_I am __very__ disappointed in your behaviour last night. Please come by to pick up your belongings. I have changed my locks and wards._

_Hermione _

"Ohhh, what did I do?" he wondered as he found his socks and shoes.

"This is not good," Ron said to himself as he saw the cardboard boxes in the hall outside Hermione's flat. "Not good at all."

"What did you do, mate?" one of her fellow tenants, a muggle, asked as he sorted through his mail.

"That's the thing, I don't remember," Ron replied, scratching his back with the tip of his wand. "I went to the school's Halloween Ball, had a drink or two, then…" he shrugged. "I woke up in the school's infirmary."

"You got potted, and must have insulted her somehow," the muggle bloke said. "You need flowers, candy; the usual routine to get back in her good graces."

"I don't think that will work with Hermione," he said, picking up a box. "Blimey, not even a featherweight charm on it; she's really got it in for me." He started to charm the boxes, not noticing the bloke reading the _Sun_ with a banner headline: _Sun switched off?_

"Ronniekins, you're a liability right now," Fred (or George) told him. "We're going to have to put you on hiatus until this blows over."

"You mean you're … firing me? But I'm your brother!"

"Indefinite layoff and we'll call you back when we can."

"But … what about working in the back room? Doing the books and whatnot? I need a job!"

"Err, no." the other twin, George (or Fred) said. "We've seen your math skills, and how were your Potions OWLs and NEWTS?"

"I … can I at least stay with you? Hermione threw me out."

"I'm sure our wives would be thrilled with that," one of the twins said dryly. "No, go back to the Burrow, Ron."

"But mum … will you at least tell me what I did?"

"If it wasn't the product of drunken stupidity, it would have been the greatest prank _ever_," Fred (or George) answered. "Burrow, Ron. We'll forward your mail there."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Molly announced. "You will get in this house _immediately_!"

"Yes, mum," and he then saw the large flock of owls awaiting him, a substantial number with red Howler envelopes. "Oy…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 1, 2002: 12:10 (GMT)  
****Thirday, (Landing Day), 163, 14:23 (WFT +2)****  
Windfall, Island, 'The Farm', **_Taalah_**:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Slaves," Jaalal said as he entered the _Taalah_, hitting the button to close and seal the main hatch. "Prepare this ship for flight."

"My master, this slave has not received orders to do so from my Master Bill," First Girl S'ana replied.

"Foolish slave," he replied, backhanding her to the deck. "I have just given you orders. Prepare this ship, we have cargo to deliver."

"And how does my master Jaalal intend to pay fees without tungsten?" S'ana asked from where she sprawled. She inspected the blood on the back of her hand from her cut lip, "What of the slaves that were ordered as cargo and are confined by the Terrans in the prison?"

"A very good question, my master Jaalal," Engineer First F'ala asked as she entered the compartment with other ship's slaves. She helped S'ana to her feet, "This slave also wishes answers to those questions. The Terrans will not like to release slaves for sale, which means _Taalah_ must have tungsten to pay penalties for non-delivery. They have also given _Taalah's_ slaves a proposal for a dark collar and Guild contracts. They cannot remove the slaves' Enhancement, but have permitted each slave to choose to upgrade that slave's." She crossed her arms, "These slaves will not assist my master Jaalal in my master's attempted theft of _Taalah_ and ship's slaves."

S'ana nodded, "My master Bill has appointed this slave as _Taalah's_ First Officer as well as First Girl; this allows this slave to charge Free Master Jaalal with attempted theft of ship, cargo and ship's slaves." She looked around the compartment at the watching crew. "These slaves have heard my master Jaalal; does my master wish to speak in my master's defense?"

"_Taalah_ and his slaves are mine by right! I am First!"

"My master Jaalal _was_ First," F'ala corrected. "Former master Haalal gambled and lost the ship to our current owner, my Master Arthur. His father, my Master Bill holds my Master Arthur's proxy and the Owner's Wand to _Taalah_, and has said S'ana is _Taalah's_ First. Has my master Jaalal more to speak regarding this foolishness?"

Jaalal turned to look around; the ship's slaves surrounded him. He would not have time to release the hatch before the slaves took him down, and his tracking collar would give his location. He considered other possibilities; then shook his head. "I do not."

S'ana took a few steps forward, "As First Officer, subject to my Master Bill's approval, this slave finds my master Jaalal guilty; and sentences my former master to a judicial collar and Enhancement. Kneel and submit."

"You have forgotten something, slave," Jaalal sneered. "You wear a collar yourself. How will you operate the slaver to collar me?"

"My former master has forgotten former master Saarat," S'ana replied. "Former master Saarat is now known as dark-collared female S'rat. My mistress S'rat has received a most attractive bio-sculpt with my Master Bill's approval, who was satisfied it was indeed my mistress' wish. My mistress has also received the updated Enhancement _Taalah's_ slaves have received. While this slave's pricing is out of date, she is at least a fifteen-kilo girl… "

"This slave would agree," F'ala commented.

"Thank you, mistresses," S'rat said from the onlookers. Jaalal turned; there was an extremely attractive dark-haired female standing there with a dark collar. She wore a very short grey tunic that came high on her thighs, while a short black under-skirt just covered her penalty brands. Her long curly hair reached just past her skirt's hem, under the skirt he could see a tail that she wore in her belt, dropping to her boot ankles. She crossed her arms under her breasts, "I have used a timer to operate the slaver in order to synchronize my new Enhancement and my collar. I have stated I will speak the words and cross my wrists to submit to _Taalah_, but I have been asked to wait by Master Bill until I may discuss it with him. I will operate the slaver, Jaalal, and if you cooperate, we shall allow you to design your bio-sculpt so you may sell for a high price. We shall also present the recording of this event for Master Bill's review, and inform him that you were allowed to speak in your defense, which is important to the Terrans. We shall propose that you be sold on a world like Mangione or Tosul, so you may be bought by a prosperous Captain."

"I will retain my certifications for the Slaver's and Spacer's Guilds?"

"You will, although with a judicial collar," S'rat replied. "As the ship's only free female, I am scheduled to travel to Riverside to consult with our Master Bill, at which point I shall give him the programming modules and control chips for _Taalah's_ slaves. I shall also present this recording to our Master Bill."

Jaalal considered this, then knelt, "I accept your offer," and knelt, crossing his wrists, "I submit as slave. Beat me, bind me, collar me; own me." S'rat took a few steps forward and gripped his wrists. "As a free female, I accept your submission. Come, we shall design your bio-sculpt."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 1, 2002: 13:28 (GMT +5)  
Terra, New York, 10 Columbus Circle:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"... Thank you, Andrew," the editor said. "Next, let's go to Mo. Tell us why Wayne should be our next 'Person of the Year'."

"She's an interesting person," Maureen 'Mo' Tanner replied. "While she wouldn't do a one-on-one formal interview, she did do a nice, long background with me." She snorted a laugh, "It's an interesting office, they've got a lunar core sample running around the perimeter of the waiting room, and a rough diamond the size of a basketball in a glass case, all nicely lit up." She took a sip of her coffee, "Given how she and the Chinese are at dagger-point, her security people are rather paranoid; but maybe 'people' isn't the right word. She's got werewolves handling her security, and being held against a wall by a large, teeth-bared, distrustful, paranoid wolf with yellow eyes; who then gives you a very thorough sniff is ... interesting. They even have ID badges."

She shuddered at the memory; then took another sip of coffee. "Her offices are very ... egalitarian. No corner office, she's got one cubicle among others, and she even jokes about her height. She's a small girl, barely five foot if that, and she had to stretch to get me down an Arrowhead coffee mug." She raised it in salute, "They say that a company takes after its founder, it is a very casual office; most of them wear jeans and sneakers, although they're also security-aware. I briefly met her chief scientist, Ms. Bundy, who is also apparently a workaholic, being in on a Saturday. I was introduced immediately as a reporter, which obviously limited their conversation." She took another sip of coffee, "I was also introduced to one of the two in-house ghosts. I didn't believe in them before, but after shaking hands with one, I do now." She shuddered slightly, "Like shaking hands with ice cream, they're cold."

"Anyway, that's all background. Apparently their new building is almost complete; the Imperial staff is down there at Canary Wharf." She sat up. "Why should Wayne be our next 'Person of the Year'? I think there are several reasons. First, she's got a hell of a lot of money and influence behind her, and while she herself is rich, she doesn't flaunt it. Yes, she wears nice suits, but I also saw a pair of jeans and a casual blouse sitting folded on a file cabinet. Our conversation touched on hobbies; she loves motorcycles, her dad taught her to ride when she was around eight or so. She also juggles," and she looked around the table. "She showed me, using throwing knives, and confesses to be a lousy golfer."

She took a sip of coffee, "She also dislikes being called 'Queen', but has rather reluctantly accepted it as part of the Terran Empire." She checked some notes, "Right now there are forty-three planets that are interested enough in the Empire to join it; there are also three trade planets where we have offices or facilities. Admittedly, most of them are rather small and backward colony planets, but the philosophy is the 'slow dollar' instead of the 'fast nickel' approach to growth. As part of that, they are working on a buildup, an Imperial Navy and Marines, built by the retirees of the world's military. The construction projects for those shipyards alone, research projects..." She shook her head, "That right there is a lot of money."

She took a sip of coffee, "It's apparently unusual that we, meaning Terra and Earth, do _not_ have a world government." She cradled her coffee mug; "It would not surprise me at all to see a unified government on Earth within ten years, twenty at the outside that she had engineered. I would think it would be something along the lines of the EU or NATO, common currency, assembly, that kind of thing. Wayne never said anything like that, but I know she's overthrown at least one off-world government and instituted a parliamentary democracy; and she, as the Queen of the Terran Empire, is a constitutional monarch." Mo took another sip of coffee, "Bearing in mind what I've heard of the state, or lack of it, of law enforcement 'out there', I think we need a strong hand and a strong navy. My opinion, though."

"How do we know that Wayne wouldn't set up a dictatorship herself?" Andrew asked. "After all, we've heard about the governments she's had a hand in changing here."

"I think the example of Windfall is telling," Mo replied. "She had peaceful relations with the locals until one of the Elders decided to get greedy and try a hostage snatch. They defended themselves with enormous restraint, doing nothing more than setting a perimeter. Now, we had modern infantry with armored vehicles, machine guns, mortars; the whole thing there. The locals were armed with nothing more than nightsticks; their heaviest weapons were crossbows and a crude flamethrower. Our troops could have rolled right over the Council of Elder's Blacks, instead she bought one of the five Elders off, a mob killed another, and the others were captured and handed over to a local court. Total casualties, two for the Blacks, none for the Terrans, and then we stood down and went back to peacefully doing business."

She took another sip of coffee; "Wayne can make mistakes, like anyone, but she regards her people as an extended family. That's why she was so pissed off when the French tried that hostage taking, or when they've attacked her other facilities. Let's face it, every government on Earth knows she controls the orbitals; she doesn't _need_ nukes. She can simply drop a rock; do you remember when the JLA put all the Chinese satellites on Tiananmen Square, and GNN had video of it? Some were wrapped in orange netting." She paused for a moment, taking a sip of coffee. "Very unofficially, I have a source at the Pentagon who confirmed those were kinetic weapons, and if the Chinese have them, I see no reason why other countries don't." Mo swiveled side to side, "Anyway, Wayne uses a 'kitchen cabinet' as well as her formal advisers. Ordinary people, her mates and instructors at school."

"What about her school?" Dean asked. "Hog-something, isn't it?"

"'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' is the formal title," she replied. "I was able to secure a visit. Old, old castle, well over a thousand years, and I spoke to her Headmistress, a very strict, tight-laced Scottish lady. Obviously, there wasn't much she could say about Miss Wayne's grades and such, but I did get a tour from the castle's unofficial 'Mum', a young lady named Ginny, who serves as kind of a big sister to the students, and has a couple toddlers herself. We walked around the grounds, as I said, and I don't think Ginny was used to dealing with the press. She let slip some things; among which is the school's secondary, unofficial motto: '_Don't fuck with Wayne_.'"

"What's the school's official motto?"

"It's a good one, I wrote it down," Mo said, flipping through her notes. "It's officially '_Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_', which is Latin for '_Never tickle a sleeping dragon'_," and people chuckled. "Lots of spells are in Latin, and while I didn't see a dragon, I _did_ see a unicorn and its foal in a class; beautiful things." She shook herself. "Anyway, once Wayne does let her temper out, it's nasty, in that once she finishes destroying someone, she'll grind them to a fine powder. However, it's a selective temper; apparently what pushed her into literally destroying the Fudge Ministry was his attack on Wayne's aunt, Lois Lane."

"Wait a minute, Lane's her aunt?" Walter asked. "She's never held back on Wayne."

"Of course not," Dean replied. "Would you? That also means that her uncle's Clark Kent; no wonder she knows how to deal with the press." She turned slightly, "What did this Fudge do?"

"Tried to kidnap and torture Lane," Mo replied. "Wayne was already running an economic attack on Fudge, who was a truly bungling politician, but then Fudge used a torture spell on Wayne, who just kept coming after him. That's apparently the closest she's come to actually killing someone, and I really don't blame her."

"No cops around?"

"Cops were in Fudge's pocket. The wizarding economy at that point was in a fairly severe recession, tax revenue was down to the Ministry, while Fudge was paying off the cops and the courts to stay in power." Mo made a throwaway gesture, "You know the economy hasn't been the best lately, with Luthor being absolutely Hooverish in wanting debt paid off. About the only thing he got as President was a line-item veto, which he used to cut things like education and social services. Now, while Wayne hasn't rescued the economy all by her lonesome, she has given it and general technology a huge kick. Yes, it's driven down some markets, like diamonds. Like I said, she has a rough diamond on display in the lobby that is the size of a basketball..." She made another throwaway gesture, "Let's face it, this has had the effect of ... the discovery of the wheel. Luthor, the Chinese and the French want it all for themselves, me-me-me. That's why the economies of the Arrowhead coalition are in better shape now."

Her editor leaned forward, "What about the Chinese?"

"The Red Chinese? Dunno," Mo replied. "Wayne's got that little knuckleduster in her pocket, she controls the orbitals. The high ground and it's something of an open secret that she's also got antimatter; like the Israelis have nukes. The Chinese on Taiwan, they like her. She's kept her word instead of shafting them." She swiveled side to side a bit, "That defines her character. She's a hell of a negotiator from what I've heard; her eyes are the most intense green, just like lasers peering into your soul. Once she's signed a contract, she expects you to stick to it. Ecuador tried to shaft her with graft and corruption; she simply pulled the plug on them. All the technical experts and money going into the country ... (she snapped her fingers) ... boom, turned off. They're back to Third World status, and it wouldn't surprise me if there was a coup there. Wayne's washed her hands of them."

There were some comments, and Mo rapped on the table with her knuckles. "As part of my background, I visited Gotham and stayed in Wayne Manor, which is a _huge_ place. I talked to her mom and Brother Dick, and his wife Barbara. She's not afraid to get dirty, her brother told me several stories about her, and she's torn down and rebuilt the engines of the motorcycles she's ridden. He confessed that she had bought her boyfriend an off-world motorcycle, a trike, but hadn't gotten the grav-cycle because she didn't want to embarrass his older brother, who's working on one as part of his grad school at Ohio State." She shrugged, "Part of her character, I think. As Queen, we could do a lot worse."

"Okay, thanks, Mo. Dean, tell me about Luthor."

"Why couldn't I have stayed with Wayne from last year," she griped good-naturedly. "Luthor, after resigning the Presidency, jumped in a hole and pulled it over him. He's almost impossible to find, I had to let him bring me to him. That said..."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Saturday, November 2, 2002: 07:03 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Earls Court Exhibition Centre:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Okay, what can I do to help?" Mattie asked as the company van parked.

"Nothing, really, we need to make sure the place is neat and tidy before the thundering herds arrive," Karen said from the driver's seat. "Take a couple boxes of applications with the cooler of water, would you?"

"Of course," she replied, getting out as the engine switched off. She walked to the back, setting her take-out coffee on the flat steel bumper as she opened the door to extract the cart.

Jeff Vale waited in queue to clear security, which was unusually tight. He motioned to his best mate, John Martin, "Oy, see that?" and motioned to a large wolf going by with an ID tag hanging from the neck. "Werewolf, mate. Means Wayne's here."

John stopped pulling at his necktie, stepped forward, and took one of the plastic trays on the end of the table. He put his file folder of CVs in, along with his watch, wallet, and so forth as he waited on queue for a girl to be wanded after passing through the scanner. She had set off a buzzer somehow – he watched as she blushed and stammered an apology after a nice silver metal pen was found in her jacket pocket. He turned as the werewolf leaned forward, front on the other side of the table, giving a sniff, and reached out a hand. The 'wolf was a dappled brown colour, and John commented, "Good looking dog, mate." He jerked back when the 'wolf transformed into a uniformed bloke, who smiled and said, "Thanks, mate, but you're not my type."

"Is Wayne here?" Jeff asked.

"No comment, sorry," the 'wolf replied to the fascinated people in queue. One older woman asked, "Doesn't it hurt to do that?"

"No, ma'am, just like a good, hard stretch. Good luck to everyone," and he touched a finger to his cap, then transformed again and vanished into the crowd.

"You know you didn't have to come," Mattie said. "However, since you wanted to, and you're here, you can't be grouchy. Be pleasant, talk to people, answer questions."

"I hate being a celebrity," Arthur grumbled, taking a slurp of his takeaway blackberry tea. The Hogwarts elves had finally figured out a way to handle this, and were very proud of their large, insulated mugs. '_I would have been just as happy with something from a Tesco Express_,' he thought. "I'd rather just wander around, see who else is here," and saw Steve's wince. "Okay, okay, I'll be good and stay in the room and do the interview."

"Remember, for these people, we're the biggest celebrities they've talked to," Mattie said. "Not all the press is Lois Lane, and they have to start their training somewhere. That's why these are high school and college reporters, so expect some questions out of left field."

"As long as there's no makeup involved," Arthur grumped.

"Oh, now this won't do;" Mattie said when she saw the chairs set for them on a stage. "I'm not sitting in judgment on these people. We need the chairs down on the same level, please."

Steve sighed, "All right, but you stay behind the tables, and if someone shouts 'Down!' you duck under them."

"... next, please. Yes, the blonde with the grey skirted suit," Arthur said.

"Lucy Barley, London School of Journalism," she said as she stood. "My question is for both of you, what's the most unusual person you've met?"

"Are you asking in terms of species; or as individuals?" Arthur replied. He scratched a sideburn, "Maybe I'm not cynical enough, but there's a definite difference in how people view the world. Physically, I'd say some of the felinoids were ... different, but in terms of the slave owners, their slaves just weren't there. They were ... objects, no more important than a blank piece of paper." He tore off a sheet from his legal pad, crumpled it up and tossed it over his shoulder. He shook his head, "The bred slaves themselves were generally good people, but they were … resigned; the Source had willed them to wear a collar; it was their destiny; there wasn't any fight to them."

"For good reason," Mattie added. "You fight your collar; it gets you pain and death. What they called 'punishment' we would call torture. That's why the girls want a private owner, so they can predict what the reaction would be." She took a sip of coffee, "They're having the toughest time adapting to our program of thinking outside their collar, they're used to simply _obeying_. The captured girls, on the other hand, are doing better, they generally remember being free. Of course, there are exceptions to that."

Arthur nodded, "C'ari is one. She's a bred girl, what's known as a chase slave. She's Enhanced, a very good looking, smart, clever, and cunning girl, and her previous owner would release her to run and then hunt her down for sport. I think the longest she stayed on the run was three months, when he finally trapped her she was tortured for embarrassing him. After that, he stacked the deck even more, chaining her before letting her run. Anyway, as far as a girl getting her freedom, what's known as a dark collar, the girls just don't consider it an option. For the owner, he'd lose an investment, although not a sizable one. An average slave girl runs about a thousand grams, or roughly seventy six pounds sterling. She might wind up as part of the pot in a card game, and if he loses her, well, he signs title to her over and she goes off with her new owner."

"Slaves are titled property," Mattie added. "Like a motor scooter. Anyway, the ... strangest form of life I've personally met is a collective intelligent insect. Think of a group of smart cockroaches. I think it's my turn; how about the dark-haired fellow with the blue and yellow tie?"

He stood, "Charles Balfour, also the London School, ma'am. You've mentioned you have to buy slaves on occasion. Can you clarify that?"

"It's simple, really. We don't have the institutional knowledge yet to fix critical parts of a starship, so we have to hire or buy that knowledge." Mattie took a sip of her take-away coffee, "It's very easy to sit in an ivory tower office and say 'no slaves at all', but that ignores reality. Think of it this way – if you're going out on a boat, you need to have a way to fix the engine or to call for help if it breaks. If you've only got a cell phone, you'd better either stay close to shore or have someone that can fix that engine if you're in the middle of the Atlantic." She took another swallow of her Tesco's coffee; then said, "That's where we are. Most ships' comm equipment has a maximum range of two light years, which is primarily used for entering and leaving a system's control space, docking, that kind of thing. If your engine suddenly dies when you're a hundred light years from anyone, you'd better be able to fix it out of what you have aboard."

"Or you and your shipmates die," Arthur added. "Usually, a ship will have slaves that are titled to the ship, and are very, very familiar with that ship. What we do is on return to the Terran system and Eunomia; we offer those slaves their freedom and a Guild-standard contract. Most of them take it; some do not. For those, we give them a free ride home or to wherever they want, and wish them luck."

"Follow-up, ma'am," Charles said, springing back to his feet. "You said the 'institutional knowledge' of critical parts. Could you expand on that?"

Mattie tented her fingers, Styrofoam cup between them. "There are three areas right now that are giving us problems in building starships, and we haven't had much luck reverse-engineering them. Those are inertial sinks, life support, and the big one is the FTL jump drives themselves." She took a sip of coffee, "Right now, we can build grav drives that have an acceleration of around fifteen thousand gees. That's still somewhat low for a missile, but electronics don't care about inertia. However, if we put a living being on that, it's going to turn them into strawberry paste. We're therefore limited to what a human can endure long-term with our existing drives, which top out at about five gees, and means a trip to Titan Base from Earth is about two weeks. That ties in to life support. Right now, we're putting in hydroponics on each ship, and it's not a complete, closed system. It scrubs the air, provides fresh veggies, and cleans the water, but it's a lot of volume, and requires gravity as opposed to a replicator which produces a bowl of beef stew on demand, as well as handling air, water, and waste by breaking everything down to component atoms."

"Replicated food doesn't taste as good as fresh," Arthur put in.

"Oh, yes," Mattie agreed. "Now, we can replicate inorganic molecules like dishes and spoons, but it takes several city blocks' worth of electricity and a large, powerful computer. A gal-tech life support unit is about the size of a restaurant refrigerator, say six or so cubic meters. We've got programming for that beef stew, and that unit will produce it, but we can't build one ourselves."

"When you say you haven't been able to reverse-engineer them, what do you mean?" someone called.

"We can take it apart, measure it, and build one just like it, but it doesn't work," Mattie replied. "Just like the jump drives. There's nothing really exotic like antimatter in there, but we can build an identical unit, and apply power, and nothing happens. We've got the manuals, the theory, but that has the physicists scratching their heads, too. One of those cases of 'it shouldn't work, but it does'." She shrugged. "Of course, we've got research contracts on those, but we're also looking at buying a small shipbuilder, or licensing the tech."

"My turn," Arthur said. "Um... we've been neglecting the right side of the room. How about the younger girl over here, black hair and tan jumper with a pleated skirt?" He nodded when the girl pointed to herself. She jumped up, "Um, Amy Knight, St. Judith's school. Ms. Wayne, when can people join a colony?"

"You can apply for one now, assuming you have a skill the colony needs," she replied. "It also depends on the colony world." She took a swallow of coffee, "Let's take Windfall as an example. Right now, there are twenty six sub-colonies, including the planetary capital of Riverside that is just getting started there."

"Our next-wave ships haven't arrived yet," Arthur commented.

Ms. Wayne nodded. "True. We're settling in waves. First in were our spies, then our construction ship, the _Fuller_, which built most of the infrastructure for the colonies. That way our sub-colonists didn't have to pour concrete in the middle of winter; although there's still a lot of construction going on. The next step is the worldwide lottery of agricultural schools, which plow the fields, plant crops, and make sure there are no nasty surprises. So far, we've been very lucky, with only a few deaths, mostly due to animal attacks. The worst food-borne problems have been some allergies and mineral deficiencies, and each 'seedling' (she finger-quoted) sub-colony has physicians and a vet, primarily Cuban."

"The seedling colonies are spread out, roughly four hundred fifty kilometers apart," Arthur put in. "Right now, it's fall there, with an eight month year and thirty hour days. They do have electricity, running water, sewers, and communications, but in terms of plowing and planting, they use animal power. Think roughly 1960 or 1970's tech level. Each seedling has both an internal economy and an external one, in which they trade between the sub-colonies. Mail, passenger and cargo is being handled under contract with DHL, who has their own set of islands and ships by riverboat."

"The first ship in was the _Manhattan_, who took the first eight seedling's colonists, plus those for Riverside and DHL," Mattie continued with a nod. "The next sixteen schools are on their way now aboard the _Manhattan_ and the _Dover_, with our cargo ship, the _Nevis_. So right now, you would need a skill to assist a seedling colony in putting bread on the table. Woodworking would do it, but journalism, except as part-time, for a local newsletter, would not."

Miss Knight popped back up, "Follow up, Miss Wayne. What about kids and schools?"

"Right now, the original seedlings, the more northern ones, haven't been there more than a few months," she replied. "They're really not set up to take care of infants and small children, and any teenagers are home-schooled to the British standard, but mostly they work in their parent's shops. Later on, yes, there will be schools, education is important, but right now, until the first crops come in, and they can build up their reserves, they're eating imported grains and surplus US Army rations." She took a gulp of coffee; then held up her Styrofoam cup. "Things like coffee, tea, and fruit trees and bushes take a few years to grow and mature; we tend to forget that. It's the same thing with horses and other farm animals. We've got mares and a breeding database, and we're trading sperm from the different sires for genetic diversity, but birthing and raising those foals takes time."

"One thing I would like to mention," Arthur put in. "On Windfall, we're running a slave rescue program, in which we buy hotel girls, transport them to Windfall, and integrate them into the various seedling's communities. People adopt them as sisters and daughters of the colonists, but one side effect of this has been a gender imbalance, which has only gotten more lopsided. Windfall started with more females than males, now it's four or five or six girls to each guy, so we're trying to get better, decent guys out there, while keeping out the criminals."

"I would mention that even if you've had a conviction for a non-violent offense, that doesn't exclude you from applying to a colony," Mattie said. "I'm a believer in second chances, and if you've kept your nose clean and have a skill that's in demand, you have just as good odds as anyone else. I'd also like to add that Windfall just had an election, in which they decided on the planet's Basic Law. They left for local option same-sex marriages, as well as group marriages." She grinned, "The good Catholic girl in me isn't sure about that, but I can see the logic. I think it's my turn again. How about the red-headed fellow with the maroon sleeveless sweater over there?"

"Peter Summers, ma'am, of the London School. What about crime and punishment on the colonies?"

"Nice broad question," Mattie grinned. "Three levels, Imperial, meaning the Imperial Assembly and their statutes, then planetary and local law. The Imperial Assembly hasn't been seated yet, so we'll skip over them for now. Planetary law would be things like murder, fraud, and false enslavement, and for that, we have various work parties. If we want to stay with the Windfall example, they're building and repairing roads, bridges, and so forth. There are only a few death penalty crimes, among those is corruption in public office, and the reason for that was widespread corruption by the Elders and their government. They all had a hand out, and that's just not right."

Arthur put in, "If I, as a private citizen, have to bribe you to do your job, for which you're already getting a nice salary, I wind up with a thirty year collar on a road crew. However, since the official betrayed the public trust, on conviction for graft, they have a choice of a guillotine or a noose." He grinned crookedly, "We then put their heads on a fence with a sign: 'Convicted of corruption'. If it hasn't stopped graft and payola, it's at least driven it far, far underground."

"We've had ten cases of that, all ten on Island with the former government of the Elders, and their head-breakers, the Blacks," Mattie added. "It's taking the local population a while to get used to the fact that they don't have to pay off someone, and the accused has a trial and an appeal, and the Governor is the one that has to pull the lever to hang them. For the misdemeanor crimes like simple assault, public intoxication or trespass, in the seedling colonies, they're sentenced to a work crew for a certain amount of time, digging ditches, keeping grass mowed, that kind of thing."

"Which can be somewhat risky, with the Wabbits," Arthur put in. He shuddered slightly, "Nasty little things. They're an ambush predator, and they use a very fast-acting poison quill." He held out his hands, "Small, about the size of a small dog or large cat and they're dangerous even after they're dead. We're working on an antivenin, but it would need to be applied within a couple of seconds. The poison will kill a human within five seconds. It's a beautiful planet, but there are risks." He took a sip of his tea, "That's why everyone goes armed, in order to kill the wabbits, which are small, they can fit through a two-inch hole, and like to hide. Now, we're also arming the former slaves for the same reason, which has the more abusive slave holders very, very nervous." He grinned. "I don't have a problem with making them nervous. For now, what we're running is an apprenticeship program for the girls, so while they learn to think outside their collars, as a free person, they're learning a marketable skill. Once they pass the apprenticeship exams, they can apply for what's known as a 'dark collar', one without the lights," and he gestured at his throat. "They're free persons at that point, they can apply for a dark collar at any time, but they'd be in breach of their apprenticeship contract."

Peter popped up again, "How long are the contracts?"

"Depends on the skill," Mattie replied. "A speaker-at-law, what we know as a solicitor or lawyer, is eight to ten years, a baker a couple years. While they're learning, they're paid; they have bank accounts, although the primary benefit is knowledge and experience. Once that's done, they can go on the road, the 'journeyman' phase, then sit for their 'Master' or in this case, their 'Mistress' certification. They can then open their own shop, although with the rate of growth, they may want to go off-planet to another one of our colony worlds. This is an extension of the European system of apprenticeships..."

"… you're getting better at this," Mattie teased Arthur with a grin, then turned to see the hovering students. "Hello." She glanced at Steve, who sighed reluctantly and took a step back. "Miss … Knight, I believe. I don't bite, but don't make them nervous."

"You're really a werewolf?" Miss Knight asked Steve tentatively. "I mean, I've heard, and read … can I ask you a few questions?"

"I'm on duty now, sorry," Steve said, and Mattie chuckled and sat on the table, legs swinging, ankles together as Arthur leaned against it. He looked around, "Ms. Barley isn't it? Anything to ask; informally?"

"The term's 'on background', dear," Mattie said.

"Well, yes, Miss Wayne." She chewed her lip, then asked, "You're a billionaire, I think you and Sir Richard are fighting for third place on the _Financial Times_ list. What's it like having all that money?"

"Well, I don't have stacks of pound notes around the room," she said with a smile. "In a way, it's nice, in a way it's a pain. True, I don't have to worry about paying the water bill, but I do have to pay for security." She shifted her seat on the table, "Let me give you an example. Let's say you have a special event, you just landed a good job as a reporter with the _Financial Times_, and you want to go out with your significant other to celebrate. Let's say dinner, drinks; and maybe a walk along the Thames in the moonlight. You call and make your reservations, get ready, and go; the night may cost you, oh… fifty pounds."

"About that," Steve agreed. "Perhaps a little more."

"Whereas if I want to surprise Arthur with something similar, I have to let Steve and Crystal know as far ahead as possible so they can arrange for SO-1 and a couple of squads of police, and I need to at least reserve a private room if not the whole restaurant. There's no spontaneity, no 'It's six pm and I don't feel like cooking, lets go out for pizza.' Same thing with Christmas shopping; these two know what we're getting each other, and what our other presents are. If I want that pizza, it's already in the freezer and I have to thaw and cook it while we're watching the Beeb."

"Mr. Morton, anything to add to that?" and Arthur winced. "Arthur, please. If you call me 'Mr. Morton' I look around for my dad." There were a few chuckles, and he said, "I've seen 'celebrities' (he finger-quoted) and movie stars do the whole stretch limo and hanger-on thing on TV, like you have. I think it's feeding their ego, you've seen reports of movie stars and musicians who won't go on stage and perform unless the ten pounds of M & M's in their dressing room has all the yellow candies picked out. I've seen some of those contracts on the Internet, and really, I put on my socks one at a time, just like the rest of you do." He gestured, "Mattie has taken a wrench and fixed broken plumbing. However, we've got people trying to kill us, so…" he shrugged. "What else?"

Ms. Barley smiled, "I didn't get to ask you about your school, what can you tell us about it? Daily life; that kind of thing."

"Ah. Let's see. Hogwarts is in a big old castle, founded in 915 or so," Arthur said. "Last year, they had their first OFSTED inspection (people winced), which means some of the more, um, unique features of the castle had to be changed, like the moving staircases. Not moving as you might find going down to a tube platform, they rotated to and from landings, so you might find yourself caught on a stair landing in midair when you were late to Charms or Potions."

"With Professor Flitwick, he's the Charms Master, he didn't really mind, but with Professor Snape, the Potions Master, you were likely to lose house points," Mattie put in. "Charms is a spell that makes something behave un-naturally, like growing hair on a desk." Arthur moved aside, popping his wand and quickly casting the charm on the table. People watched, fascinated, as he moved back and hair continued to sprout from the table. "A spell, on the other hand, simply changes an attribute. For instance," she popped her own wand out and tapped her hair, which also started to grow. "Unfortunately, these two white patches of hair I've got will grow, but they won't go back to black." She tapped her wand on her hair again, changing the color to bright orange, but the white patches stayed. With another tap, it changed to bright green, matching her eyes. "Who wants longer hair without having to wait?" she asked with a grin, twirling her wand. "Ms. Barley? Ms. Knight?" She tapped her wand again, and her hair reverted to jet-black. "Makes getting ready in the morning so much easier," she admitted, twirling her wand and changing her hairstyle. "This is the hairstyle of a free female merchant," she added regarding the complex network of hair braids.

"It still took you long enough to get ready for the Halloween Ball," Arthur commented.

"Dear, I'm a girl. That comes with the package, deal with it," she replied with a grin, and there were chuckles from the other girls. "There are hair and makeup spells and charms, as well as things like depilatory potions. That's so _much_ easier than shaving your legs every day, enough so that _some_ guys use them instead of shaving."

"I'm not hung up on that," Arthur replied calmly. "Besides, it smells nice, not girly, and it's fairly easy to brew. Anyone else?"

"You two sound like an old married couple," Ms. Barley commented with a smile.

"Well, we _did_ share a cabin on the voyage to and from Windfall last summer," Mattie said with a grin. She held up her left hand, waggling her fingers, "I've got a ring, and two brothers, he's got four sisters, so there's nothing either one of us hasn't seen."

"For the record, I _did_ offer to use a blanket on the deck," Arthur commented.

"Yes, you did, dear, but you know I wasn't going to allow that." Mattie looked around, "For those of you in the job market, go see Karen Bundy, she's my head of HR, and good luck to you. I know I'd like to see some of the different displays here."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, November 2, 2002: 12:33 (GMT)  
Thirday, 1 Primus, 163, 09:46 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, Town Hall, Community room:****  
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"Everything is ready?" Nicole asked. She had laundered the white cloths and their 'Election Official' vests last night so everything would be fresh and clean... she wanted this to go well...

"Everything is fine," Ellen George said, handing Nicole a cup of tea. "Relax. Breathe deeply... the fun will come when we count and certify the results tonight."

"The seals..."

"They are intact, as they were last night and this morning when we picked up the stuff from the jail cell we locked them in overnight. Relax, girl. You're doing fine."

"Yes..." she said, then looked up and squeaked, "Master! I mean, Father!" The community blacksmith smiled, "Is this where I vote?"

"In another ten minutes," Ellen replied.

"May we ... may we vote, mistress?" a hesitant female voice made Nicole look up. Before her stood a dozen or so of the newly rescued hotel slaves, and some of the local 'farm girls'. She stood, recognizing the courage it must have taken to ask that question. "Some of you," she said gently. "The rules require at least two months residency and a bank account. Others, like I do, wear a judicial collar and cannot vote."

"You... you cannot vote, mistress?"

"No, I cannot, not for another three years," Nicole replied. "That is how much longer I must wear a judicial collar. I am also an election official, so I must apply the law to myself as I do to others." She gestured toward the town, "It matters not that I am a bred hotel slave, I was convicted of attacking my use-mistress, and received penalty brands, a four year judicial collar, and shearing." She crossed her arms, "Now, those who qualify may sign the register and receive a ballot. You must decide for yourself which is the best choice on each question, and it is a long ballot. We decide the basic law for the planet, and there are 150 sections to that. Many have several options to be decided. There are also local questions, and we elect who shall speak for us. If you need to suction, do so before you enter, I cannot re-admit you."

"Who will tell us the proper way to vote, mistress?"

"You will, and while others may try to persuade you, they may not force you or order you to vote one way or another. That is a crime, and will get them a collar." She turned the registration book around, "Who will vote?"

"I must suction first," one farm slave decided.

"I have twenty hours, does everyone agree?" Ellen asked her fellow election workers. With their nod, she looked at Nicole, "Close the office, we'll wait until everyone's finished voting." The younger girl went to put the two chairs across the gap between tables, and they waited while one voter stood, massaging a crick in her back, then tapped her ballot sheets together.

"Please use the black ink to mark your ballot," Nicole asked, gesturing to the sample ballot. The voter did, pressing a fingerprint on each of the pages' lower right corners; she then folded the ballot and stuffed it in one of the two clear boxes. Nicole smiled, "Thank you for your vote, mistress," and with a smile, held one of the chairs aside for the voter. "Three left," she commented.

"Then we open the boxes tomorrow in public and count," Ellen said, and tried to suppress a yawn.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, November 2, 2002: 18:03 (GMT)  
Thirday, 1 Primus, 163, 13:46 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Congo river, South bank:****  
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T'leh stood on the dock; sandaled feet spread against the rocking motion as it floated in the river, and watched the supply ship with the new slaves approach. She wore the green-and-yellow of a convict on her slave tunic, as well as her judicial collar. In her left hand she carried a clipboard, in the right a switch, and on her right temple was the disk of Enhancement.

Aboard the ship, a few armed Terrans stood watch as the dock crew pulled the lines, making it fast against the floating dock. The gangplank was run out, and T'leh moved to meet the offloading new group of convicts.

"21744," T'leh called, and the male once known as Haak'n looked up from where he had been beaten to his knees by the inmates, squared his shoulders, and said, "I refuse to be chained like a female, slave."

"Here, we are all slaves, 21744," T'leh replied, and waved her arm. "Guards, workers, cooks, all. We are held by the forest, not by chains. The Terrans believe in paying their slaves for some reason, we are paid a gram a day, and they allow us to manage our own affairs, their only concern is the construction of the road." She shrugged, "If you wish to run, do so. Remove your smock and sandals first, the Terrans do not wish their property being used to assist runaways. You will be recorded as such a runaway, and will not be searched for, nor will you be allowed to enter another camp or one of their colonies. Your collar will warn them of your approach."

"That is a death sentence," one of the new female slaves whispered in horror, looking at the line of trees a few hundred meters away.

"You would have your freedom," T'leh replied. "Now, 21744, you will retain that option, you need only leave the camp. While it means more work for the rest of us, it also means more food, as the Terrans give only so much food as there are slaves assigned here. If 21744 were to run, we would gain his food ration." She regarded the male, "I do not wish the additional work, but as you are known as Haak'n the Fool, I have a wager on if you run, an extra sticky-sweet bread if you do." She gestured toward the forest. "Run, fool, and make me a day's profit."

"Make a profit on a female? Only on your sale, slave," he said contemptuously.

"This is your assigned workplace, Fool," T'leh replied. "They will inform you of your tasks." She turned and strode away, and Haak'n snarled after her. He was jerked off his feet by the hands of one of his new co-workers on his ankles, falling down into the shallow pit.

"So this is Haak'n the Fool," one of the burly slaves said. "Look, he wears a female belt! Perhaps we should put him with the females?"

"We would not take him, Faas'n," a petite redheaded slave replied. The hem of her own diamond-patterned slave tunic was torn, a strip tied around her forehead as a sweatband. She kicked a large wicker basket down in the pit. "Teach the Fool to dig and fill baskets with dirt." She picked one up from the edge of the pit, carrying it to a wide, low cart where she dumped it in, then threw the emptied basket into the pit; picking up another filled basket.

"Fool," Faas'n pulled the new inmate to his feet by his slave collar, "See the dirt? A central ridge between our side and theirs," he waved at the other males, who had stopped work to watch. "A flat ridge, where a pipe will be placed one meter down, and one on each side where drainage pipes will also be placed. That is not our concern. Ahead of us (he yanked him around), we follow the lines painted in the grass. We do not dig outside the yellow lines to the sides; we cut the grass along the white lines using the long knife there, and set it aside for others. We dig down a nice, level, straight-sided pit, like we are standing in, one-point-two meters down, in two sections, each five meters wide, with the one-meter wide central ridge. Is that understood, Fool, or shall I use smaller words?"

"Four and a half days a week," the petite redhead added. "The Terrans do not care about us, only that we meet our weekly quota of road built, and thus we earn our food and wages of a gram a day. If that means we work thirty hours on all five days that is what we do. We have twelve hundred kilometers to build, Fool, and forty one complete."

"In addition to bridges, locks, and small fortress-camps every fifty kilometers," another male said from the other section. "Enough talk with the Fool, we must dig. We have wasted enough time with him."

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****Sunday, November 3, 2002: 07:48 (GMT)  
Terra, London, BBC Broadcasting House:****  
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"Ah, there you both are," the associate producer said when she came into Makeup. "Milady Wayne, we'll have your coffee mug ready for you in here when you finish." She fanned a deck of cards, "This is for who goes first." They both chose a card, and the girl said, "Madame Tsien, you're first on the hot seat." She replaced the cards in her pocket and left, and the Ambassador put down her brush, "Coffee mug?"

"I collect coffee mugs from each show or interview I do," Mattie said, examining her appearance. A makeup assistant bustled in, gave them both an once-over, fixed a couple minor flaws, and held the door for them.

"You must have quite a few," the Ambassador said.

"And we're live in five, four," the producer finished counting on his fingers; then pointed as the red light went on. "Good morning, and welcome to the weekend edition of _BBC Breakfast_," the cheerful blonde said. "I'm Sophie Tucker, Dan Randolph is on assignment. Today our guests are Madame Wai Tsien, the Chinese Ambassador to the UK, and Milady Wayne, the Queen of the Terran Empire." She turned in her comfortable chair as the camera turned to focus on the couch where her two guests sat. "Madame Tsien, you've drawn the first question. Milady Wayne has made some serious accusations regarding the People's Republic, and we had the incident at the London Breast Cancer charity race a short time ago. Would you like to comment?"

Mattie sipped her coffee; then put the mug down as the Ambassador, an older woman in her mid-fifties replied, "Miss Wayne has made several baseless accusations against the People's Republic, we have asked her to modify her speech and retract those statements. She has refused, rather rudely, and commenced what we can only conclude is an economic vendetta against the peaceful people of the PRC. The incident at the race was simply a further attempt to get her to modify her speech." She smiled gently and sipped at her own mug of tea.

"At gunpoint?" Mattie said calmly. She took another sip, "By the way, I would make a correction, Sophie. Madame Tsien is the Ambassador for the People's Republic of China, a monolithic, totalitarian state that represses its citizens, does not allow free speech, freedom of the press, restricts its citizens to only one child and will murder the second one, and takes British jobs by ignoring health, safety and environmental rules the rest of the world follows. I'm a businesswoman, and by doing that, I can see how they under price the free-market economy to take those jobs. I'll ask how many good paying manufacturing jobs have gone overseas, outsourced to Red China, where they pay their workers a few pence an hour, as opposed to a living wage."

She calmly took another sip of coffee as Madame Tsien shot back, "The internal policies of the People's Republic are just that, our internal policies!"

"That's fine," Mattie replied, calmly cradling her cup in her hands. "I'm simply clarifying a point. I'm contrasting the repressive, polluting, Red Chinese government that you represent, with the freedom loving, democratic, multi-party state known as the Republic of China; the one that originally held the Security Council seat. That is, until Mao bullied and blackmailed the UN into giving it to him. These are your known tactics, and you continue to use them. However, I refuse to be bullied."

She took another sip, "One thing that your government can't stand is being denied on anything they want. They are so used to being the thousand-kilo panda, getting what and how they want, that they throw a fit when someone tells them 'No'; when someone wants to do something differently. A good example is our relationship with the Republic of China. Beijing saw the advanced technology going to them, the valuable contracts, and said, 'Give them to us.' Not 'Let us compete for them,' or 'Let us buy them from Taiwan for a fair price,' but Beijing simply pointed and said 'I want them. Give them to me, now.'" She sipped coffee, "A lot of people would have meekly complied, and that's undoubtedly what they expected from me. I told them 'No'. I told them that because of their bullying and their non-competitive practices, and because, most importantly, I have given my word to the people and the companies of the Republic of China, who are used to being the victims of these actions, of being screwed over by Beijing in this manner. I told Beijing that I had given my word; I had contracts I intended to honor. I also told them if they were willing to bid at the conclusion of the contract, using the same conditions that the rest of the world used, they were welcome to."

She calmly sipped her coffee as the camera swung back to Sophie, who blinked, "Madame Tsien, your reply?"

"The People's Republic has always competed fairly and honestly for outside business. What Ms. Wayne alleges is... simply not true."

"Oh, really?" Mattie hid a shark-like smile. "I propose a little test, Madame Tsien. We continue the rest of this program under _Veritas_, a truth spell. That way the viewing audience can tell who's lying and who isn't." She cradled her coffee cup, using it to hide her smile as the Ambassador spluttered. "I'm willing, Madame Tsien. You can even have your bodyguard cast it on me, so you'll know there's no hanky-panky. Of course, mine will then cast it on you." She opened her hands, waiting. She knew the Ambassador and her bodyguard were both muggles, having met them backstage.

Sophie dithered, her producer was shouting in her earpiece to say something, to fill the dead air. Miss Wayne obviously knew that with each second of dead air, the Ambassador lost credibility. The woman had clearly not expected to be rolled on their trade practices, presented so calmly and reasonably, in a way to resonate with the viewers. Wayne was perfectly happy to wait; silence was golden for her.

After what seemed to Sophie like an eternity, the Ambassador finally said, "The People's Republic is not a bully!"

Wayne met this weak comeback with an upward wave of her hand, "Really? Perhaps my definition is in error. I've always known a bully as someone who is larger, stronger than his or her opponent, and takes advantage of that to get what he or she wants. To me, it doesn't matter if it's shaking down a kid on the playground for his lunch money, or a football player punching out someone smaller who's dared to ask the cheerleader for a date. They're both bullies, and so is a larger country browbeating another to get what they want." She shifted on the couch, "One thing I'd like to hear, Madame Tsien, is the justification Red China uses for not only selling its female citizens into slavery, but torturing their men in order to produce a highly addictive drug from their brain chemistry."

"That is obviously another falsehood! The People's Republic has the greatest respect for not only its own, but the citizens of all nations!"

"You didn't answer the question, Madame Tsien," Sophie said. "There was a pool crew that went to Eunomia to interview those women, the only requirement Ms. Wayne asked was that they be fluent in Chinese."

"Mandarin, actually," Mattie corrected. "There are several Chinese dialects." She continued to relax casually into the couch, sipping her coffee and waiting for the Ambassador's reply.

"You have committed hostile acts against us! You have attacked our economy; destroyed our network of satellites, you insult us; you trade in slaves yourself! You are not as pure as you appear!"

"I simply refuse to spend my money on products that are produced by Red Chinese slave labor," Mattie replied. "If that produces financial hardship for those companies, then perhaps they will reconsider their production processes. Not only western companies; but also all the countries of the Pacific Rim like Taiwan and the Philippines will be happy to bid for those contracts. The shoes or the blouse might be a fraction of a percent higher in cost, but to me, I'm willing to pay that to know that someone isn't working under horrible conditions for the equivalent of fifty pence a day."

"Like refusing to buy blood diamonds," Sophie said. "The satellites?"

"I certainly didn't take them down, although I'm not complaining."

Madame Tsien shot back, "They were taken down by your lackeys in the JLA!"

"Lackeys?" Mattie snorted into her cup. "Excuse me. The JLA went to visit the Politburo to attempt to get them to see reason, they were brushed off; the Politburo tried to have them arrested. No, if you've ever met any of them you'll know that being my 'lackeys' (she finger-quoted) is far from the truth."

"And the trading in slaves?" Sophie asked.

"Please clarify, Madame Tsien. Where and how?" Mattie shifted on the couch, raising her own mug.

"You also sell people on other worlds!" the furious woman said. "Our spies have determined this to be true!"

"Really?" Mattie drawled. "I'd be most interested in hearing the details, as I'm not aware of any slave sales. Now, I'll freely admit we do have intelligence networks on other worlds, and as some members of the viewing audience are aware, there is a slave 'caste' or society on a great number of those worlds. However, I will state for the record that we do not employ or own slaves other than in the process of freeing them."

"She admits it!"

Mattie spread her hands, "How else are we to acquire the slaves we intend to free? When we buy a starship, it will usually come with slaves that are titled to the ship. When we get to a safe port like Eunomia, we'll offer those slaves their freedom and a Guild-standard contract. Most take it, some don't. Some opt for a free ride to their home world with a dark collar." She shrugged, raising and spreading her hands. "What I'm referring to with Red China is their selling their women into a slaver's collar, they'll never see Earth again; and they'll be slaves for the rest of their lives. There's a considerable difference."

"But you still buy slaves," Sophie said.

"As a last option, and for critical departments like engineering or medical," she replied. "We do not as yet have the expertise in-house to do repairs. If the engines break down in the middle of hundreds of light years of empty space, you either fix the engines or die. That's what it comes to. There's nobody to call, no handy mechanic in the next town. Yes, I would rather not buy a slave, but when it comes to spending a hundred pounds or having an entire ship's crew dying..." She held out her hands, "That is the situation, and you can't be blinded by politics. It's very easy to sit in a comfortable office and make pronouncements; it's another thing entirely when you're responsible for someone you know living or dying."

"From what I've heard, it's a horrid way to die," Sophie said.

"You've got about ten seconds if your helmet cracks or you lose pressure," Mattie said. "Fairly quick death, the body tissues are tough. Just take a deep breath and it's over. Can we change the subject?"

Madame Tsien shouted in Mandarin, ("You may have antimatter, but we have nuclear missiles; we will defend ourselves if you continue to attack us ...") she stopped suddenly, the blood draining from her face. ("Oh, no...") she whispered.

Sophie's face was blank, she put a hand to her earpiece as Ms. Wayne asked, "Did I just hear the Ambassador of the People's Republic threaten nuclear war?" She leaned forward, "Madame Tsien, may I remind you of two things? First, the Arrowhead Coalition is just that, a coalition, and second, that I control the orbitals. That I have neither need nor desire for nuclear weapons, but I will stand by my allies if I detect launch activity in either of Beijing's two missile fields, or by her missile sub."

The translation had finished playing in Sophie's earpiece; she looked at Ms. Wayne. "She says that you have antimatter, and that they will defend themselves."

"I do not confirm or deny military or intelligence information," Ms. Wayne replied.

"And the orbitals you mentioned?"

"Beijing has two missile fields with a dozen ICBM's in each. Because of the design of the silos, we can tell where they're aimed. If Beijing wants to launch missiles in order to kill me..." she shrugged; then turned as the Ambassador's bodyguard came on to the set, holding out his phone. ("Beijing, Citizen,") he said in Mandarin. She seemed to crumple in on herself, and with a shaking hand reached out for it. He moved behind her, drawing his service automatic and saying in Mandarin ("Your husband will be billed, citizen."), as Steve appeared, his own pistol out. He shouted, "Down!" Mattie reached out and pulled Sophie down, casting a protective shield as the BBC captured it live.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, November 3, 2002: 08:57 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Arrowhead R & D:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Hmm… I wonder…" Chantal mused; then turned to do a data search. After a minute, she slammed her fist down, "Damnit! Restricted." She slouched back in her chair, moodily looking at her cube's walls. After a minute, she got up, grabbed her coffee cup, and walked down the hall for a refill.

"Morning, Boss. What are you doing here on a Sunday?"

"I might ask the same of thee," Anne replied, sipping her tea. "Why are you not enjoying the parks and sights of fair London?"

"I had a brainstorm, and I had to get it down," Chantal replied, waiting while the coffeepot gurgled. "Anyway, I'm still settling in, and while there have been some interesting guys I've met in the pub, I think they're more interested in my boobs than my brains."

"'Tis true, it hath been true with men for centuries," Anne replied. She took a contemplative sip, "I dids't hear from Karen, on the planet Windfall, there is a gender imbalance. There be far more ladies then gentlemen, they seek to redress that issue. They dids't say they wished gents that would'st _be_ gents, as a great majority of the ladies are rescued slaves. They dids't also need chemists, she doth be preparing a memo to go out, asking people to mention it to their former schools and workplaces."

"I knew a lot of chemists at school," Chantal replied, taking a step toward the sink, washing out her mug as Anne stepped aside. "Any particular types?"

"They dids't seek those that woulds't be in the fields, with the ability to profitably separate metals from base materials without using 'fancy tricks'," Anne said. "The example given was the metals such as copper in pig urine. How to do that so the farmer can extract the metal, using a 'green' method." (She finger-quoted with her empty hand.) "They do wish to be gentle to the land," she added as she topped off her mug of tea. "What are you working on now?"

"I had an idea on how to increase the range on my laser, but those files are restricted." She tore off a paper towel, dumping a small ice cube in her mug and folding the towel as a coaster. "I wanted to try running the beam through a subspace Fresnel lens array."

"Interesting…" Anne mused as the coffee finished gurgling. "'T'is something I hath wondered about. The primary beam weapon on the _Wisdom_ doth be axially mounted, and takes most of the energy of the main generator for not a great deal of range. 'Tis a brute-force approach, I doth think. Mayhap a rapier instead of the club would'st be preferable for us." She took a sip of her tea, "I will have thee granted entry to those files. For now, in thy last report, thy did'st state thou had'st reduced the power requirements to thy laser." She waited for Chantal to fix her coffee, "Prithee show'st me."

_To: Mrs. Stewart (MIT)  
From: Chantal Rivers  
Subject: Jobs an' stuff  
Date: 3 November 2002_

_Dear Mrs. Stewart: _

_Just a quickie heads up for you to pass on to the gang – you'll probably see something official in the next few days. This isn't a prank (which are so much more fun with things like anti-grav!), but a real, sure-nuff scoop. One side effect of the slave rescue thing the Empire's doing is more girls than guys on Windfall. (The last ratio I heard was about 6:1.) Now, these girls are somewhat fragile emotionally, after all, they've been _slaves_, and now they've got the chance to be free. _

_They also have the problem of keeping the planet (and other colony planets) from being a dumping ground for Earth's scum and criminals. That's why they need a bunch of good, decent guys. Who's going to be better for these girls, who have just gotten a second chance at life, than a geeky nerd like an engineer? You know that the guys in our house were more interested in a girl's brain than her bra size (although they certainly weren't blind!). That's the kind of guy they need, although they certainly won't turn down any qualified girls! _

_An additional factor is the willingness to go out and get dirty. Right now, they're running with about 1970's tech, still with a lot of animal power. They also need a lot of practical bucket chemists; they're trying very hard to be 'green' and sustainable. The example I got was extracting metals like copper from things like pig pee – something simple that could be done with basic, farmer-level equipment. _

_Anyway, if you'd print this out and post it in the common room, and mention it on Sunday with the spaghetti, I'd appreciate it. I'll get better information when I have it. _

_Chantal_

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, November 3, 2002: 10:04 (GMT)  
Terra, London, BBC Broadcasting House:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"… no, I'm fine, Mom," Mattie said into her cell phone. "It wasn't even aimed at me, this time, and …" she waited. "Okay, Mom, I'll talk it over with Steve and Crystal. I don't want more bodyguards, this isn't their fault, and I want to keep the ability to talk to people, to meet them." She waited again; then said, "Okay, Mom. Look, I've got to go; some guy wants to talk to me. No, I don't know, some suit. Love you; talk to you later, bye." She thumbed off her phone, "You heard that? God forbid I become one, it's already bad enough they call me 'Queen'."

"I understand you Yanks still like the common touch," he said with a grin as he sat next to her, placing a small cubical cardboard box on the floor. He nudged it with a foot, "Your coffee mug. I'm Richard Douglas, vice president of the news division, my lady Queen Martha. Please forgive an old man's knees the bowing and scraping. I would like to thank you personally for protecting one of my people."

"That doesn't mean you'll go easy on me, though," she replied with a grin.

"Heaven forbid. Do my colleagues Ms. Lane or Mr. Kent?" He smiled, "Madame Tsien has asked for political asylum, I do believe she's the first full Ambassador to defect. Unfortunately, MI - 5 wishes us to sit on that part of the story, the government is going to try to get her husband and son out of Beijing. I believe she's going to tragically die on the operating table." He made a gesture along the right side of his neck, "The bullet cut the artery in her neck, and I've looked at the videotape, as I'm sure the Chinese will. The Chinese bloke clearly did not want to kill her; he was waiting for your man to give him an excuse to miss."

"Please pass on to your government contact that we can offer all of them off-planet relocation and bio-sculpt if they're interested," Ms. Wayne offered. "We can change their outward appearance; let them look like another species. There are four hundred billion stars in this galaxy, we've got forty five planets where we have colonies or relations with the planetary governments, and we're putting in our fourth trade mission, on Tosul. However, if they're covered as a carpenter or something, they'll have to be able to actually do the work. I'll be glad to talk to them about it." She looked up; Steve had been questioned and released by the Metropolitan Police and was standing there, waiting for her.

Mr. Douglas shifted and saw Steve, then nodded. "One last thing, Ms. Tsien wished to speak to you, 'outside politics', she called it. I'm certain MI – 5 will be in touch to arrange things; possibly at one of their safe houses." He stood, bowed slightly, "My lady. May we never become 'suits'" He smiled, nodded and said, "Thank you," to Steve, and walked off.

"What was that about?" he asked.

"I was talking to Mom and said there was a guy waiting; he looked like a 'suit'." She picked up the mug and her purse and stood, brushing down her own skirted suit, "Am I one? God forbid…"

"No, you're 'The Boss' or 'The Old Lady', but you're not a 'Suit'." He gestured toward the door, "We can leave; the Bobbies and MI - 5 thank us, I believe you heard about Ms. Tsien? She wants to meet with you, 'woman to woman' after her debrief is concluded."

She snorted in amusement, "Everyone is trying to give us advice, Arthur had a bunch of married men talk to him in a bar on Eridani Three, and I've had 'husband management' lessons. Let's get out of here."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, November 3, 2002: 15:36 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 2 Primus, 163, 05:50 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, Town Hall, Community room:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Last ballot!" Nicole called, waving it, and there was a muffled cheer among the election people and those who had stayed to watch the counting. She checked that all the pages had a fingerprint; then noted the votes, starting at the first section, recording the choices as hash marks on her legal pad.

"When will you have a final result?" one of the candidates asked.

"Source willing, our tallies will agree," Nicole replied, looking up. "We shall then post the results, and send them to Riverside. If they do not agree, we must recount those sections, mistress. Please allow me to return to this task, mistress."

"We have a recount," Nicole announced to groans. "It is Questions One and Four, so we should resolve it shortly. Let us go to a fresh page, and start at the other end of the table, please."

"The resolution of Question One is as follows," Nicole announced. "There are a total of three hundred forty one eligible voters and three hundred twenty nine votes. One hundred forty nine in favor, one hundred sixty one against, nineteen voting no opinion; Question One fails. Question Four; of the three hundred forty one eligible votes, two hundred three in favor, eighty six against, forty no opinion. Question Four passes." She took a deep breath, "Are all agreed? Shall we certify this election?"

"I move we certify this election," Ellen called. "All in favor?" There were tired groans and hands waving, and she said, "Against?" There was silence, and she continued, "Mistress Chairperson, it has been moved and seconded to certify the election for the Town of Brazos." A muffled cheer, and she added, "Take blank ballots, mark 'em up and we'll sign them, and send one to Riverside."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, November 3, 2002: 18:36 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 2 Primus, 163, 08:50 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, Town Hall:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Greetings," Cyndi said to the dozen or so new girls that waited for her. She sat cross-legged, fine paintbrush in hand, dabbing carefully at the mural on the wall of the community room. "I arrived early, and wished to repair and update this large map of our town. It will be a good way to introduce things." She finished, her common collar lights glowing under her up-swept hair, and carefully returned her things to their case. Her white painter's smock was already dabbed with streaks of paint, and she turned, motioning to the girls to form a circle around her.

"I have been asked to give you a tour of the different businesses in the town," she started. "Some of you are off-world slaves, some are Elder Baasht's farm slaves, but all of you have either not chosen a suitable field, or have asked to be re-assigned, as I was." She stood, moving to a neighboring mural, and pointing at another. "The first mural is the planet from space. We may disregard this; it is not applicable to our problem."

"The second is the major continent with the perimeter island chains. Here (she tapped the wall) is Island, and where some of you are from."

She moved aside, "Here is our community, Brazos. We claim one hundred kilometers radius from where we sit. This (she tapped a side mural) is North, and the fields, which we have not yet started to develop, this (the center of the three mural group) is our main Island, and this," (the last of the three murals) "is South One and Two, and the South fields, where we are currently working."

"There are common elements," one girl said.

"There are," Cyndi agreed. "Here is the power-dam to our north, and so we may orient things easily, at the bottom of the North mural, the power-dam again. You will notice the piers for our fish-farming operations downstream of the power-dam's water output, for those of you that enjoy the water and swimming, this may be of interest to you. However, you will need to become trained and licensed to operate the underwater equipment, and you would also learn to perform maintenance of our other water-based equipment."

She continued, "The same for South one and two, South one is our transport island, containing the docks, fueling, airstrip and associated buildings and tools. That is where cargo transfers, passengers and mail exchange at the docks along the river's edge of the central, main island here. Master Otto, the large Terran with the white hair has turned the duties of Portmaster to Master Peter Morse and his mate Lisa. They ensure that the docks and so forth are operated lawfully; should you wish to travel, you would buy passage from them, while Master Otto is our Postmaster, in charge of mails and small cargo. Both Master Morse and Master Otto are looking for new girls."

"There are small rivers between the islands," one girl commented, leaning back on her hands.

"There are, and they also have generators, to link into our electric network," Cyndi agreed. "Master Abdullah is our electrician, and is in need of three new girls to train and work with this. It is dangerous work that may kill you in an instant if you are inattentive," she warned.

"What of you, mistress?"

"I originally contracted with Master Rice, our woodworker," Cyndi replied. "I then started to work with Master and Mistress George, our glassmakers, and have made the colored glass signs you see. It is good, creative work, and Mistress L'ani has an old friend, Mistress T'asi, another art-worker, who she has written to come and visit. I am hopeful she will desire to stay, there is enough art work to keep us both busy, and as a separate business." She smiled, "I am hopeful in finding a sculptor, there is a need for a mold-maker. Very delicate carving of a local, very strong wood, but in reverse of the actual item desired. It would be a good addition to the business."

"How, mistress?"

"A mold is used with glass, metal, ceramic and other manufactures," Cyndi replied, and gestured. "You have used drinking glasses at the pub; they each have an Imperial mark certifying it contains one liter of beer; the pub's advertising mark, and the raised area at the bottom, which generate bubbles. Depending on the type of product, there would be an external mold, which would contain the raised lettering on the surface of the glass, and since the glass is flared (she gestured again), an internal mold that the glass is blown _around_." There were 'ahhs' of understanding, and Cyndi continued, "There are also forms to be made to shape wire, like for glass and ceramic container locks, as well as patterns, something the right shape and size, but without the fine detail, used in, oh, forming the metal framework for that beer glass." She clapped her hands, "We shall proceed," and tapped the map. "We are here, at Town Hall, who is also looking for new girls. We shall be taking public transport, please make certain you have a fare-token, and to request today's transfer-token from the driver. First, we shall walk to Master Otto's postal shop, and then to the fish farm piers (she traced the route on the mural). Does anyone need to suction?"

"Ach, it is Fraulein Cyndi and her friends! Welcome, welcome to my small shop!" Herr Otto exclaimed happily. "Come, sit, we shall drink and talk, and hopefully one or two of the frauleins will decide to come stay with Otto and his family!"

"Master, I …"

"Nein, what have I said about the 'master', Cyndi?" the happy German said. "It hurts me in my soul to be called that. Please, call me 'Papa' or if you wish to be formal, 'Herr Otto'. Now, we have several things to do to a letter or package when it arrives at the counter or by one of our frauleins' routes. The _packetboats_ are a different matter; we shall cover shortly. First, we must check the address to see if the correct postage is applied. If not…"

"Oh, I am dizzy…" one girl said, and another added, "I must suction. Let us go to the pub and sit down for a bit."

"What the hell happened to you?" John asked; then added, "Wait. Let me get you all some tea and something to eat."

"Papa Otto," Cyndi said from where her head rested on her arms. She groaned into the table, "I think I only had one of his beers, but he looked so hurt…"

John patted her on the shoulder, "Otto has been drinking strong beer for most of his life, he's built up a tolerance, which you girls haven't. Let me get you some sandwiches and tea; eat it all, it will help absorb the alcohol." He glanced out to sea from where the girls sat on the open-air porch, adding, "The forecast was for intermittent rain all day. Eat, when you feel better you can continue your tour."

"What is this, master?" one of the girls asked as a small bottle was handed to her.

"Aspirin, two tablets each, for the headaches you're having," John replied. "Don't worry about the meal, Otto said he'd cover the cost, and he's apologized." He pulled a chair around to straddle it as one of his girls came by, pouring more ice water and tea, and collecting the plates. "Since Aggie was elected to Town Council, I'm in need of another girl. You saw the work's not hard, so think it over and let me know."

"Please do not distract me, mistress," the girl said as another prepared to climb down a short ladder. "The diver's life is my responsibility while she is underwater. Master William can instruct you on our tasks." The diver waved to them, her collar lights glowing, but she was otherwise naked except for a tool belt and gloves. She took a step back, the coiled umbilical lines moving away from the dock. Cyndi and the others moved away to find Master William.

Master William turned out to be a somewhat scruffy young Terran with a bald spot covered by a well-used maroon ball cap, a bit of a large belly, a thin beard, 'birth control' glasses and wearing the bare necessities (which did not include shoes). He sat on a locker, waving them to 'get comfortable', and said, "We have about a dozen different varieties of Terran freshwater seafood, both fish as you know it, but also crustaceans, like oysters, clams, and this happy fellow." (He picked a good-sized lobster out of a basket.) "This is what's known as a lobster, the edible parts are the large claws he's trying to pinch me with and the thick tail that's curving around. Now, we don't harvest the females, because…"

"You wish to continue to breed them," one of the girls guessed.

"Correct!" Master William said happily. He leaned forward conspiratorially, "To tell the truth, I'm a little jealous of you girls," he said with a smile. "I don't think I'd look half as good as you girls do if I just wore my skin." He sat back with a grin and continued to band the lobsters' claws as one girl said, "This is very hot today. I will cool off." She stripped off her tunic, then slowly rose, paraded a bit, then leaned over from the waist and dunked her tunic, wringing it out and pulling it back on, and tightening her cloth belt before parading back and kneeling, knees wide and back straight, chest out as she bound her hair on her left side. Some of the other girls snickered a bit, as Master William smiled appreciatively. "I am 11319, Master William," she said, breathing deeply.

"Slave, submit to him and let us move on," another girl said. "He is an attractive master, but we do not have time for you to sell yourself today."

"Wait, I'm … you said … attractive?" the poor fellow asked.

"Of course, master," another slave girl said. "You were instructing us on the animals?"

"Err, yes," he said, shaking himself and tearing his eyes away from 11319. She pouted as he continued, "The lobsters are bottom-dwellers, we have other types of fish, including some very large ones, longer than this section of pier," and he gestured. The floating sections were three meters wide by twenty meters long, attached to the bottom with steel tethers attached to screw anchors. They bobbed and twisted in the current from the dam's powerful output jets, which dissipated their force against tall brick columns, the water then moving past a succession of ever-shallower pools and weirs before finally flowing into the main coastal channel where they were. William turned, pointing across the width of the channel, "Here, the water level is only about ten meters, while you can see to the north there, where the girls are screwing in solar powered lights; there are different aquatic plants and algae, which we use for both fish food and as part of the fuel production process." He stopped as 11319 arose from where she knelt, slinking across to where William sat, and sat very close behind him, wrapping her long legs around his waist, wiggling so she was pressed up against his back, her arms crossed and hands loosely gripping his wrists. "Master," she breathed into his ear, "Take this slave; I submit to you. Beat me, bind me, collar me, own me…"

He twisted to look back at her, then said, "Slaves, cuff yourself."

"Yes, master!" 11319 said happily, along with most of the watching girls. The sound of ratcheting cuffs was heard, and then William asked, "Who didn't cuff themselves? Show me your hands, please." Cyndi and two other girls raised their hands, and William sighed. "We're trying to get you to think of yourselves as free women, to think outside your collars. A free girl would have asked me 'Why?' Instead, you reacted as slaves, which admittedly is how you've been raised. It just shows how far we all have to go. I don't want a slave girl, I want a free, thinking woman who can tell me 'No.' I'm not going to go into the term 'Master' she used, or her submittal to me, which I do not accept."

"You do not, Master?" one of the cuffed girls asked.

"No, I find it offensive, but I know that's one of the habits you need to break." He sighed. "You lot know as well as I do that there's what, five or so girls for each guy, and that the group marriage provision passed on the ballot. However, you're still seeing it as one Master and five slaves; we're seeing it as a union of equals." He stood, picking 11319 up and kneeling her on the floating dock. "Listen to me. I am not your boss, your Master or Owner. I'm just a guy, and if a couple of you come to work for me, that would be great. However, there wouldn't be any romantic relationship; it would be a work relationship, strictly professional. Any women I would see, in terms of a personal relationship would need to work for someone else." There was a rumble of distant thunder, and he jerked his head, "Go on, think it over, I need to go get that diver up and secured before the rain comes back."

"Mas… William has given us all a great deal to think on," Cyndi said as she stopped the group on the passenger dock. Thunder rumbled again, and she admitted, "I almost cuffed myself, but I asked myself 'Why would Master William ask this of us?'. We must learn to ask 'Why'; we have heard the Terrans say the only orders we must obey are health and safety, and this situation did not apply. I will think on this, and will not release your cuffs until each of you has considered your own situation and asked me, as a free female, to do so." She regarded one girl in particular, "11319, you …"

"I … yes, I … did not behave well," the girl replied. "I desired him, oh, he was … is … my love-master, and now there is no chance he will have me," the girl said, and knelt, bursting into tears.

"I think he will … " one of the other non-cuffed girls said. "He desires honesty. Go; speak to him not as slave to master, but as a female to her male. Remember not to use the term 'Master', though." The girl's tears hiccupped to a stop, and she smiled, "Thank you, mis… thank you. I shall." She sprang to her feet and ran off through the first droplets of rain that were falling.

"Our next visit is the glassworks," Cyndi said as they waited out a passing thunderstorm under the passenger dock's shelter. "We may wait for the next vehicle, or we may walk. I personally prefer to walk short distances, but be advised that the shop is hot."

"Oh, that is pretty, mistress!" one of the girls said, looking at the ornamental fountain in front of the shop. Water bubbled up in the center, and ran in a fine sheet over illuminated colored glass panels with the words '_George Glassworks_'.

"Thank you," Cyndi replied. "When the planetary network selling-pages are functional, we shall be using that in our advertising." There was a rumble of thunder, and she gestured at the neighboring shops, "The left hand one is our papermaker, the center one is our print-shop. Let us start with glass."

"We produce drinkware and containers," Ellen George told the group. "We have a 'hot side' where the raw materials are mixed and melted together; a 'warm side' where any printing or other final treatments like annealing are done to make the glass strong. The 'cool side' is where inspection and packaging are done."

"You do not do windows, mistress?" one girl asked.

"No, that's a separate process using different and very large machinery. We'll install window glass, but we don't make it. Plate glass is imported from another colony." She smiled, "In addition, Cyndi is making signs, like those you see here, that are lit at night. They have a translucent glass backing and a protective clear front."

"It is enjoyable, and I am starting to turn a profit. It will be better when we can advertise to other colony sites," Cyndi added. "Lamps are another item I am working on." She gestured, "Let us go see paper being made."

"Paper is simply a mat of fibers that have interwoven and dried in place," Mistress Anita, an older Terran told them as they waited out the rain inside her shop. "Paper can, and has, been made out of just about any fiber, what we're doing now is a mixture of two fast-growing grasses, hemp and bamboo. Bamboo is the tall cylindrical plants; hemp is the low shrubs you see. There is also a recreational drug grown from a different species of hemp, which we won't be discussing, or growing." There was a boom of thunder, and she gestured outside. "I harvest the plants, breaking them down by using the hammer mill and then soaking in water. The stems are pulled apart, the fibers put in this oval tank along with various chemicals to mix and pound the fibers." She tapped a circular housing, "In here are wooden paddles, like you see on the paddle boats; that circulate the slurry and mix everything." She moved to the other side, "Here, we take one of these large screens, which is known as A0 size, and dunk it to get an even layer of pulp… Yes, question?"

"Mistress, aren't there machines for all this?"

"There are, but they're continuous, not batch process, and go through millions of tons of pulp a year. We don't have those resources, or the demand, so we're doing it this way, in batches. It's the same thing with envelopes, there's one machine on-planet that makes them, and supplies all of our sub-colonies. That's why you buy franked, or postage pre-paid, envelopes from Herr Otto, and simply put on additional postage stamps if you're sending mail out of town. For fancier printing than what Peter can do next door, like the ballots or carbonless continuous feed…"

"Did I hear my name?"

"Hello, love," Peter moved to Anita and gave her a quick kiss, "My lovely wife and business partner, ladies. I hope you're as lucky as I am."

"Oh, go on with you," Anita said, giving him a gentle push and blushing.

"As you wish, m'dear. I came by to inquire if you had any preferences for dinner tonight. Tina wanted to try her hand at spaghetti again, she's been cruising 'round Supply's herb stock again. I hope she's over the garlic fetish, though." He turned and addressed the girls, "You become part of the family, which means sharing in the chores, which sometimes isn't always … "

"… as successful as it might be," Anita put in diplomatically. "I think I'll do some fish on my turn, while Bev has discovered the joys of a crock-pot. We need to get a larger one…" She shook herself, "Back to papermaking. The frames are large and heavy which is why they're supported, and generally two people handle them. They drain, the water is recycled, and the fresh sheet of paper is stacked and interlaced with these wabbit furs, and pressed to make sure all the water is out. Question?"

"Why not use a smaller size page, mistress?"

"Good question. At roughly 800 by 1200 millimeters, you can get just about any size smaller paper by folding it in half lengthwise. Fold and cut three times, to get A4 paper, which is just right for letters. Now, over here, we've taken that paper, added starches and waxes, and pressed it into a shallow bowl, which goes to Supply for food. Thinner sheets of waxed paper, over there, get used as a seal for canning, or long-term food preservation. Therefore, when the hunters or fish farmers drop off their products, it's cleaned and processed in the back, and packaged in the paper we produce here; so when Tina goes shopping for her spaghetti sauce, that's how she'll buy the materials at Supply."

At the southeastern point of the main Island, there was a larger bus stop, where they waited. One of the girls looked at a plastic-wrapped map stapled to the message board, and turned, her hands still cuffed behind her. "Mistress, we are taking the long way," she asked.

"We are," Cyndi agreed. "It will give us a better view of the settlement. Line up, the vehicle arrives."

"It can be a dirty job sometimes," the driver said as she used a hose to fill water bowls for the pair of hexataurs. "The animals require feeding during the day, they are accustomed to many small meals; and so they are fed and watered at certain points, which they have learned." She took feed from a bin, and placed it along with the water in a small cart, which she wheeled in front of the two mares.

"Why are their hands kept bound, mistress?" one of the girls asked.

"I might ask the same of you, slave," the driver replied. "It keeps them docile, especially now, when they are in their breeding season. These two are judged too young to breed, but not too young to work and their hands are released when they are groomed and replaced in their stalls. We have five routes, although the northern one is not used that often. Three shifts, one from two to ten hours, one from nine to eighteen hours and the third from seventeen to twenty eight. Two of those hours are allocated to preparation for work and taking care of the animals, and we work four days a week; or we will when six more are hired." She studied the two mares, adding, "In addition to taking care of the animals, we must adhere to a schedule. Where are your fare-tokens? You may board, the animals have a few minutes left to eat; and then we depart."

"Greetings, Mistress K'ren," Cyndi said, then blushed. "I must apologize, I did not mean to insult you with the title," she added.

"We all have to work at it," Karen replied, gesturing to the empty seat next to her; then nodded at the cuffed girls. "What's going on?"

"We visited Mas… William at the fish farm, one of the occupations we are viewing for the new girls," Cyndi replied. "As part of making a point, he said, 'Slaves, cuff yourself', and most of the girls did." Cyndi's mouth twisted, "I have promised them they will be released when they have thought through the lesson and request it, I know I shall be considering it as well." She pulled back her blonde hair, "This is not the way to Town Hall," she said.

"No, we're putting in a shoot-house, and as part of my citizen's community service, I'll be one of the ones testing it. We're also looking at producing small, inexpensive weapons for the girls to use, to get used to carrying, and also to sell on Island." She grinned, "I'd like to see the expressions of some of the slave owners on Island when they see armed slaves…" Cyndi considered this for a moment; then laughed.

"Master … William?" the thoroughly rain-soaked girl asked hesitantly as she knelt outside the small wooden shelter. "May I speak to you?"

William looked at the two girls, his diver and her Top, who looked at each other, then moved a few steps away, giving him as much privacy as they could. He gestured the soaking wet girl in, draping a towel around her and starting to release her hands. She twisted, denying him, and stumbling over her words, "Master, I must consider my actions, but I behaved very poorly toward you, and I must apologize." She glanced at the other two girls, "It is no excuse, but I do find you very attractive, as my … my love-master, the master and owner of my heart, and I … "

"I see … no, I don't," he replied. "Why do you want your hands cuffed?"

"A slave is cuffed, but a free female is not," she replied. "I must decide, each of us must decide, mas … William … especially bred slaves like I, bred … (she glanced at the other two girls), if we are truly slave animals as we were raised, and in our hearts, or … (she took a deep breath) … simply collared females." She shook back her wet hair, "As a slave, life is simple, master. We are bound and collared, bought and sold; we obey as our owners wish. It is … easy, master, and what we are accustomed to. Even the worst owners are adapted to, but this, master, the prospect of … of freedom, of … not having that comfort, of … stepping outside the security of the collar. It is frightening, but it is something I must decide, master." She looked at him, "I must decide if I will pursue you, and my heart, which requires that terrifying step outside my collar, or to keep the security of that collar." She looked down at her feet, then up, "I have not explained myself well at all, master."

"I … don't understand the cuffs," he said quietly.

"Mas … William, there is nothing you can do about my collar, I was bred for it, I did not fight it as other slaves did, but should I decide to take that step away from it, you may release my cuffs," she said. "Slaves are cuffed, while free females are not. I will understand if you wish to reject me, but … " (she scuffed a sandal-clad foot on the deck, then looked up), "… but I hope you do not, that you will grant me another … another chance."

"I am not rejecting you," he said slowly. "However, I want you to think on this, and if you decide to come back on … Firsday, I will be happy to see you. However, I am firm; you cannot work for me and be seeing me socially. I also want you to consider the possibility of a group arrangement, as I said, a group of equals, not of one master and five, six, or however many slaves. I think that's necessary for our town, our society, but that's something we can discuss, along with any questions you may have. Is that acceptable?"

"Oh, yes!" she said happily, leaning forward to kiss him, then scampering off, the towel blowing off her still-cuffed arms as she ran down the dock, back into the rainstorm.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, November 3, 2002: 13:21 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 2 Primus, 163, 10:34 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, Benni's Office:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Crap," Benni Castellano said to herself as she reviewed the results of the planetary election. Most of it had gone the way they wanted, but there were several sections that hadn't. She started to look over the different results from the different precincts, and something looked suspicious …

Turning to her phone, she placed a call, and after a moment, it lit up. "Ken Pinkston," the man said, then smiled briefly, "Hello, Benni. Is this business or personal?"

"Business, I'm afraid," she replied. "We need to scramble, use code … (she looked at the clock) … 1113, please." The image fuzzed, then cleared, the picture now had a light blue border with the word 'Scramble' in black, and she sighed, "I need you to put on your FBI hat; I think we've got some election tampering. Have you been looking over the results?"

"I've glanced at them, but I haven't had time to look deeply into them. Why?"

"Well, if I were going to rig an election, I'd do it a different way. Look at some of the results from the Island precincts, especially for the High Town and other Traditionalist strongholds. What I'm concerned about are the security and legal sections of the ballot, 95 through 105, especially the criminal sections 104 and 105."

"Trial and punishment…" he said as he looked it over. "I don't like it, but it passed in a general election … Woah. That's a high approval rate…"

"Compare it to some of the other precincts, even on other parts of Island. Still an approval rate of sixty percent or so, but not in the high nineties, and with about a ten percent rate on our sub-colonies," she said as she looked over the precinct by precinct results. "Look at the voter turnout on those sections the Traditionalists didn't care about, in those precincts. Very low numbers of votes and very high numbers in the sections they cared about. Other Island precincts don't show that, at least I don't see that."

"No… how would you rig it?" he asked.

"I'd vote the graveyard, or buy votes, or print a confusing ballot, or misrepresent the way people had to vote, or rig the computers to give a barely positive vote total, like fifty-two to forty-eight in favor. Not approval in the high ninety percent range. You want my personal opinion?"

"Shoot."

"Whoever decided to rig this wasn't happy with controlling eighty-some percent of the planetary Assembly, he wanted a slam-dunk wipeout; something that would rig things his way and would be difficult for us to reverse. This is also the first time he's rigged an election, I think. He probably never needed to before; he doesn't know how to be subtle." She took a sip of tea, "In his place, since I couldn't disenfranchise the slaves or the peasants, I'd either block them from voting, or give out biased 'sample ballots', but the easiest method would still be to simply steal a bunch of ballots. You get some of those slaves marking ballots on just those sections for twenty hours a day, let some of your employees in to vote the other sections…" She shrugged. "Think there's enough probable cause for an investigation?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll fax over a formal letter as soon as I get off the phone, but if you could send out an email to the different law enforcement offices asking them to hold off on arresting the girls wearing judicial collars? There's no need to send them to the slave house for Enhancement, say 'pending investigation and judicial review'. If we get a judge to invalidate those sections, we'll need to hold another election, but that's about the only way we can block this I see short of having Miss Wayne as the Empress declare the whole thing null and void."

"Done. Let me know if you need something."

Sgt. Ross turned as the impact printer started to whir, and the machine-gun rattle started up. He waited, walking over to refill his mug of tea as it printed; then fell silent as the page advanced. He took a few steps to the machine, flipping up the page; reading it and grunting.

Later that afternoon, he settled back and watched as the twenty or so girls in the colony wearing judicial collars joined him on the open-air porch of John's pub. L'ani watched with disapproval; despite her own collar, the former Black had grown up in a slave-holding society and firmly believed not only that 'slaves were slaves' but that harsh discipline, what she called 'being firm, not weak' was required. It was something that Jamie was working on with her.

The girls were somewhat wary, they had seen the election results and knew that as 'criminals' they were supposed to be shipped out for Enhancement. Another few girls joined them; these were the three or so in the colony that were already Enhanced; as well as several of their 'parents'. They were watching from the back, wary and arms crossed.

"Thank you all for coming," Jamie started. "I'll get right to the point. You've seen the results of the election, and the results of several sections, and the national referenda. I got a fax a few hours ago from Governor Castellano, who said, and I quote (he held up the printout), '_Please defer all arrests and confinements regarding Sections 95 through 105, and federal Questions C, D, and E. There are ongoing investigations and possible judicial review. Please ensure that all voting records remain intact for a possible recount_.' He handed it to the nearest girl as L'ani snorted in disgust and stalked off. He watched her go, adding, "Therefore, nobody's going anywhere. However, I must remind you that whatever our, or my, personal opinion, I am sworn to uphold the law, just as we are also sworn to obey it."

He glanced around; then took off his sombrero, putting it upside down on the deck, and tossing his badge and ID inside. "That being said, Sergeant Ross has left, and Jamie Ross, your neighbor, is now here. People, I took a look at the election web page, and several things jumped out at me. Some of the results smell to high heaven, and if it were my jurisdiction, I'd sure as hell be sticking my long pointed nose into it. I did some calling around, and we've got some of the guys in Riverside from the FBI as well as a bunch of other cops looking into it. The problem is what we do about those items on the ballot. We may need to hold another election, we may need to actually follow through and send these girls off for Enhancement." There was an angry babble, and he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, sharply. "Like I said, we just don't know yet. I'm putting it out as a possibility. The election's only what, a day or so old?"

"Lawsuit's another possibility," Anita Ito said thoughtfully. "Class action suit, maybe. I don't think Governor Castellano or Governor Sullivan will be too pleased with these results, but we may need to have one girl be arrested and Enhanced to provide that plaintiff for a tort case."

"You would need one slave to be processed to… what, mistress?"

"We would need an injured party to represent all the other girls," Anita replied. "Physically, does Enhancement hurt? What are the effects?"

"If not done properly, mistress, it … itches, under the skin, and we must wear the disk on our temple, and we are forced to say 'master' and 'mistress'," she replied.

Jamie raised a hand, "A couple of other things for consideration. Like I've said, I've talked to some of the cops in Riverside, and what they've told me, off the record, boils down to this. On one side, it would be done by the Slave Control Agency, a part of the Ministry of Commerce, both of which are almost entirely run by slaves; who have a few free people in their offices on Island, on the High Street. Second, they tell me they are planning on doing this on the Farm, which has been remodeled to some extent with better lighting, ventilation, and so forth to make it a planetary immigration point. That's Questions C and D, by the way, about the planetary slave house, which passed. Third, as I said, it's being run by slaves, 'as it should be run' (he finger-quoted), so the sadists and torture are gone. There are still cells, but from what I hear from people that have been there, it's clean and well-run." He looked around, "Fourth, the units they are installing, sometimes as an upgrade to an existing installation, are the latest model control board, and that they are also installing other implants for vision, hearing, and smell."

He took a swallow of tea. "On the other hand, instead of a disk on the temple, this uses a small programming module that clips on the back of the girl's collar. The Agency keeps that, along with her control chip, and the Slave Control Agency may be run by slaves, but my information is they're turning into true empire building bureaucrats."

"Why is that?" Anita asked.

"Now, remember, this is Riverside office scuttlebutt, from their rumor mill, but I've heard it from several sources, and I did some poking around in 'preparation' (he finger-quoted again) for this." People nodded, and he continued, "First, planetary population right now is about two hundred ten thousand, of which thirty five thousand are male, and seventy five thousand are both local and imported slave girls." People nodded, and he took another gulp of tea; then continued, "That leaves one hundred thousand free women. Now, Castellano seems okay for ex-Mafia, at least Wayne and Morton trust her; Wayne and Castellano are from Gotham, and Morton is a rather cynical type. Sullivan was an Enhanced slave herself, but I don't think either of them knows that the SCA has on order a total of one hundred eighty thousand Enhancement kits, two dozen collaring stations, and fifty med tanks, in addition to other hardware, like monitoring gear." He sat back and took a long draw on his beer, "You folks can add as well as I can, and my buddy has a young wife and teenage daughter. I pointed this out to him, and he said a few nasty words."

"So … what do we do?" Chuck Rice asked. "Sure as hell my women aren't going to stick their necks into one of those things. They'll have to get past me, first."

"Right next to you, bro," Bob Jourdain said, and there was a murmur of agreement. Jamie held up his hand, "Guys, first, we don't have enough information, and before we go kicking off anything violent, let's try peaceful and orderly, not to mention _lawful_." He took a long, measured look; then added, "Remember, one of the things that did pass was a change of ownership. All of those 'slaves' (he finger-quoted) would be 'owned' by the government in Riverside, until they complete their contracts and get their dark collars."

"We would still be _in_ those collars, master, without a way to remove them," Nicole spoke up. "We have enough experience with our owners lying to us not to believe in something until it actually happens." She gestured at the town, "For now, I grant that Terrans are keeping their word to us, but that is _here_. It has gained you some trust, but we have no real experience with the people in Riverside, or the Slave Control Agency, and from what the local slaves say, most free females are typical _Owners_ and _Mistresses_."

"Like Mistress L'ani," another girl said. "She is an _Owner_; I would like to teach her the collar she wears."

"People, let's not go there," Jamie said, raising his hand again. "Has everyone seen that fax?" It was passed back to him, and he continued, "One other thing to consider about this new Enhancement board, the default programming of the new boards, instead of just 'master' its now 'this slave' and 'my master'." He let them think this over; then added, "Like I said, it looks to me like the Agency wants not only every local and off-world slave girl Enhanced and in a galactic collar and belt, but the free women as well, and it seems like that would go right up the Traditionalists' alley; but that's my opinion."

"I think … " Anita said, "… that we might need to have a volunteer plaintiff or two, one that's already Enhanced, and one that's not. What we need to find out what control we have on what's installed and what programming options we would have."

"Mistress, if you need a volunteer, I will do so," one of the already – Enhanced girls said. "As I said, it would not be a major change for me, and if it will repair the constant itching, it will be good." Anita asked her 'daughter', "Why didn't you say something before now?"

"You could not have done anything, mistress," she replied. "I will request that the forced speech be disabled; if possible, it is most annoying. Who will be the other volunteer?"

"I think we can wait on this until we get more information," Anita decided. "Jamie, thank you for telling us this; I would assume that other meetings like this are taking place in all our colonies."

"Safe assumption," he agreed as the meeting broke up.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, November 3, 2002: 20:37 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Gryffindor table:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Arthur's laptop 'binged', and he switched over to his email program; "Good, a letter from Elena," he said. Mattie looked up, "Let me know if there's anything interesting, but I've got to finish this Charms essay," she replied.

"You don't have that done?" Amanda asked from the depths of her own Religion homework.

"I've had a few other things on my plate."

"Okay…" Mattie said, pushing away from the rapid typing on her laptop. "Charms is sent off, I can look at some of my mail. Arthur, was there anything interesting from Elena?"

"She's worried about Dad, and some of the provisions on the ballot we didn't like got passed," he replied, taking an apple from the fruit bowl and biting into it. "Some of them I don't like, but I can see the logic of them, so I'm … meh … (he waggled a hand). Aside from that, she's in Qing, the original Landing site, and there's some snow on the ground and ice in the river; not much, a couple inches at most. There's talk of a football league between the different locations."

"With some gambling going on, I'm sure."

"Well, yeah. They've already got Tonton and various card games going, Elena won a kilo at Tonton; she was _very_ pleased at that, and went on for five or six paragraphs about the game."

"You still prefer euchre, though," his almost-wife said. "Play to your strengths, dear, and say 'Hi' to Elena from me. Hopefully I'll see her at Christmas." Across the Great Hall, they could hear Bill's laugh (he was sitting at the Slytherin table with his own study group). She cracked her knuckles, "Now, I'm caught up through Thursday, so my question is to work on a Citizenship paper that I'm blocked on, or some of my email?"

"A knut on the email," Sprink offered.

"No bet," Shaundra Cortez said.

"Email from Benni, just a short one," she said to Arthur. "Some of the ballot results look suspicious, enough for probable cause, so some of the cops in Riverside are looking into it. She called it an 'inept, unsubtle attempt at election-rigging'.

"Y' wonder about some of these Traditionalist blokes," Sprink said, peeling an orange with her thumbnail. "Are they all that barmy?"

"They've never had anything other than internal threats," Mattie replied. "They've never had to face an external," and Sprink said, "Ah…" and went back to her orange. Felicia looked over, "Meaning what?"

"Gryff," Sprink said with a grin as she bit into her orange. She swallowed and mopped her fingers with her napkin, "You wouldn't survive in Slytherin. In the political fighting we do; there are internal and external threats. In this case, these blokes are used to fighting their competition and taking care of their juniors who are trying to move up the ladder. However, they're not used to a threat to their power base from outside, which is what we represent to them, so they're using internal tactics against an external threat." She took another bite, "Totally wrong." She chewed, then took another bite, "I 'member what Auntie Bella was saying about the competition inside the Death Eaters."

"Oh, yeah," Mattie agreed. "Now Ginny Potter would have made a good Slythie, I wonder why she didn't."

"'Prolly Molly would have torn her head off, a Weasley in Slytherin?" Sprink replied. "Like Granger in Ravenclaw, she's a much better fit there."

"I'll agree with that, I know Professor Flitwick speculated about that," Roshawn put in. "Wasn't there a Weasley in Slytherin?"

"Mafalda, a cousin," Sprink replied. "She was pretty much disowned by the Weasleys, an' killed by someone. Prolly why Ginny didn't go Slythie, she an' her family are really tight, an' Ron has never liked Slythies. You can see it now when you go to the Twins' shop, he kinda scrunches his nose, like my gold's got an odour to it or somethin'."

"But that's Ron, not the rest of the Weasleys," Mattie said. "Percy might have made a good 'Puff, but he's too much of a brown nose."

"As a Huffie, I resemble that remark," Arthur commented mildly. "Not that I haven't heard Professor Sprout say the same thing."

"The gossip in the staff room must be interesting," Amanda commented.

"Some of it," Arthur agreed. "Isn't Charlie Weasley dating someone in the Alley?"

"Jim Tickes, the clocksmith," Sprink replied. "He's also working on his fourth book on dragons, I think. I don't know if he's gotten a ring on her finger, he's almost as bad as Lupin was. Still, my sister finally got a ring on her finger; now all she's got to do is to drag him up in front of the priest."

"Hmm," Arthur mused, glancing toward the High Table; then looking away. Mattie noticed that his eyes were on where Professor Snape usually sat. She smiled to herself and waited until he had his tea to his mouth, "Thinking about our wedding, dear?" she asked. "How about St. Basil's in Moscow? Beautiful old Eastern Orthodox in the snow…"

He coughed and spluttered, then mopped tea with his napkin. "Snow? In a _Moscow_ winter? No, as I think I said, I much prefer the traditional approach, a ladder and Vegas…"

"Not your call, mate," Charlie said. "We just have to pay for it, not design the bloody thing."

"Be glad," Sprink said. "Planning a wedding is a pain in the arse. I've never been to Vegas…"

"Can anyone loan me a few quid for a ring?" Charlie asked. "Pay y' back, I swear." Mattie held up a pair of golden galleons, "Who's best at transfig?" Felicia waggled her fingers, and shortly had a couple of plain gold bands. "Don't forget the resizing charms," Amanda said, waving her wand over the rings.

"Bit plain," Arthur commented, and concentrated, giving the two rings an intricate knotwork pattern.

"Thanks, guys," Charlie said, and picked one up, "Um, Sprink, would you…"

"_**YES**_!" she screamed.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, November 4, 2002: 16:32 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 3 Primus, 163, 07:47 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, outside West Port:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Finally," S'rat said from the top deck of the shonnen transport as it crested a short hill and West Port was revealed. The slave who drove the vehicle turned, "Mistress, it will be several more minutes before we reach the transport stop."

"I will have to endure," S'rat sighed, and looked back at the luggage cart towed behind the vehicle. It carried several caged slaves, and leashed to walk behind it were several other slaves, including her personal slave. She smiled to herself, thinking back to the scene in her cabin aboard _Taalah_…

"… but my mistress _must_!" S'ana said. "My mistress is no longer slave; my mistress is a free female, holding both Spacer's Guild and Slaver's Guild standing. My mistress _cannot_ be seen in a simple tunic, no matter how comfortable, it is simply not _right_!"

"My mistress represents _Taalah_ to my Master Bill," Second Girl F'ala added. "In order to achieve what _Taalah_ needs, my mistress must use all the tools at hand. My Master Bill is a male, and will respond to my mistress IF my mistress presents my mistress S'rat as such. My Master Bill's emotions will partially override my master's logic, it is the case with males the galaxy over."

"And you used that on me," S'rat replied.

"Yes, my mistress," S'ana replied. "Had my mistress been born female, we would have used different tactics on my mistress. Now, my mistress is still thinking as a male, so this slave approaches my mistress as a male."

"A deception …" S'rat mused. "I am not happy with this, but proceed. However, you, S'ana, will accompany me as my personal slave." She tilted her nose up, "A free female with standing in not only one, but two Guilds cannot be bothered by minor things like her bags and clothing. That is why she has a slave to attend to these details. You will arrange suitable clothing and equipment for me."

"But my mistress, this slave …" S'ana had trailed off there. "Yes, my mistress. This slave obeys."

Now, S'rat watched the slow progress of the large beasts as they headed into the busy port, adjusting her lightweight traveling cloak, then turned to regard her bags on the cart, and S'ana, cuffed, leashed and walking behind, a tight gag locked on her, wearing only her collar, leash and slave belt. '_I can't have my slave getting her tunic dirty with road dust_,' S'rat thought, enjoying her minor revenge on S'ana and F'ala. '_I hope she has suitable accommodations arranged with Riverside_,' she mused. '_If I have to seem a free female, someone else needs to suffer along with me_.'

"You have confirmation of our quarters, slave?" S'rat asked quietly from her comfortable seat on the top deck as the passenger vessel pulled away from the dock. She watched the large red paddles stop, then reverse direction with a spray of water as S'ana whimpered once through her gag. Her slave knelt next to her; and S'rat motioned, "Go, see if you can catch some of the water's spray. You are dirty and stink, slave."

"These are the best accommodations in the city," the girl replied from behind the hotel's desk. She covertly eyed S'rat's traveling cloak, the black of the Spacer's Guild with yellow embroidered cuffs and whip from the Slaver's, and checked her computer terminal, "Governor Morton's office called, he needs to reschedule his appointment to next day at the same time, and offers his apologies. Shall I confirm this with his office for you, and adjust your reservation's ending date?"

"Confirm the appointment, and leave the reservation's ending open," S'rat decided. "My slave will contact you with any changes, slave."

"I am a free female, as you are," the girl replied, tapping her dark collar. S'rat eyed her; then nodded, "So you are; you have my apologies." The girl nodded as she tapped at her computer; after a minute she said, "The Governor's office has sent an acknowledgement. You are in room 1240, top floor, to the right when you exit the lift. The restaurant is open; will you be keeping your slave with you in the room?"

"How else would she attend me?" S'rat asked in surprise.

"Thank the Source…" S'rat said when she was in her room, with the door firmly locked. She strolled to the windows, jerking open the long cloths that covered them, and gazing out at the large brown river flowing past. She fumbled with the door latch, sliding it open and stepping out on a balcony, then looking left to see the city spread out before her. She grunted, then turned, re-entering the room and sliding the door shut. Nodding in approval, her slave S'ana had started to put her clothing away. She started to strip, dropping her clothes on the floor, "Slave, I will take a sonic shower; then you will assist me in dressing for dinner." S'ana whimpered once; then tapped her gag. "Not yet. While I am eating, you will replicate suitable food for a gagged slave; you may then take a sonic shower and confine yourself. I am the free female, you are the slave, and if I have to suffer and wear uncomfortable clothing and behave un-naturally, you will also suffer, as it was your idea."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, November 5, 2002: 11:11 (GMT)  
Terra, West Midlands, Safehouse # 3:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Well, here we are, Madame Tsien," her driver said as he stopped the car. He opened the car door for her, and then the house door. An older lady poked her head out of the kitchen, "Hello, dearie! I'm Mrs. Wouk; I understand you'll be staying with us for a while."

"Yes, I will," Wai Tsien replied. "I'm still not sure… "

"Sit down and have elevenses, dearie, and we'll sort it out. I'm a retired nurse, so I'll be keeping an eye on your bandage (Wai's hand went to her neck.), and my husband Roger is semi-retired, he's seeing an old friend that asked him to pop round."

Wai found herself sitting in the compact but warm kitchen, a steaming teacup in her hand, and relaxing a bit. "By the by, dearie," Mrs. Wouk added, passing her a plate of fresh biscuits and pots of fresh butter and homemade marmalade, "I was told your husband and son were successfully extracted from China. They should be here in a few days."

"Oh, thank God," Wai said, putting her head back in relief. She eyed Mrs. Wouk's eyebrow, "I'm actually a believer, although that wasn't easy in a communist state. I'd like to see a priest, though. What's next?"

"You rest and relax, dearie. There will be people to talk to you. Then, once your husband and son arrive, you decide what to do. I do understand that dear Miss Wayne has offered relocation off planet to the three of you."

"Yes … I'll have to write her a note to thank her. I no longer have to make excuses for those Politburo idiots in Beijing. They have very little connection with the real world; they're too insulated by their staffers." Wai said as she separated a biscuit in half and taking a nibble. "Oh, these are good! I can feel the kilos adding on, but right now, I don't care."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, November 6, 2002: 01:45 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 4 Primus, 163, 12:00 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Bill's office:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Bill Morton, acting Lt. Governor, keyed his intercom, "Yes?"

"Master, Mistress S'rat is here to see you regarding the _Taalah_," the girl in his outer office said.

"Send her in, please," and the inner door opened as he stood. An absolutely stunning young woman with dark, curly hair extending to her mid-thigh entered, dressed in what looked like short-skirted business wear, lightweight black over-cloak with yellow embroidery and highly polished boots. There was a dark collar on her neck; following her was a dark haired slave in a fresh white tunic carrying a PADD and a small case. She knelt behind and to the girl's left as she seated herself at Bill's gesture as the outer-office girl silently closed the door.

"Well, S'rat…" Bill started, and looked at the slave as she handed her mistress her PADD at her gesture. "I am Bill. You will recall how we Terrans don't like … (he looked at the slave) … the use of slaves. This is S'ana?" The slave nodded, and S'rat made a small gesture. "I required a personal slave on my journey. She is irrelevant. What we need to discuss…"

"We need to discuss, first of all, the fact that the slaves on board the _Taalah_ should have been offered their freedom and a Guild-standard contract. Was this done, S'ana?"

"SHE is a slave!"

"As I recall, YOU wanted to cross your wrists to the _Taalah_," Bill shot back. "Now, was this offered to the crew slaves on the _Taalah_ or not?"

"It was…"

"I asked S'ana," Bill said firmly. "Was this offered?" The dark-haired slave nodded, and gestured to her mistress' PADD. Bill grunted and settled back. "Good. I presume that's in the report you've got for me." He opened a drawer and extracted a small chip folio, "Registration, permits, and other paperwork for the _Taalah_. They'll need to be installed by the Engineer." He set it aside, away from S'rat. "S'ana, why haven't you said anything?"

"I've disabled her voice, I prefer her this way, a mild punishment."

"I see. Slave S'ana; enable voice." She cleared her throat as Bill said, "In this office, S'rat, you must remember that slaves can speak their minds without punishment, and that applies to the _Taalah_ as well. I want to hear what she has to say, and I believe my son talked to you about 'shooting the messenger'?"

"Yes, my Master Bill," S'ana replied. "Please forgive my Mistress S'rat, my master."

"Yes, Enhancement, let's start with that. I want absolutely minimal effect on the girl from her Enhancement; we'll start with S'ana here. I presume her programming module is in the case?"

"Now then, are we clear on Enhancement?" Bill said as S'rat's programming module was disconnected. "If it keeps her alive, it stays. Otherwise it's disabled."

"Yes, sir," S'ana said, rolling her head side to side. She smiled, "I thank you; it is a relief."

"Good," Bill replied, coiling up the cable and returning it to the case. "Next item?"

"The matter of Jaalal, sir," S'rat said, offering a small chip clip. "He tried to steal _Taalah_ and his slaves. We did a ship's trial, at which he was allowed to speak." She gestured, "Biosculpt and Enhancement…" she stopped as Bill held up a hand, watching and listening to the recording.

It wasn't a long one, and he sat back in his chair, thinking. "He's already collared and Enhanced?"

"The new female slave is, yes, sir," S'rat replied, somewhat nervously. "We used bio-sculpt so she might sell for a good price."

Bill sighed, "He was allowed to speak for himself, and while I wonder why he did something that stupid…" He waved that off, "While I'm not happy with his collaring and all the rest, I concede that you've given him as fair a trial as he could have asked for. However, we're not in the business of selling slaves." He swiveled back and forth in his chair as he thought, the two girls waited in rather nervous silence. "All right. When you go to Tosul to get your various certifications up to date, along with those for _Taalah_, you'll take her along, get hers done too. I'm going to see if one of the Terran companies can use her on Tosul, they're looking at buying a shipbuilding company, so … what's her name?"

"She is not named, sir," S'rat replied. "However, she wears _Taalah's_ collar, and thus Master Arthur's."

"For now, she's … J'lal, then. Keep her ignorant, for now, she's low girl on _Taalah_. I'll have to make arrangements for her on Tosul," He raised a finger, "Just because she's now low girl doesn't mean mistreatment. Strict, yes, she tried to steal the ship. S'ana, I know you don't like her, but if she spends anything more than a day in sickbay I'm going to match her treatment with yours." The girl swallowed, "Yes, master."

"S'rat, the girl is S'ana's responsibility as First Girl." The free female nodded, as Bill tapped the chip folio on his desk, continuing, "Now, these chips contain re-registration to Windfall, a letter from the Windfall system government, chartering _Taalah_ as a system supply ship. They also present a Letter of Marque, properly certified by Lantern Bank, which enables you to carry the illegal equipment that's installed. Lastly, there is a ship's account set up with Lantern Bank." He smiled, "You're going legal, ladies."

"Master Bill, I must ask if this has the approval of our Owner, Master Arthur," S'ana said.

"It does," Bill said. "He was wondering how to pay for the operational costs, this solves the problem." He tented his fingers, "Now, once our incoming ships arrive in a few days, I'm going to return this office to Governor Sullivan and return to Earth, to Terra, along with my daughter. I'll take _Taalah_ and do a quick stopover at Tosul. You see, a major religious holiday, called 'Christmas' is coming up, and it's a family time, so I want to be home."

"Ah, I understand," S'ana said. "What of _Taalah_?"

"We'll go on to Terra; we need to have some equipment installed. Communication gear, but that's all I know. We'll be taking aboard at least an experienced Captain and a communication specialist, and at that point any of _Taalah's_ crew slaves that want to leave the ship may." He regarded the two women, "S'ana, I believe Arthur discussed the _Scythe_ and the hotel slaves with you?" She nodded.

"S'rat, you wanted to serve on board the _Taalah_, I have a different way for you to do so, one that requires not only a free person, but one with a dark collar." He tented his fingers, "If you want to leave the First Officer's slot in S'ana's hands, and just stay as Helm and Navigation officer, that's fine. However, what we need is not only a free person; but also one that's gotten her dark collar on a ship or planet that practices slavery. I believe you also have Slaver's Guild ratings?"

"Basic ones, master."

Bill nodded. "Good. S'ana will fill you in, but for legal reasons, Terrans can't buy, sell, or own slaves for more than thirty days. However, having been freed on a non-Terran ship, you don't qualify. Have you heard of hotel slaves?"

"I see…" S'rat said, crossing her legs and bouncing one booted foot. She glanced at S'ana, "And what of her?"

"S'ana is an experienced slaver who does not want to leave her collar, for what will remain her own reasons," Bill replied. "That's her decision; I would expect the two of you to come up with a better reason for buying the hotel girls, one that would make sense to a slaver other than the _Scythe's_ religious pretext. In support of this mission, if she needs something like a dark or removable collar, I expect her to get what she needs. Aside from that, you'll be hauling cargo we need on the planet; you'll have an adequate supply of tungsten for that. However, the Owner's Wand stays here, you'll report to Governor Castellano when you're on-planet. The _Scythe_ will have other duties." He tented his fingers, "S'rat, S'ana and the other girls are your shipmates. Yes, they may be collared, but I expect treatment as professional colleagues, not as slaves. Are we clear on that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. First mission;" and he pushed the chip folio over to S'rat. "Call the ship; you're going to move the remainder of the slaves from the intake center here to the Farm. We're going to be using it as the on-planet slave house our licenses require, and I want the two of you to let me know the minimum legal way we can do that. Also, if you know of a slave house on Tosul that treats slaves decently, but is also discreet and can license us; let me know as quickly as possible. Another thing…"

His intercom buzzed, "Master, your next appointment is waiting."

"Give me five minutes," he replied, and stood. "I want to hear from you in a day or so. Is there anything that can't wait?"

The two women looked at each other and stood, "No, sir," S'rat replied, and S'ana smiled at Bill, then took up her PADD and case, moving into position behind the other girl, "Please precede this slave, my mistress."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, November 6, 2002: 02:25 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 4 Primus, 163, 12:40 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, government complex:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"The slaves you requested are here, masters," Tom's secretary said, and George stood with a grunt, opening the door and saying, "I'll get them." In a minute, he was back with a pair of hooded cat-girl slaves he lead in with their leashes. He closed the door and waved his hand at it, pushing one slave toward Tom while enfolding the other girl in a hug. "Oh Marie…" he said softly, and she tried to hug him back with her chin, her ankle chains rustling while her arms flexed in her cuffs behind her.

Tom waved his wand, warding the door and casting silencing charms, then crushing Eleanor into a hug. Her head moved, her fingers flexing behind her in her cuffs, and she tried to press close to him. "How are you, really?" he asked, and her head nodded, then rocked side to side. "Oh, sorry," he said, then "Slaves, enable voice."

"Can we get these things off them?" George asked, and Tom turned Marie around. "No keys for the hoods, and we'd have to reinstall the gags." Both girls shuddered and shook their heads, whimpering twice. "Both have this kind of vertical cylindrical lock on the back of the hoods, as well as a metal seal that's pressed onto some steel wire and run through grommets," he replied, describing it for the girls. "As far as your hands, that's more do-able. Really heavy, thick cuffs above your elbows and on your wrists, above and below the cage thing Cuthbert installed. Maybe a centimeter thick, a really heavy lock. Let me…" he worked his wand. "Spring loaded, it looks like. George, let me try again, hold the hasp open, please."

"Just do one, so we'll be sure to get them back on correctly," George said. Eleanor whimpered; then rubbed her wrist, feeling the thickness of the metal, then pulling at the still-locked one. "Let me loosen that one," Tom said, before moving on to Marie.

"Here's where we stand," Tom said. "First, we both volunteered to help interview the girls in your graduating class, although how we're supposed to do that with you lot gagged and hooded, I don't know. That means we don't have a lot of time before we turn you back in and go to the next girls."

The two nodded from where they knelt, and he continued. "Second, there were several provisions in the new planetary basic law which applied to all slaves, and especially to all girls in judicial collars like you two. It requires Enhancement, and scuttlebutt around the building has the SCA slaves looking to add all slaves to that, and then all females, planet-wide. In support of that, they've ordered a bunch of Enhancement kits and other hardware."

"Nearly two hundred thousand," George added. "They're empire-building. We also don't know where your programming modules or control chips are kept. Somewhere in their offices here, we assume, and secured, as those are proof of ownership of a slave. For now, legally you belong to the government of Windfall. We could get you to a slaver machine, but without the original control chips, we can't make duplicate modules or recollar you to neutralize these."

"That would also constitute slave theft," Tom the Mountie added. "So what we're going to do is to put on your interview forms minimal settings for your Enhancement. If it doesn't keep you alive, turn it off, and when they reprogram you, let us know how far they take you, in terms of time, if it's a ten minute walk or you're shipped across the planet. That should be the last time they open the safe to pull out your modules, and we can go from there. We're also going to put on there your duty assignments of the greenhouses here in Riverside, and also have that as your assigned quarters." Tom put a pencil in each girl's hand, resting them on legal pads; then said, "Questions?"

'_Dark collars_?' Marie wrote, and Eleanor wrote '_Our freedom_?'

"Okay, both of you asked about your collars," George said. "Two problems there; one, you know you're in judicial collars, two, you need to complete an apprenticeship to demonstrate you're ready for your freedom. Second one first, Cuthbert's got you set up with a beer-brewing apprenticeship, which is one of the shorter ones, only two years or sixteen months. You brew a good batch of beer, which is your cover anyway, the judges go 'Yum, yum, good' and that's done." The girls nodded.

"That's also set up for the incoming witches you're going to work with," Tom said. "The other problem is your judicial collars. Normally you could petition for a common collar once you've completed your apprenticeship, and the only shorter one is baking, fourteen months. However, you're in judicial collars for unspecified reasons in the first place, and the new planetary constitution, which wants to keep you in them. In addition, a lot of the local judges figure 'Once a slave, forever a slave.'" The girls' shoulders slumped, and Tom added, "Hey, don't assume. Let's get you out of those hoods first and into the greenhouses. We'll solve the other problems as they come up."

Eleanor pounded the ground with her small fist; then wrote '_Our families_?_ Our kit_?'

"We've got your stuff," George said. "Including your laptops, and your old and new wands. Clothing is a different story, if you're slaves, you can't wear the clothing of a free girl."

"Besides, you look cute in those smocks," Tom said, and Marie tried to orient on him, flipping the bird. She pulled at her hood, running her fingers over the locks; then groped for her pad and pencil again. Tom put her hands on them, and she wrote, '_Assholes, you try wearing all this crap. Love you both. Write our families, please. What's the date_?'

"I'll forgive you," Tom said, adding to Eleanor "Marie called us both assholes and said we should 'try wearing all this crap'. She also said she loved us and asked the date, and we'll write your families tonight. On planet, it's the fourth of Primus, on Earth November sixth."

'_Well, she's right, you're male pigs, but we love you, so we'll forgive you. She's right about wearing this bloody kit, I'd like to tear it all off, but the collar would kill me_,' Eleanor wrote. '_Somewhat blows the hols, I must say. Anything can be done with Mattie_ (scratched out) _Ms. Wayne_?' George chuckled as he read this to Marie; then said, "I don't know. Do you want your folks to see you like cat-girls?"

'_Slaves, you mean? I'm sure they know it by now_,' Marie wrote. '_It wouldn't be easy, but it could be done. It needs to be done. Does the slave 11462 have an email account_?'

"If she doesn't, she will," George said, reading this aloud. "I'll set an initial password for you as 'catgirl' and then your slave number, so Marie would be '_catgirl11462_'. You can change it after that." The two girls nodded, and Tom's secretary buzzed him, "Master, the next slaves are waiting."

"Five minutes," he answered her, and Eleanor rolled her shoulders, flexing her arms, then pulled her shoulders back, clicking her lower arms back in her cuffs. Her fingers found the open cuff, latching it in place on her wrist as George clicked her elbow cuffs. Marie tapped her throat, making a cut-off gesture, then followed suit. Tom said, "Slaves, disable voice," then "Sorry about that." Marie nodded once; then stood, waiting as Tom dropped the spells on the door.

His intercom buzzed, "The slave you requested is here, master," and Walter toggled it to reply. "Good, bring her in please, and close the door." His office girl knocked once; then brought in a rather petite slave, who she quickly shackled into a hanging frame. "Leave us, please." The door closed and he cast wards on the door; then turned to regard the girl. Her wrists had been cuffed to a hanging bar; her feet were separated and locked; shoulder width apart. She wore a heavy black hood, a thin white slave tunic that barely covered her black steel slave belt, showing the penalty brands on her left thigh. She moved her head and wiggled her fingers toward her head.

"Ah. Slave, enable voice," Walter said, then added, "You are, my dear girl, in what we call a sticky situation. Not only are you a slave girl, you wear penalty brands and a judicial collar; and you are Enhanced. As an illegally-imported slave, you have been registered and confiscated by the system government, which is your new owner, and the Imperial Exchequer will be expecting a tax return from you." The girl whimpered, and Walter chuckled, "Unfortunately, your collar does not provide an escape from the tax man." The girl sighed, nodding and giving a small whimper.

"However, that is not your immediate problem, my little slave girl. You've been burned as a spy for a foreign government." The girl's shoulders slumped, and Walter 'tisked', waiting a bit, continuing to play the psychological game. By continually referring to her as a slave, and leaving her bound, he was removing her psychological supports. "Now, I'm certain you are aware of the old maxim that it's always easier to deal with the spies you know of. With your cooperation, my dear little slave girl, you can not only survive, but prosper." There was a questioning noise, and the girl moved her hooded head; then pulled at her shackled wrists, making a writing gesture with her right hand.

"Looking at your intake centre photo, I am guessing an Asian country, perhaps Red China?" The girl snorted, shaking her head and whimpering twice, repeating her writing gesture. "Very well," Walter said, getting up and strolling over to her. He had neglected to inform the girl he was a wizard, and now, looking at the complex locks she wore on her hood, he was glad of it. "I regret to say I have no keys for your hood, my dear little slave girl. However, I can manage a pencil and paper. Are we in agreement?" She nodded, and he stepped on the pedal to release her ankles.

"Now then, to business, my dear little slave girl," Walter said. "I am certain you would much prefer something pleasant than something unpleasant…" and the girl nodded vigorously, whimpering once. "Very well, we shall keep this civilized. Please jot down your name and associated agency, if you would be so kind." The girl nodded, writing '_Sgt. Sean Camanetti, USMC, known as 'Cam._'

"My, my," Walter said. "I assume with the US Government and our friends in the CIA?"

'_Known as the 'Christians In Action'_? she wrote. '_Yes, TDY. Damnit_.'

"Now, now, that isn't ladylike," Walter said with a chuckle, and the girl snorted. "What was your mission? If we have an agreement, I assume."

'_I agree. How'd I get burned? I don't want to be tortured or chained with other slaves, pulling a fucking plow. I was supposed to set up courier networks; other agents would be dropped in later_.'

"Something you won't repeat home, but it was not your fault," Walter said, and the girl nodded. "When you were dropped in the med-tank after your Enhancement surgery, it registered you as a Terran genotype. From there, it was only a database search; you popped up with others in a similar situation."

'_What, others here covered as slaves? I doubt you'd tell me how many_.'

'Yes, and of course not." The girl nodded; then tilted her head. '_I was thinking of one of the mail boats, it hits all the colonies_.'

"You would not have time to adequately search for dead drops, service them, or to recruit and do even minimal training," Walter objected mildly.

'_I think there'd be enough. There's always someone that's discontented, and it would be a regular route. Besides, there would be layovers at night_.' The girl rolled her shoulders, then her head, and fingered the locks on the back of her hood. '_Serious hardware; I'm locked in goddamn Fort Knox. How the hell were you supposed to interview me if I can't talk_?' She fingered her lower jaw, '_I've been wearing this gag for weeks now, it seems. I've actually gotten used to it, but I still want out of it_.'

"Just a few more questions, and then I shall refer you to a friend of mine from the BND here. He's down with the DHL people in their island group, so I shall arrange your transport there." The girl nodded, and he continued, "In order to lose you in the crowd, you're not the only one I am interviewing today. Were there any others dropped in with you, and do you have any complaints I can address at the moment?"

The girl hesitated, '_I hate to burn someone else, and as far as complaints? I have a list, but nothing now, thank you. What will you offer_?'

"The same bargain I strike with you; and you'll strike with Horst. We'll tell her, I presume another slave girl, however nothing to point back to you. I presume you are to report by email to a drop box?" The girl nodded, and he said, "Simply take our suggestions as to content, and do a blind carbon copy to an address we specify. We know what you're reporting; you go on with your life. Do we have that bargain?"

The girl growled, pounded her fist once; and then wrote, '_No pulling a cart or plow. She's in Castellano's outer office, a busty girl with curly red hair I knew as Michelle. I don't know if that's her actual name or not. Her collar is 81844, and unlike me, she's Agency, and trained for this shit_.'

"Language, my little slave girl," Walter said mildly, and dialed his vidphone. "Horst, you clever Jerry!"

"Cuthbert, you slippery Tom," the German replied. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"We shall need to secure the line, old bean. Might I suggest scramble code 1351?" The screen fuzzed and came back with a light blue border. "Right-o, Horst. I've got a young lady here in my office who's here visiting from our good Church friends in Virginia. Unfortunately, due to the absurd amount of leather she's wearing, you cannot see her lovely face. Come here, my dear."

"Yes, truly a lovely young lady. How can I assist her today?" The girl stumbled back to resume sitting on the edge of her chair, as Walter continued, "She wishes to do quite a bit of traveling, meeting new friends and old, and was hoping for employment with your fine friends. Could you perhaps assist her in earning her way? She does like to send postcards home, and this would be most convenient. One must save every penny, you know."

"Always true. I'll be happy to accommodate her, get her set up with a good friend of mine." Horst nodded, "Always a pleasure, my friend. Send me more information, if you would."

"Add today's code to the link I send, my friend. Until we see each other in Munich again." The connection closed, and Walter said, "Now then, regarding your Enhancement. As you may know, after this you go to have your implants programmed. I'll assist you in having a nautical database transferred in; however with the recent election, conditions regarding judicial slaves are somewhat in flux." She whimpered questioningly, and he said, "Political games are afoot, my dear little slave girl. I shall request the minimal settings I can in regards to your Enhancement, but that is all I can promise, as I do not have access to the hardware required to program it myself. I will also arrange passenger transport, and hopefully that is how you will travel, instead of as slave cargo." She whimpered, and he asked, "Any further questions, my dear little slave girl?"

'_Too many, but they can wait. Thank you, Mr. Cuthbert_.'

"You are welcome, my dear. Stand up, please; I shall need to secure you. Slave, disable voice."

"Kneel, slave, and let me get your collar number." Cam was shoved to her knees, she felt a wooden bar lock across her knees; and then her leash chain was pulled down, another wooden bar locked across the back of her neck. "Stay there, slave, I'll be back. Later." Cam's hands twisted in the cuffs behind her as she heard the other slave's footsteps go off. Around her, she heard other slaves being locked down as she was, a passing hand rubbed over her buttocks, telling her, "You'd look good with a tail, slave. Once you're sold, beg your new owner for one." She pulled against the wooden beams, and the hand suddenly slapped her. "Trying to escape, slave? Bad slave, slave … 81845, restrict, pain five, ten seconds." Cam stiffened against her restraining bars as her collar erupted in agony, she could barely hear the other slave say, "I'll leave a note about you, slave," or the rustle of paper, and footsteps. The agony ended, and Cam waited, rigid in her Enhancement as she waited.

"Well, slave, I've returned, and … what's this? Bad slave; bad slave! Slave 81845, pain five, twenty seconds!" Once again Cam's collar erupted in fire, she was still restricted, and so had to simply endure it. "Well, now, I don't think you've learned a lesson, slave." There was the tapping of keys; Cam could feel a thin cable across her back as something was clipped to her collar. She felt a tickling sensation, almost like water flowing across her neck; then something pressed against her hip, where her implant was. "There, another conviction for attempted escape; your sixth. Once your data's uploaded, you'll be branded and shipped to your new owners, slave. Slaves need to stay in a slave collar, that's where slaves belong. It's more Terran foolishness; the thought of freeing slaves. That's why the Source made us female, to fill a master's slave collar." She tapped a pen, there was a beep, and Cam felt the cable disconnected, and her programming module unclipped. There was a 'ding', and a minute later the restraining bars were removed, a note was tied to her leash, and she was lead off, still restricted.

Eleanor waited, locked in a neck ring; she had no idea what had happened to Marie. With her enhanced senses, she could hear the sizzle of a branding iron, smell the scorched flesh, and hoped that's not what she waited for. Her collar had been programmed; the slave doing so hadn't been able to stop yawning. "Next!" she heard, and a slave's footsteps, securing one slave and releasing her. She tried to pull away, shaking her head, and a bored slave said, "Slave … 11461, restrict." She snapped rigid, and was lead in on her leash, locked in a branding rig, and then heard the scrape of wire brushes on metal. "Source, does every slave on this planet need a new brand?" one girl complained. "It will be a minute to clean these and heat them. What's she need?"

"Don't know, she doesn't have a tag," the other girl replied. "Eh, must have fallen off, I saw some in the hall. She resisted when I fetched her, put her down for fighting and escape. That's … six for fighting and three escape."

"Your turn, I did the last six. Think we'll all be Enhanced like her?"

"Probably, I know I've sinned enough, but Source! Look at her!" Eleanor could hear the muttered "This again…" from the other slave as the first started what was apparently a well-worn rant. She had apparently never heard the adage about politics and religion at work. "I've said before, the Source put us here because we've sinned enough in previous lives to go down the Spiral to female and slave. Well, look at her! She's not only female, and slave, but Captured, not Bred, and Enhanced, and with a judicial collar and penalty brands! She's only a few steps from the bottom of the Spiral (Eleanor wondered what was at the bottom.), so she needs to start living life as the Source intended, obeying her new owners when we're sold, and praying to the Source! If she does this, then on her next life she can advance a step or two up, perhaps just to 'Enhanced female slave' if the Source is merciful."

The dry comment, "I'm sure she heard that, girl, make a note." There was the clatter of tools, and she continued, "For now, we've got a line of slaves to brand in the hallway before we're loaded on ship and sold on Tosul; and this one's irons are hot and ready. Maybe if I'm good, I'll be coming back next time as simply 'female' and not as 'Bred' and 'slave'. (Eleanor heard the sarcasm, the other slave didn't.) For now, though, mark her for six fights and three escape attempts, while I go get the next slave." There were footsteps, and the religious slave told her, "You'll have a pair of nice hand - brands, instead of machine branding, slave. This will only hurt for a few seconds, as you know…"

Marie, slave 11462, waited somewhere, still hooded, but standing and leashed to something. Around her, she could hear slave girls cursing as they packed, she had heard enough comments that they were to be loaded on a ship and sent somewhere for sale. (The consensus seemed to be Tosul.) She was trying not to panic, but it was difficult, as someone had casually restricted her, and so she stood, still as a statue, the only thing she could do was listen, and wonder what happened to Eleanor.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, November 6, 2002: 06:05 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, Staff room:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning, Miss Wayne," Professor Chang said, "I understand congratulations are in order."

"You're thinking of Sprink and Charlie, not Arthur and I," she replied.

Severus entered the room, waiting until Hagrid moved away from the tea-things. The Potion Master fixed his tea, settling at the table. "Minerva, subject to Bella's approval, of course, I would ask if you and Albus would do us the honour of standing as our Best Man and Matron."

"I'm sure Albus would be delighted, Severus, but I didn't know…"

"I must thank you, Narcissa, for allowing me access to Bella's quarters. I have not yet decided when the most propitious moment will be, though. I am something of a conservative, and I must ask for everyone's silence on this."

"Of course, Severus, and best wishes to you both," Harry said, Ginny nodding.

"Shall we rent a ladder for you, Professor?" Mattie asked. "It is traditional."

"It is also muggle, but I appreciate the sentiment. A broom or hover charm and floo to somewhere warm would be good."

"Only if you wear something besides black or white," Narcissa commented.

"I happen to PREFER black, thank you very much."

Minerva tapped on her water glass. "Thank you very much, everyone. Ms. Wayne, might I see you after the meeting for a moment?" It involves a real estate difficulty."

Mattie's face was the very picture of innocence, "I'm trying to sell some acreage on the Moon to the US Government; were you interested in that?"

"Where…"

"A part of the Sea of Tranquility, the southwestern corner," she answered Remus, and sipped her coffee. "I'm sure I can sell that, it would make a very nice resort. You know what they say about real estate, 'Location, location, location.'"

"Yes…" and flicked her wand. "Let us proceed with the week's agenda."

"Miss Wayne, I had a note about some taxes you paid," Minerva said after the meeting broke up. "Specifically on a property in Paris."

"The 'Auberge' pub at 51 rue de Montmorency?" she asked. "Why would a Scottish headmistress be interested in a Paris property that was behind on their property taxes? Especially in a property that is theoretically owned through various cutouts by a reserve member of the Justice League? …" she leaned against a table, casting a privacy charm, "…Perenelle."

Minerva looked dour, "Why do you say that?"

"You forget that Anne was also in Slytherin, she could be expected to know her Head of House, Nicholas, and his wife Perenelle. She ran across a photo from a few years ago in which someone pranked Albus with a potion that rendered him beardless for a few days, until Professor Snape developed an antidote. The prank happened before I started school and my little trip back in time; and Perenelle can't grow a beard to disguise herself. Why would she need to? Minerva can simply wear a different hairstyle and clothing."

Minerva growled softly, "He's getting absentminded… What do you want?"

"There was a wizard's staff I was working on as a side project; I'd like to take another look at that. There are several potions and spells that have been developed since then that would probably be useful. I think that would help my spell casting, which as you know, still sucks."

"Staffs are rare, and you wouldn't be able to use it in class."

"No, but I'm known to carry martial arts weapons, I think it could be disguised as a bo or quarterstaff. I'm not asking how to make a Philosopher's Stone, although the Elixir of Life sounds interesting in the abstract. Aside from that, I'm sure we can work out an equitable arrangement."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, November 6, 2002: 18:40 (GMT)****  
Terra, GEO station transit lounge:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Edward Nigma waited for his flight to Luna, sipping his tea and observing the Earth through the large windows. He couldn't help but notice a very attractive young blonde sitting and working on her laptop a few seats away. She seemed to be writing a letter home, occasionally sitting back in thought and not-looking at the view. At one point she looked over at him, "See something you like?"

He raised an eyebrow, "My dear, do not presume. While you are attractive, so is the view out the window. I am engaged to be married, and I keep to my vows, but that does not preclude the sport of people – watching, and drawing conclusions from that."

"Oh? And what conclusions have you drawn?"

"Firstly that you can be intensely preoccupied. You have a flashing light on your machine, which generally indicates a low battery. I would save your letter, and plug in to the outlet on the other side of that support whilst you have the opportunity."

"Oh, geez, thanks." She extracted an extension cord from her bag, connecting her laptop and saving her letter. Setting it on the empty seat to her left, she turned, propping her right leg over the chair arm and leaning against her right arm. "I'm Chantal. What else?"

"Edward. You are obviously young, I would presuppose in your late teens or early twenties, probably a recent college graduate, American, by your accent somewhere in Appalachia. Ohio, Tennessee, and the like, and while you have traveled, you have not done so extensively." He took a sip of his tea, and continued, "Judging by the color of your luggage tags, you are headed to the vicinity of Mars, and you do not have the look of a colonist, rather a professional visitor. Given the nature of development there, that means you are some type of engineer, as I am." He regarded her, taking a sip of tea, "You have a rather battered maroon ball cap tucked in an outer pocket of your laptop bag, which given your presumed area of origin, I would guess would be Ohio State. By the wear, it is a favored garment, which adds to your jeans, worn shoes, and minimal makeup. I would guess that you are one of the young women who don't particularly care about fashion, and are generally known as 'tomboys'. However, you know you are an attractive young woman, and have a secret 'girly' side." (He finger-quoted with one hand.)

Chantal blushed, "How…"

"You are wearing a rather lacy camisole, presumably with a built-in brassiere, under your t-shirt. The lace shows against your skin."

"Oh, you're good. What kind of engineer am I?"

"Let us compare hands, see if you can deduce mine correctly." He put down his tea and held out his hands, fingers spread, and she did too. "Turn them over, please." He leaned back, picking up his tea and sipping. "Your guess?"

She regarded him, sitting a seat away, and thought aloud, "Your accent is from the east coast of the US, Gotham or Metropolis area; you're highly educated and very intelligent. You're wearing a three-piece charcoal pinstripe business suit that's an English cut with a tie tack under your vest, your shirt's not white, but cream, with a pale green tie all the way up, which means you like things just so, and probably do the crossword in ink, usually within fifteen minutes." He nodded, and she continued, "Your hands aren't too callused, but you have some, which means you work with them, but don't have tiny burns, which eliminates electrical or chemical engineer. I'd say you're a civil or mechanical engineer, and it's a very nice engagement ring you're wearing. How about me?"

"You do not wear wedding or engagement rings, so you are not bespoke. You wear a distinctive class ring on your right hand, and while you also have some calluses on your hands, you do have a few electrical burns and tiny cuts, but no chemical burns. I would say an engineer that builds her own electrical equipment, which would put you somewhere in the physics department at MIT."

"Oh, you are good!" She pulled out her ball cap, it was indeed her favorite MIT one. "You did pretty well; except I'm from West Virginia, not Tennessee. You have the flattened 'o' of Gotham City, as well as their rather intense gaze…"

"Excuse me," he said, and was a few feet away in a second. "Ms. Chantal, is this your bag?" he asked, putting his hand on a young man who had grabbed it. She blinked, "Yes, it is…"

"In that case, please summon station security. I will persuade this young man to stay…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Thursday, November 7, 2002: 09:48 (GMT)****  
****In convoy, **_M/V (A) Ben Nevis_**, Captain's quarters:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"... anything else we need to discuss?" Captain Alvarez asked. "We make port at Tosul in a few hours." She eyed Christine. "Ms. Sullivan, you're aware of what needs to happen."

"Yes, although I'm not happy about it."

"None of us are," Gloria replied, and she turned, putting a folded slave tunic on the table. "We're all women here, and you can use my private head if you'd like," she said gently.

"I know," Christine replied, then reluctantly stood and took up the tunic.

When she emerged, she found two other people in the room. Captain Alvarez gestured, "This is Ensign Thomas (the young blonde nodded) and Sgt. Bren. The two of you and Sgt. Bren's detachment of Marines will be on TDY tomorrow. What you are about to hear is not to be discussed; it is politically sensitive. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," they replied.

"Good. For political and legal reasons, Governor Sullivan must be recollared as a slave." She saw the questioning looks, and said, "She was not properly freed the first time, and was therefore legally still a slave. Anything she had done after that as Governor on Windfall, which is a slave planet, is therefore of questionable legality."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, I don't understand," Ensign Thomas said.

"While slaves on Windfall do have some rights," Christine said, gesturing at her lit common collar, "They are still legally animals. I wasn't freed properly, and so the legal documents I signed, like laws and criminal sentences, are called into question. It's like finding out your dog signed your mortgage, it's on very shaky legal ground, even if the bank accepted it and you've been making payments."

"Which is where Ms. Fukuda comes in," Captain Alvarez said. "Not only is she an attorney, she's Ms. Sullivan's new counselor. Tosul has an attorney – rich society, and we need to have this resolved quietly. Therefore, tomorrow, you will shuttle down with Ms. Sullivan and Ms. Fukuda. They will arrange for Ms. Sullivan and twenty other girls to be collared by a discreet slave house on Tosul. They will be returned to us, and again, for legal reasons, will officially be in 'hiding' as escaped slaves for three local days."

"Better make it four, just in case," Yuki said.

"Four; then. During that time you will officially be on leave, unofficially you will be protecting the girls in our new building. While Ms. Sullivan and the other girls are away, Ms. Fukuda will be overseeing the refurbishing of the building. We will have contractors painting, installing lights, power and network cables, repairing the plumbing and such. After those four days, the Port Master will visit and certify the girls as free and so document them. They will still have the _appearance_ of slaves, but they will legally be free females. In any case, that is Ms. Fukuda's concern."

"Ma'am, the reasoning behind this…" Sgt. Bren asked.

"Need-to-know, but…" Ms. Fukuda regarded the Marine and the Ensign; then said, "For your peace of mind, the girls will be deployed in Intelligence work on other planets. As there are different social strata, some of our agents are covered as free people, these are covered and need to have the _appearance_ of slave girls, but are actually free, paid agents of the Imperial Research Service, our Intelligence agency. I must emphasize that they are not actually slaves, but are volunteers for this duty and have given their consent, and have been briefed."

"Ma'am, that seems risky…"

"If you were trying to infiltrate an Asian society, would you use a Caucasian or Asian agent, Ensign?" Ms. Fukuda asked. "This is no different than placing a Japanese-American into Tokyo. That agent would need to fit in, so will these girls. That social class requires they wear a slave collar and belt. Of the five of us, Ms. Sullivan would fit in better among slaves than you or I would."

"And as I said," the Captain added. "These are volunteers for this duty. None of us has need-to-know on their recruitment, training and so forth, but I have been informed; and seen briefing tapes that reassure me that these are volunteers. And if I'm reassured, Ensign…"

"Yes, ma'am. What else?"

Ms. Fukuda added, "Once we arrive at Windfall, we will merge them with other imported slaves so they can acclimatize as slaves, to gain the mindset and behavioral patterns of slaves before we move them elsewhere. For instance, the dominant religion of the Source apparently has several sub-cults among slaves; the more radical is that they are reincarnated sinners who are redeeming their souls as females and slaves."

"I wouldn't call it radical, just less common," Christine said. "The religion of the Source has a soul moving up and down a spiral, as you sin you move down, as you do good works, you move up. This incorporates reincarnation, so this particular creed has our souls in a previous life sinning enough to come back, as female, slave, captured, and Enhanced. Some throw in judicial collars and penalty brands, some don't. Therefore our collars are the Will of the Source, and our punishment for our sins; we hope to advance to free females, and then to males," she said. "Like on Earth, there are people that give it lip service, like going to church only on Easter, if then, and others that are the 'true believers' and go every day."

"While this is an important assignment, it will appear as a routine matter, which is why a junior officer is assigned, Ensign." The young blonde nodded as the Captain continued. "You are responsible for the safety and security of these women when they are not assigned to Ms. Fukuda. She will deal with the slave house and any officials; at all other times the girls will be your responsibility. You and your Marines are authorized physical force to protect them, lethal force at your discretion, Ensign."

"I do not think there will be a problem," Yuki added. "The girls will be under contract while at the slave house, the worst I anticipate would be a workman seeing them and fondling them. Slave theft is unlikely but a small possibility." She handed over a pair of photocopied plans, "On the second sub-level 'B' is a place I've highlighted which should be adequate. It's marked as storage, there's a washroom down the hall, and I'll get the contractors to start there while the girls are in the slave house."

"You'll have blankets, army cots, and MREs," Gloria added. "It won't be a five-star hotel, but for four days you should be comfortable enough. Once all the girls are legally free again, they will contract with the _Nevis_ for passage to Windfall. Are there any questions?"

"TO & E, ma'am?" Sgt. Bren asked.

"Sidearms only, I don't anticipate a firefight," the Captain said. "If you feel better with a shotgun or rifle, that's fine, but the worst we anticipate is a workman groping what he thinks are slaves. That's routine for slaves, their belts will be locked, so they might have to do oral sex, but nothing else."

"We shouldn't have a problem," Ms. Fukuda said.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Thursday, November 7, 2002: 15:29 (GMT)****  
****Tosul, Terran 'field office', courtyard:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Yuki Fukuda sat at a picnic table, sipping her tea and watching as T'awny, the local contact, talked with the general contractor, while Ensign Thomas was working with her Marines as three forty-foot steel shipping containers were unloaded. The slaver's truck drove off with the slaves caged in the back, including an unhappy Christine. She turned as the slaver, a very nice young man, cleared his throat, "Mistress Fukuda..."

"Yes?" she replied. "It won't be a problem to meet the deadline?"

"Twenty one slaves, all but one with bio-sculpt, enhanced, additional software and hardware installed, and then recollared? You were nice enough to detail them; too many clients just wave their hand. The collars take less than a minute to update and implant. If we can upload the training and programs... you can have them back in two days, with the certifications, taxes paid, all ready for the Portmaster's office. They need to see the slaves before you can take them back up, and their specified hoods, gags, and leashes are part of the price you're paying."

"Good," she said, and he raised a finger, "I must repeat, mistress, that as you are installing an espionage package in most of the slaves, that will be reported to the government. Those slaves must be declared to the Portmaster if they come anywhere in the inner system, for maintenance on their implants as an example. We don't want our own work coming back on us, of course."

"Of course, that's perfectly reasonable," she agreed. "I'll emphasize that to my own superiors." He nodded, and she continued, "We are opening up a colony world, and will need to comply with our license terms. We therefore need to have a minimal slave house set up, we're not big on slaves, you see, we prefer machinery."

"Different philosophies," he said. "That's somewhat unusual, but if you're just using slaves for legal matters … personally, I'd add Enhancement with the judicial collars, there's better security and not much higher cost. What licenses do you have?" She extended a chip, and he popped it in his own PADD, commenting, "The new Enhancement is a vast improvement, even my own slave prefers it. She said it's like having a comp she can use in her brain, she's asked me to buy additional software for her." He waved that off, studying her list. He tapped at his PADD; then popped the chip out, returning it to her. "Minimal requirements from the Slaver's Guild for your combination of licenses. I also put on there some recommended upgrades to your licenses."

She sat back and studied his chip, "Hmm. Most of this we already have on planet. The collection of database packages we'd need to buy…" She went down the list, ticking things off, then ejected and passed the chip back. "With your proposed upgrades, how much?"

"Hmm," he replied. "You'd need to have an annual inspection by the Guild."

"Problem, we don't want the planet's location to get out yet."

"Yes… I can see that." He sat back and thought. "The licenses are simply encrypted software; you could install them in a slave's Enhancement. Do so, put the slave here, and shuttle her back to the planet with the inspector. When the Guild is finished, return the inspector with the slave here to Tosul."

"There's a judicial slave aboard one of the ships that's registered to our planet, they're bringing the various chips here, but it's already gone through that planet's branch of Lantern Bank."

"Is the slave titled to the ship?"

"I believe so, the ship's under contract to the planetary government," she replied.

He spread his hands, "Install the licenses in that slave's Enhancement, and then keep her here on Tosul. That way you only need worry about the one slave's security, which is a much simpler problem. Of course, if the slave runs away or is killed, so go your licenses."

"The slave is simply the container for the licenses, which go through the ship to the government?"

"Precisely. The ship and its contracts. I would suggest selling the slave to the government; you remove the middle step of the ship."

"Not my decision, but I'll pass it on. You could, of course, simply install the licenses in a computer or on a chip."

"True, but this gives some additional value to the slave, and she can be worked like any other slave."

"I see. I'll send a note regarding that slave."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 8, 2002: 02:25 (GMT)  
Firsday, 3 Primus, 163, 07:38 (WFT +3)****  
Windfall, Brazos, Fish farms:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

William turned when he heard a girl clear her throat, "May I speak to you?" The girl, 11319 knelt a few feet away, her originally clean tunic now a bit worn, her hands still cuffed behind her. She was unwashed, her hair a bit rank as she shook it back. "I have thought on things, on what you've said, master of my heart, and I … I wish to share my heart with you, as…" (She took a deep breath,) "… as a free female."

He nodded, "You didn't return home to think? Also, what about the group arrangement I mentioned, and who would you work for?"

"I think I would enjoy working with Papa Otto in the Postmaster's office. I have spent the last two days walking about the town, his girls love him, but they are obviously busy. I desire to stay busy." She took a deep breath, "While I would prefer to keep you as my own master of my heart, I can see the need of genetic diversity, and I will reluctantly share you with other free females."

"Any children we might have would have all of us as parents, even if you yourself didn't have them. It wouldn't be fair to the kids."

"I thought a 'kid' was a young animal…" she asked.

"They can be animals sometimes, but no, a 'kid', plural 'kids' is a nickname for children. Also, I don't have any of my own, although I have watched over my sister's children. You?"

"In the hotel, I would occasionally have a patron with children, I agree they can be small owners," she said with a brief smile. "Other than that, I have not been bred, I do not know if I can be bred…"

"We can deal with that later. The first thing would be to examine you, but now…" he stopped, and she threw back her hair again, "My master, would you release this free female?"

"I would be pleased to," he replied.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 8, 2002: 01:05 (GMT)  
Seconday, 4 Primus, 163, 12:18 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Bill's office:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Master, Mistress S'rat is here from the _Taalah_, she is early for her appointment," Bill's intercom said. He keyed it, "Any slaves with her?"

"Two private slaves, master."

"Show them in, please." He stood as S'rat entered, in a medium grey skirted outfit this time; however she still wore her black Guild cloak, and was accompanied by S'ana and another slave in crisp white slave tunics. S'rat took the chair indicated, the slaves knelt behind her as S'ana handed her mistress her PADD. Bill took his own seat, pulling a file folder from a rack. "Thank you for coming, S'rat, and I must complement the _Taalah_ on the efficiency of moving the slaves and their equipment. This is J'lal?"

"Yes, my master," the slave replied. Bill looked at S'ana, "I thought my wishes regarding Enhancement were understood."

"My master, may this slave reply?" J'lal asked. Bill nodded, and the slave cleared her throat, "My master, your wishes have been followed. This slave, when this slave was free male Jaalal, became… (her mouth twisted) … free male Jaalal ingested a recreational drug which … " she sighed. "My master, this is difficult for this slave to speak of. In essence, free male Jaalal made several mistakes, which are recognized. Free male Jaalal knows that he must answer for his mistakes, he is grateful for the chance to speak for himself, and is willing to pay the penalty. As part of that penalty, this slave, formerly free male Jaalal, now this slave J'lal requested of my mistress S'ana that the speech functions in this slave J'lal's Enhancement _not_ be disabled, to assist in reminding this slave. My mistress S'ana has stated that she will disable them at this slave's request, unless my master orders otherwise."

"There are wagers on how long she will hold out," S'ana added with a grin.

"I see." Bill said. "I was wondering why you'd do something that stupid, but if it's handled, then it's handled." He passed over a chip, "As I mentioned, one of our incoming ships stopped at Tosul in order to start the renovation on some property. Two days ago, they met with a slave house that you recommended, S'ana, and sent me a list of requirements for a planetary slave house." His mouth twisted, "I must say that I am not in favor of having one, or having slaves in general. However…"

"Sir," S'rat asked as she looked at Bill suspiciously, "Tosul is five days by mail boat from this planet. How did you send a message and get a reply in _two_ days; it should have taken _ten_ at minimum?"

"I don't know how it's done, but I can mail someone on the homeworld and get an answer back as fast as someone can write it and send it," he replied. "That could be only a few minutes." The three of them stared at him, S'rat whispering "That is not possible." She cleared her throat, "Sir, what is the distance to the homeworld of the Empire?"

"I think about fifteen hundred light years," he replied, puzzled. "Why? What's wrong?"

"My master Bill," S'rat said very carefully, "For a letter to go fifteen hundred light years on a mail boat would take at least twelve standard days. Yet you claim you can send and receive one in a few minutes. You are either one of the best liars I have ever encountered, or using something else, and I do not think you are lying." She regarded him; then said, "The only thing I can think of is the Oans are allowing the Empire to use their communication network, something they have refused to allow for billions of years."

"It could be some new technology, my mistress," J'lal said, also eying Bill. "Perhaps shifted tachyons of some sort, standard tachyons are only a little above light-speed."

"We did pick up a standard Lantern Bank satellite in orbit, as well as a Lantern beacon, so we know the Oans and their Lanterns have an interest in this system," S'rat said slowly, still staring at Bill. "My master Bill also stated in our last meeting he wished _Taalah_ to go to Terra to have communication equipment installed in him, and a communication technician would join his crew." She continued to stare intently at Bill, then shook her head, sighed, and said, "If the Terrans have the secret backing of the Oans, or have new technology, it would not be good for _Taalah_ or the Empire to let this information out. As for you, my master Bill, beware of errors like that. What else might we discuss?"

Somewhat rattled, Bill shook his head in turn. Pulling a chip from the folder, he passed it to S'rat, gesturing to the two slaves as well. "This is what they're recommending for a planetary slave house, equipment and licenses. They are also passing on the suggestion that since the licenses are in the form of encrypted files, they can be stored in a slave's Enhancement. That slave would belong to the government of Windfall, but would be posted at our offices on Tosul. When the Slaver's Guild needed to make an annual inspection, we send a ship, both come to Windfall, the inspection happens, and both return to Tosul. In addition, we're looking into buying a shipbuilding company. I'm sure we can keep that person busy, even if we just use a computer PADD for that data." He turned to J'lal, "The _Taalah_ will be going to Tosul; I would like to ask if you were interested."

The slave girl blinked, "My master?"

"You have the Spacer's Guild qualifications, would you like to take the position on Tosul?"

"This slave apologizes, my master, this slave was not expecting to be asked. This position sounds interesting, but how would it be accomplished?"

"You belong to _Taalah_, we would sell you to the Empire," S'rat replied.

"I don't like this, but she would be sold to the planetary government, and would be stationed at our Tosul – based offices called _demandeurs_," Bill said. "I really don't like this." He leaned forward, "I want more information on Tosul, I still have proxy ownership of _Taalah_, and thus you, J'lal."

"You have never been to Tosul, sir?" S'rat asked, somewhat surprised. "If you are concerned about mistreatment of the slave, do not be. Tosul is a planet in which a slave is almost a free female." She sat back, "Sir, she would be a private slave of the Windfall government, and thus could not hide for three days to gain her freedom; she would not be considered a resident of Tosul. As the slave is Enhanced, she would need to be registered with the Portmaster's office on arrival, and Windfall would need to contract with the local agency the Empire is using for her housing, maintenance, and any wages she would be paid."

"My master," J'lal said, "If this slave must wear a collar, one of the better planets to do so is Tosul. This proposal looks attractive; this slave is inclined to accept it, with my master's permission."

"I see…" Bill said slowly.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 8, 2002: 08:25 (GMT)  
Seconday, 4 Primus, 163, 19:38 (WFT +3)****  
Windfall, Brazos, Jourdain metalworks:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Bob Jourdain looked up from his conversation with Chuck Rice as they sat on the stairs to his 'porch', the short walkway that ran around the front of his building. Several girls approached, he raised his beer stein in salute, "Hello, Cyndi! Doing the tour again?"

The blonde nodded, "Yes, master. We did not have time to see this side; we have visited the water and biological waste facilities, now we come down here."

"It lets you know where you rate, doesn't it?" Chuck said with a hoot of laughter. "I assume I'm next, come on over when you're ready." He turned and walked across the street to his own shop, his own beer stein in hand, still chuckling. Bob took a last swig of his beer, pulled himself up; and then motioned, "I need to get back to work anyway. Come on in, I'll have Nicole give you the ten gram tour."

"Each project starts with metal, what is the best choice to produce that item, and if it is a 'one-off', a custom item, or will be mass-produced," the short-haired girl said. "The intended use of the item is also a part of the decision. For instance, this machine produces the public transport tokens we use. These tokens are made from a metal called 'pewter', an alloy or blend of at least ninety percent tin with copper and antimony. We do not use lead as the item may come in contact with food. We use this metal for other things than tokens, such as plates, cups, dining utensils, and so forth." She took a step, unscrewing two wing nuts and holding an item up. "This is a die, as you can see it has seventeen sides forming a rough circle fifty millimeters across." She reached in a bag, which held freshly struck tokens, "The die is driven into the strip of metal, cutting it as it imprints it. The lower die then rotates away, the token drops down this chute into this bag, the strip of metal advances from the coil, the lower die swings back and the next token is made." There was a hammering sound, which cut off. "What you heard is the main air compressor. It has a large tank, which feeds the area tanks, which connect to the machines." She traced an air hose, "This is a portable machine; we connect power and air, and change the feedstock and dies as necessary. That way this same machine can be used to make tokens today, spoons and forks tomorrow."

"Where do you get the materials from, mistress?"

"Good question," Nicole said approvingly. "We either make it ourselves, or buy what would be overly costly to make from the metal works in Qing. An example of that is over here, the reloading area." She motioned them over, "This area is where we manufacture ammunition for the different guns." She drew her own revolver, opening the top break and showing the brass rounds. "There is a wide variety of different sizes, this is a gun we are manufacturing ourselves in order to arm the slaves against the wabbits." She smiled slightly, "If we also make the Owners on Island nervous, that is to the good." She extracted one round, "The brass tubing was determined to be too expensive to produce ourselves, so we buy coils of tubing of the proper size and composition from Qing, and produce the casings ourselves over here. Each hundred meter coil can produce several thousand casings, which are cut, shaped and stamped on this machine." She took several from the bin, handing them around. "Keep these, they have now been handled and would need to be cleaned before use. On the base, what is known as the head stamp is 'JA' for 'Jourdain Arms', the date '1163' and the size, '410' (57mm). In the center is the 'primer pocket', where we insert a small disk of explosive to ignite the powder charge, which propels the shot that we make. The fumes are dangerous to breathe, so we have as much ventilation as we can arrange, and thus cast the projectiles outside the building." She took another step, raising her hand. "Do not enter this area. In assembling ammunition, it requires precision and attention to detail, repeated over and over. We then package the ammunition and ship it both to our local Supply, and to other seedlings that do not have the facilities to make them. This earns profit for both us, and for Brazos."

She turned and walked to the side, motioning them over. She picked up an odd weapon and broke it open, "This is one of the firearms we make. Mas… Father calls it a 'survival gun'. You will note it has a smaller tube on top, which takes a small five millimeter round, used for hunting. You can kill and eat up to the small grazing animals, while the larger, lower barrel uses the shotgun shell we just saw to kill snakes, small birds, and wabbits." She flipped a release, the butt stock swiveled to the side, and she said, "It is simply made of stamped steel, we also have a short-barreled shotgun called a 'coach gun' that you would carry in your cart or wagon if you thought you would encounter wabbits. The gun, called a 'revolver' that I wear uses ten of the five millimeter cartridges in a circle, with a rim of 9mm and a length of 36 mm. Because the metal is formed, each casing uses 40 mm of metal tube, so each 100 meter length allows us to make 2500 cartridges of this size, or twenty five boxes. We can make it inexpensively enough that we can encourage people to practice with it, as it is a skill." She put the shotguns aside, "Come, we shall go outside to see other machines."

As she walked out to a large covered shed, she continued, "Each operation requires training and certain conditions. Producing ammunition requires good lighting, repeatability and humidity control. However, it is not generally difficult, this is a nail machine, that one produces screws, both use steel coils instead of brass tubing, but is otherwise similar. Here, they are sold by weight; the difference of one or two nails or screws in a kilo does not matter. With the tokens, we are contracted to deliver five hundred in each bag, so each one must contain five hundred. For that reason, they are triple-counted before delivery."

A girl pointed, "Mistress, why is that structure elevated?"

"That is a 'shot tower'. It produces the projectiles for the ammunition; steel, lead; tin and bismuth are melted into molds and dropped through that shaft into a large ice-cooled container of water. We do this out here for ventilation, as the molten metal fumes are toxic to breathe. We also sell bags of ice; we have one of five machines in Brazos. The others are at Supply, Master John's pub and the medical offices, and for cooling and delivery of fresh eggs and milk from South Two." The air compressor started to hammer again, this time the girls could see it, a small machine sitting next to a meter high horizontal steel tank, painted sky blue.

"This item, mistress?"

"This produces wabbit armor for both people and the working animals. We have licensed the machine from Qing, as you can see it weaves a metal cloth. We then take these plates that have been stamped out, and rivet them on the cloth with that machine, as you can see. This is sent to Mistress Hull's cloth shop, and others, where a protective backing is attached and it is made into clothing." She looked up, "Greetings, father."

"Good morning, girls," Bob Jourdain replied. "There's a lot to see, but Chuck came over, he'd like to see you girls too. He also had a bit of a challenge for you, he's looking for a mold – carver, what's known as a patternmaker, since Cyndi here (he smiled at the girl), decided to go on her own. We'll see who can use a laser knife the best. You can see forging, casting, welding and gunsmithing later. Just remember that I'm looking for at least three girls, including a delivery girl that can also do sales. She'd be paid partially on her sales, what we call 'commission'.

"Good morning, girls," Chuck said. The large black man smiled, "Here at Rice Woodworks, we do quite a bit of everything, from making all sorts of furniture, making wagons and bus bodies, to shaping and curing the logs we use to build houses and buildings. We'll start small, with some furniture. Over here, we have a chair we're making. Now, we need to produce a large quantity of identical parts. If we need to ship a hundred chairs to Supply, that means we need four hundred chair legs and two hundred backs, all identical. For that, we use this device, which is known as a _lathe_." He picked up a two inch thick rod, "We clamp it in to the lathe, position the cutting head at the start, make sure the proper program is loaded here, and push the green start button. The computer does the rest, step back, please." He punched the button, the laser head started to track along the turning spindle with a whine. "Now, before, we used metal cutting bits, which needed to be sharpened. We still use them for one-off work. Notice the white hose that's waving back and forth, that's a vacuum hose. We collect the sawdust and fragments; we create wood pellets to sell for heating." The lathe finished, he put the piece in a check frame, where it turned freely. "This passes, it goes on to the next stage, where we sand it, then paint or varnish it, and install a screw here (he tapped the fat part) for screwing into the chair seat." He set the leg with others, waving them on.

"This is the cabinet shop," he said. "It's similar in some respects to the furniture shop, in that we produce a large number of identical pieces. These are made into kits, which are assembled on site." He gestured, "For a shop, these can be connected end-to-end to make display cases, or with ends to make free-standing units. The shopkeeper can simply lay out on paper how many of what size he wants to install, order that, and screw them together. They can be ordered with or without the glass tops, which we import from Qing. They're our heavy manufacturing area, they make metals, sheets of glass, and so forth that wouldn't be economical for us to make. For a home, we have kits for both enclosed and open shelves, for storing dishes, drinking glasses, and so forth, as well as clothing and that kind of thing. We pack them in those light wooden cases, which can be recycled. The wood is manufactured by Qing from wood chips, glued and pressed together. We buy that, cut it to size and recycle the scraps to make wood pellets."

"You have mentioned that before, master," one girl said.

"Very simple, I'll show you," and he waved them on.

"We take wood scrap, sawdust, chips and other waste, run it through this hammer mill (he gestured) to break it down, it falls into this bin, where it's mixed with water into a thick paste. That paste is forced through this mold here. Notice it's coming out as thick strands. Those are dried, cut to length, and bagged as fuel. We burn that in stoves for heating houses, barns, and animal shelters. When you cut down a tree, it's known as green wood, it contains a lot of moisture, which has to be removed in a drying shed. Some we use the wood stoves, some we use tuned microwaves to heat the wood, which would normally take months to dry. Instead, it can be dried in a week or two." He waved them on, "This is a bus body we're building for the town. Notice the low wooden wheels, which are mounted into a steel frame. If you bend down, you can see curved steel plates that are known as a 'leaf suspension' and gives a smoother ride. Bob puts that together and welds the frame; then sends the frame to me to add the seats, handrails, and other things, and do the painting. The metal fare box is there, next to the driver's seat, we still need to screw the top counter mechanism on, do the painting and so forth. Next to it is a delivery wagon; they come in three sizes. The short yellow wagons are postal carts for Herr Otto; notice the seat can change height. The tops of the bus and the postal carts are fiberglass from East Port to let light in. We need to finish painting those two postal carts, notice the fittings for a single hexataur to pull it. Have you gone by Mr. Landis' leatherworking shop yet?"

"Not yet, master."

"He's next to the clothing shop, they don't need as much room as Bob and I do. The last thing I'd like to point out is that long, low, heavy wagon. That's designed to be pulled by six of the shonnen; it's used to move building logs. Next to it is a shaper with a generator, it cuts the logs so they can be stacked with the bark still outside for waterproofing. That's my next project, to build a drying shed on North for that lumber so we can build more housing."

"Master, those trees must weigh…"

"Up to a couple thousand kilos," Chuck agreed. "I'm waiting to get in an antigrav lifter, but that has to come from off-planet. We import things based on size and complexity, things we can't make here, like Bob's primers for ammo, electronics, computers, the kind of thing that's small or complex. Wood, metals, brick, and concrete we can make here on the planet, if not here, than another seedling. Engines up to a certain size we can make on planet, but to clear a road, a team of shonnen is cheaper and easier than a large, complex, and heavy machine would be to import. That machine requires parts, maintenance, and training, all of which are expensive. You can learn how to manage shonnen in half an hour."

While they waited at the bus stop, Cyndi regarded three of the girls, "You have still not requested your hands free. Do you desire to remain slaves, or to be free females?"

"Mistress, it is so much _easier_ to be slave," one replied from where she knelt on the brick floor. "It is what the Source intended for us as bred females, to wear a collar, to belong to a master. To do otherwise is to deny our punishment as the Source intended." She looked up, troubled. "Mistress, I do not wish to deny the Source, to deny my destiny. By staying as the Source intended, I do not regress on the Spiral, I do not sin, I will not deserve additional punishment the next time I step on the Spiral."

"You have different beliefs than I do," another girl said. "While I wear a collar, I am slave, but as my masters permit me to step up the Spiral, to learn, to grow, I will do so. I am bred slave, and female, as we all are, but as long as I obey my masters, I step up the Spiral." She shook her hair back, "That is why I have not requested my hands released, mistress. I am not a free female; I am slave, an obedient slave, whose masters have generously permitted her education. Mistress has set a condition of 'free female' that I cannot fulfill; I am not at that point of the Spiral yet."

"And you?" Cyndi asked the third girl.

"Mistress, I am indecisive. Freedom is attractive, it is something I have dreamed of, but the reality is frightening. I do not know if I am yet ready to ask, to take that step. I am … not sure what the Source intends of me, of where I am on the Spiral. That is why I have not asked, mistress."

The 'clip-clop' of shod hooves was heard, and the pair of hexataurs pulling the bus pulled under the shelter's roof. Cyndi waved them on board, the 'ting' and rattle of tokens and transfers rang into the fare-box.

"Greetings, master Landis!" Cyndi called to the middle-aged Terran. "We are here on the tour."

"Yes, I heard about that," the leatherworker said. "You're working your way around the town, aren't you? Well, I could use a couple of you," and he eyed the three girls who remained bound. He shook his head, then said, "I work with leather, I make boots, saddles, clothing like chaps to protect your legs while you're riding, harnesses, and various odds and ends. Come out back, please."

"Dr. Bujones worked up this measuring tool for the horses, hexataurs, and shonnen. The difference for me between horses and hexataurs is above the shoulder, which I don't really worry about. There's a pair of cuffs for the hexataurs wrists which can be added here. These are dummy animals; I can adjust them to check fit, which gives me a pretty good fit on the final animal." He picked up a pair of semi-circular devices with a connecting crossbar. "The animal is measured, various settings are noted as well as the distance between the shoulders and the hips, so to speak. For a hexataur, I'm not concerned with riding it, just connecting it to pull something, and if it's going to be doing it singly with a light cart, or as a team of animals." He placed the measuring tool on his dummy and adjusted it to fit the tool. "I can now choose which size of parts would be needed for this animal, connect them together, and have an excellent fit, requiring very little modification."

"Master, when the animal grows…" a cuffed girl asked.

"You don't want it to rub, so you would send the old harness back, or just send me the new measurements." He took a few steps, pulling down two long, flat semi-circles. "This is a horse collar. It fits like so, lets the animal pull with his shoulders and push with his rear legs. When the horse grows, it won't fit … (he adjusted the dummy), … as you can see. What do I adjust?"

The girl studied it. "The top part, master. It needs to open wider, and the leather straps at the bottom need to be longer."

"Very good. Now tell me why you three are cuffed and your sisters aren't."

"Master, we are bred slaves; it is what the Source has willed for us."

"I see. I have no use for slaves. Please leave my shop." He crossed his arms and waited as the three girls left. "Are there any other slaves here?"

"Master, we are former slaves working on becoming free females."

"Good enough, but the next one of you that says 'Master' will join the other three." He turned, "Shonnen harnesses. These beasties aren't ridden, they're harnessed in pairs. They're big animals, so we use a much larger tool to measure them and fit yokes…"

"How did we err?" one of the three girls asked as they knelt in the dirt by the side of the road. "We answered Master's question…"

"You have confessed you are slaves in your hearts," Cyndi said as she joined them. "I erred and said 'master' out of habit, and he asked me to leave too, though I apologized." She shifted to kneel with them, "We must force ourselves not to use the term. I have noticed growing irritation in the Terrans when we do. We must remember to use 'sir' or 'ma'am' for the females."

"Or 'father' and 'mother', one of the girls added. She turned, "You said 'master' also?"

"I did," she admitted. "The Terrans have given us adequate time to break the habit, we are simply lazy, and need to work at it. What would an Owner do if a slave forgot an instruction?"

"She would punish us, and rightly," a girl said. "So must we. The Terrans will not permit using our collars or a slave whip, so we must use something else. What?"

"Criminals are punished here by community service, by keeping the town clean, mowing the Great Lawn, and other things. We must self-punish our self-crimes by performing this service," one said.

"The Terrans will not agree," one objected.

"We are allowed to change the law as necessary by popular consent. I propose that Fifthday, at the community meeting, we propose and vote for such a law. If a slave, or rather, a collared female, persists in saying 'master' or naming herself slave, she must serve the town for … what?"

"Fifteen minutes per incident?" a girl suggested. "I will know if I say 'master' six times, I must serve the town for ninety minutes. However, what of the Enhanced girls? They have no choice."

"They are exempt," Cyndi decided. "Go, tell the collared girls of our plan, and to attend the meeting. They may vote for it or not, as they decide, but they will know of it."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, November 8, 2002: 09:15 (GMT)  
****Terra, Hogwarts, 'Royalty' Class:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

" … And finally, we're scheduled for a security briefing tomorrow at the Imperial Building," Mattie said. She glanced at Arthur, adding, "That includes an intelligence briefing, although not sources and methods. We aren't cleared for those, and Arthur, you WILL keep an open mind."

"My mind _is_ open, I just object to some of those sources and methods," he replied. "You know I prefer open source methods."

"Which is fine in a society with a free press," Mattie replied. "Even I object to broad domestic spying just as a fishing expedition. If there's probable cause, that's fine, for instance against criminals and terrorists, but not against someone exercising their free speech rights. However, that's not what we're up against here…"

"Doesn't matter," he replied. "The principal is the same. '_Fiat justitia ruat caelum._' (May justice be done though the heavens fall.)

"So you're against anything but reading it in the newspaper," Beatrice said. "When the government controls the press, what then?"

"You find someone who will tell you the truth," he said.

"One person, or maybe a handful, who may be lying, or misinformed, or spreading disinformation," Bea replied. "You can't formulate policy on what you learn from some bloke in a back alley. How do you know his information is accurate?"

"If your informant is telling you one thing, then you hear something else, who do you believe, mate?" Charlie asked. "You know from our experience on Windfall the Elders lied to the people all the time, their newspaper was a bloody fish wrapper. We needed people on the inside, and they had to fit in. We couldn't rely on the slaves' rumour mill. That's why we bugged their offices and homes."

"Which I'm still uncomfortable with," he said. "They fired the first shot, starting that little war, but it's like reading someone else's mail…."

"So if we're in a state of war, you're semi-good with it?" his sister Julie asked. She shook her head and sighed. "Take me instead of him along with you tomorrow, Mattie. I could go as your double…"

"I need his criticism, though," she replied. "The Empire's still too new, too unstable to have something that doesn't pass the Morton Morals and Ethics test. If it passes his rigid standards…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Saturday, November 9, 2002: 05:58 (GMT)****  
****Tosul, Terran 'field office':****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Ma'am? Perimeter guard reports the slave truck just turned into the drive," the Marine at comm watch reported. Yuki put down her tea, yawned, stretched, then said, "Thank you, please contact the Portmaster's office, they need to send an inspector. I'll be up in a minute. Coming, Ensign?"

"I hate morning people," Ensign Thomas replied, standing herself.

"Portmaster's office is open, but the inspector's office won't be open until 08:00 Lima, ma'am. We've left a message asking them to send someone." The comm watch said as they left the head.

"Thank you," Yuki replied.

The small truck settled onto its skids, the door sliding open and the driver stepping out, calling "Good early morning, mistresses." The truck was apparently driven from a standing position, the driver a different one that had taken the girls away, this one a slave girl in a white embroidered slave smock, wearing a judicial collar. She finished unlatching the cage in the truck bed, they could see all twenty-one slaves' neck ringed and tightly hooded, motionless as they 'faced' out the sides. She started unlatching them, a couple of Marines assisting her. They walked the slaves over to the shade of a large tree and knelt them there. A few minutes later they were finished, the driver disappeared for a minute to fetch her PADD and two boxes. She walked over to the picnic table where Helga Thomas and Yuki waited, placing the boxes on the table and kneeling. "Master didn't know if you had a collar scanner or not, they're a new thing. It's a quick way to check a slave's Enhancement programming and hip implants, mistresses."

Yuki took a seat and examined it. "Very useful, please thank your master for this."

"Master is hoping for a long, successful history with your company, mistress," the girl admitted with a grin. "Call it a small gift, mistresses. The other box is the slaves' programming modules and their new control chips. If mistresses are finished, they can sign the invoice and I can be on my way."

"Portmaster still has to inspect them, remember," Ensign Thomas replied. "We called in to them and left a message, their inspection office doesn't open for another hour or so; we'll have to wait." She set the reader on the table. "How do you like this?"

"It's an easy collar, mistresses; I have no real complaints, not enough to hide for three days. My master treats me well." She shrugged. "Many, many worse places than Tosul to wear a collar." She stood, stretching and twisting, they heard her bones crackle. "We can save some time, mistresses, if you want to examine your slaves, then I can call in any difficulties. When the Portmaster arrives, we'll be mostly done."

"True," Yuki said. "Let's go ahead and start with slave (she checked her list) … 81412."

Michelle Mala of CIA, now TDY from the Athens embassy to the Imperial Research Service and then as slave 81412, knelt with the other girls, hooded, gagged, and 'locked down' by her Enhancement. She stood when someone pulled her up, guiding her by her elbow to stand somewhere else. When she had been unloaded from the truck, someone had whispered '_Briefing later_' to her, she looked forward to that. "Now, mistresses," she heard, and Michelle immediately started to analyze the speaker's cadence, tone, accent, and so forth. Michelle had an ear for languages, what surprised her somewhat was the language implant in her right jaw worked so well. She hadn't heard Trade before, but immediately recognized and understood it. However, speaking it, not only as a native; but also as part of her cover identity's slave class, was crucial. She couldn't come off as an upper-class owner, after all…

"Now, mistresses," the delivery slave started as Michelle listened, "I know that you had an intelligence package installed in your slaves, and that they have been registered with the government. Therefore they cannot be returned here unless for maintenance, they cannot be shipped past the planet's third moon without letting Orbital Control and the Portmaster know. They are very serious about this, mistresses, any slaves you employ are preferably common-collar slaves purchased locally. If you wish to import Enhanced slaves, they must be registered with the government through the Portmaster's office. If Slave Control picks up one of these modified slaves on planet without permission, the slave will be destroyed and you will find yourselves in a judicial collar. My master will ask, so I have told you this."

"Understood, thank you," Michelle heard, she also heard the flattened buzz of German under the woman's voice. "We shall pass it on. What do you know of these packages?"

"First, mistresses, the optical, hearing, and smell implants plug directly into the interface assembly, not into the Enhancement control block itself. That is a standard design for the new Enhancement modules; the unit is designed to self-destruct by WorkForce to prevent tampering; it is a proprietary design. If additional data storage is desired, the secondary storage module installed here (Michelle's crotch was grabbed), may be increased. In addition, a discipline unit was connected here to an exterior nerve bundle your slaves possess." The girl cleared her throat, "Slave 81412, release, enable voice." Michelle felt an invisible restraint release on her body and voice, and she whimpered once, as she somehow _knew_ she needed to. "Basic slave training and conditioning has been uploaded as part of the slave's Enhancement," the girl said. "Slave 81412, good girl," and Michelle felt a wave of pleasure wash over her, leaving her feeling good about herself and relaxed. "Slave 81412; good slave, very, very good slave."

Michelle groaned in pleasure, from both the verbal praise and the feelings coming from her sex. It continued, building, and she sank to her knees, collapsing to the ground as she writhed in pleasure, the wonderful feelings spreading out, twisting, raising her pelvis up, the wonderful voice repeated, "Good slave, very good slave…" She writhed; a muffled scream of pleasure escaped her as she shook.

"The difference between 'girl' and 'slave' in the praise, mistresses," the delivery slave replied as they watched the slave writhe. "The other side of the gram is the punishment phrases, which do not have to be slave - specific. If you just want to give the slave a short poke to gain her attention, it gives a spike of pain to the nerve bundle… Slave 81412; bad girl." The slave lying on the ground, moaning in pleasure gave a sharp whimper of pain, her legs closed, and she rolled over, face down. They could see her hands, secured in metal sleeves halfway up her forearms. They were held together, palm to palm, and attached to a metal rod that pulled her shoulders back and ran between her buttocks. Instead of the standard slave belt the delivery girl wore, this was more of a metallic cloth corset that started below her rib cage and continued down to a sealed belt, giving her a tightly compressed waist and abdomen. "On your feet, slave," and the girl struggled to stand. The delivery girl helped her up, adding, "The next level up beyond the poke is the morning wake up, which can be individually programmed. This activates her collar for one second at level one. Slave 81412, awaken." The slave gave a short yelp.

Michelle was jerked away from her pleasure by a short, sharp pain in her sex, almost as if a hot needle had been touched to it. "On your feet, slave," and a hand steadied her; the delivery slave was talking about a morning wakeup, which Michelle had experienced for the first time that morning in the slave house. Her collar's pain circuit spiked briefly, and she yelped into her gag.

"I think that's enough, slave, we get the idea." The German girl said dryly, the local slave replied, "Yes, mistresses," with a touch of disappointment. '_Want to get a bit back yourself, but you can't do it to your owners, so I'm a proxy_,' Michelle thought.

"Passenger vehicle entering the drive," one of the Marines standing guard said as he touched his earpiece. A minute later, a grey antigrav ground car came into sight, driving across the former school's playground and parking next to the truck, settling to its hidden parking skids. A young woman wearing business wear got out, pulling out her cased PADD from behind her seat. As she approached, Yuki and Ensign Thomas could see that she wore a dark collar, the folded leaves of a slave belt's cuffs showed above the waistband of her short skirt. "Good morning," she called. "I'm Y'ana 021 with the Portmaster's office, you need slaves inspected?"

"I thought the office didn't open for a while," Yuki said, standing.

"I received a call from my superior at home," Y'ana replied. "I'm rather pleased, that means I have an excuse to drive instead of taking public transit. A bit of change, you understand. The slaves are over there?" She nodded to the delivery slave, "B'rlya, good to see you again. How is House St'fan today?"

"Same as before, mistress. The girls miss you, but we're pleased you're doing so well. Remember me in a few months when my sentence is up, I'll be looking for employment. Master wants me to consider sales, but … "

"You want to keep your options open," Y'ana said, nodding. "I'll let my superior know. For now, let's take a look at the slaves needing inspection."

"Well, that's a difficulty, mistresses," B'rlya agreed as she put down her comm. "The slave 51720 had the additional implants and packages installed in error. My master apologizes, and will offer to strike the price of that slave to the cost of the hardware. You'll be getting the labor and other costs free."

"The problem is that we didn't want the slave 51720 biosculpted or to have the software and other hardware installed." Yuki replied, while the slave in question (Christine Sullivan) knelt in the shade nearby. "I know you need to bill us something for the transaction to be legal, so bill us one gram for the one slave. We can revert her with our own biosculpt to look like she did, and disable her hardware."

"Why does it matter?" Y'ana asked. "She's a slave."

"It's a political problem on the colony world she's going to," Yuki replied. "She was improperly freed, with a defective Enhancement, so she has to look like she did before, which is why we were going to arrange to 'lose' her for three days in order to free her. Then you would have been called back and…"

"I see, but that wouldn't be legal," Y'ana replied. "You're not a citizen or resident of Tosul. That's why she's titled to your ship? She crossed her wrists to your captain, and you need to have her back as a free female with a dark collar?" She sat back, thinking; then said, "Your captain declares her surplus and sells her to you for a gram. You, a private individual, then have title to her, and can free her if you wish, although you are required to pay her the traditional kilo of tungsten, so you'll lose a good amount of money on the deal. In addition, you'll need to pay registration and taxes on the slave before she's legally yours. With the discount from House St'fan, you should come out close to even. If that's agreeable, we can do the chipwork here, and as an Inspector for the Portmaster's office, I can update her collar and hip implant. She'll then be a free female with a kilo to spend."

"First, I need to call my master and see if he'll agree to the revised invoice," B'rlya said.

"I don't know, I kind of like it," Christine said, looking in the mirror. She stood with her former 'owner' (for all of five minutes), Ms. Fukuda, in the tiny bathroom on sub-level 'B' of the new offices. She turned her head this way and that, regarding her fur, pointed ears, the somewhat elongated nose, vertical pupils, and small fangs that came out of her upper jaw. "I want to go more toward 'Christine', but a lot of it I want to keep. Especially if I can disguise myself with a common collar and wander around as a slave, finding out what people really think." She rolled her head and shoulders, "Well, I need to get up to orbit, with this intelligence package installed, I can't be on planet. The shuttle's waiting with the other girls." She gathered up the gag and other gear she had worn, tossing it in the hood as an improvised sack. "You're staying on planet?"

"For now," Yuki said. "We've still got a few days until our other ships are due, and I can be of use getting the building reworked. They did find a roof leak, and there's still a lot to do before the other ships arrive. You, Madame Governor, need to start getting up to speed on Windfall."

"And I'm sure I've got a ton of email," Christine agreed. Straightening her white slave tunic (the only thing she had to wear), she brushed back her hair; "Let's get to it."

Michelle waited in the shuttle, her hood and blindfold removed, but still gagged and bound as a slave. That was, after all, what she was, slave 81412, but she wasn't restricted, and she turned, looking out the window of the passenger shuttle. She looked forward to the briefing when they arrived on the ship, for now, she preferred this to the stasis tube she had occupied on the outbound voyage, since she had been shipped out of Corfu as 'cargo'. The blonde slave that had caused problems boarded, strapping herself in with the copilot's assistance; who closed the hatch, getting green lights, and returned to the cockpit. Michelle leaned forward into her seat's straps as the shuttle quivered, lifted off, hung for a moment, and then flew forward and up. She watched the planet drop away, the change to the black of space, and the flight toward a white starship with blinking green lights. As they approached, the intercom came on, "Your attention, please. On docking, ship's personnel are released to their quarters. Slaves, go with Ensign Thomas to Medical for examination. Quarters are being arranged for you, after Medical clearance you'll be directed to Conference 5a for your briefing. Ten minutes to docking, thank you for flying with us."

Michelle sat back and enjoyed the flight. After a few minutes, the ship was much larger, a black hatch opened in the stern. The shuttle flew into the hatch, coming to a stop, and rotated, lifting up a shaft. With a jolt, it came to a stop, and one of the flight crew came out to join Ensign Thomas, working their way back, undoing the slaves' straps. "Out the hatch, ladies, around and then left. Follow the signs to medical, its a few compartments forward, on this deck," she was told.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Saturday, November 9, 2002: 07:45 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Canary Wharf, Imperial Building:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The driver pulled up to the loading dock, while the decoy limousines and their escort continued on toward the main entrance. Mattie and Arthur hurried out, escorted by Crystal and Steve, while the passenger van peeled off into the depths of the underground parking garage. They hurried through Receiving and their warehouse, filled with pallets and their handling equipment while the guards looked around warily.

The freight lift 'dinged' as it arrived at the lobby, Steve telling Arthur "We need to go around here to get to the secure lifts…" and stopped as he saw a group of schoolchildren looking at the displays. He took a step back, touching his radio and telling it quietly, "Cancel the glamour spell on Miss Morton, we have schoolchildren here on an apparent bloody tour." Meanwhile, Mattie had taken a deep breath and strode forward as one of the escorting parents turned to see her, did a double take, "Gor blimey. It's Wayne herself!"

"Hello…" Mattie said as she introduced herself to the parents, then shook hands with some of the kids. "I'm Mattie, and you are?"

"Mrs. Kant's Year Six," one young bloke said. "You're really a witch? Prove it."

"Cocky little bugger," one guard said quietly. Miss Wayne regarded him, then drew her wand and tapped him on the head. His hair started to grow, almost exploding out of his head, and the tiny wisps of beard he had sprouted; started toward his waist and his somewhat ragged jeans. "What the…" he said, then lunged and snatched her wand, waving it and gaining a succession of multicolored sparks.

"Hold on," Arthur said, flicking his wand and casting '_finite incantatem_'. "Wave the wand around again, please." The boy did, and produced yellow and red sparks. The wizards looked at each other, then Arthur offered his wand, "Again, please." The boy tossed Mattie her wand back; then got the same results with Arthur and Steve's wands.

"Excuse me," one parent said. "I'm Warren's father, and from your expressions, there's something going on here…"

"Sir, how old is he?" Arthur asked.

"Turned ten in August," his father replied. "Please, tell me, do we need a doctor?"

Steve smiled and said, "No, sir, the coloured sparks indicate not only that young Warren is a wizard, but a fairly strong one. Red sparks are unusual. I'd suggest you consider placing him in Hogwarts come September."

The boy was shocked, "What? A boarding school? You're insane! I finish my damned SATs and I'm done with school."

"Fine," Mattie said, tossing him her wand and crossing her arms. "Waste the talents that God gave you. Do some magic without training." She regarded him while his father edged closer to Steve and said, "Umm, we really can't afford…"

"There's financial assistance, don't worry about it," Steve replied quietly. "I can have Albus meet you, he's a retired Headmaster, if you go to Charing Cross Tube station; he'll meet you there."

"How would we recognize him?"

"Albus Dumbledore has long white hair and beard, dresses 'creatively', and is about a hundred sixty years old. He's also a barrister, so he's got all his marbles, he'll find you. Go toward the eastern entry, that's closest to the Leaky Cauldron pub."

Meanwhile, Warren was regarding Mattie and the wand he held. "Go on. Either wave it or give it back. I have a pound that says he'll wimp out," she said.

"I think he'll fight with himself, but he'll be on the train September first, and my pound says Gryffindor." Crystal replied.

"I agree," Steve said. "A pound on Gryffindor. He's too cocky for any other house."

"You're saying we're cocky?"

"Hello? Who do you pick fights with? Slytherins? That's just stupid," Mattie added, watching Warren. "We've kicked your asses so often our firsties beat your seventh-years."

"I think that's stretching things a bit," Arthur said, then took a step back, whispering to Warren's father.

"Okay, our firsties after the Christmas holidays," Mattie conceded as they continued to watch the boy, who was now regarding the wand. He held it up, "What's this made of?"

"Obsidian with a nightmare core," she replied. "You plan on doing something? We're running late."

"Nightmare? There's no such thing."

"Oh, laddie, do YOU have things to learn," Steve said. The boy flushed, swinging toward Steve and slashing toward him with the wand. Sparks flew; Steve leaned to the side, the wand flying out of Warren's hand and into Steve's, who tossed it to Mattie.

"Oh, yeah, Gryffindor," Mattie said. "I'll cover your bets with the tea shop, people. You coming, Arthur?"

"Minute. Get me a cup of tea, would you?" He stepped to the side, still talking to Warren's father.

"No way I'm a wizard," Warren told his father as they 'touched out' of the Tube at Charing Cross. "And attending a stupid boarding school? Forget it."

"If we can get you in with financial aid, it would be stupid not to take advantage of the opportunity," his father replied. "Ever since I lost my job, we've been struggling to get by on your mother's salary, you know that. Morton said he'd make a call; and that we'd be met …" He started to look around; then gave a small chuckle. "So he 'dresses creatively' they said, and nudged his son to look to the right. Walking toward them was an old man with waist-length white hair and beard; twinkling blue eyes and wearing pale mauve robes. "Mr. Donaldson? This must be young Warren," he said, shaking hands. "I am Albus Dumbledore; shall we talk?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Saturday, November 9, 2002: 15:09 (GMT)****  
****Tosul orbit, **_M/V (A) Ben Nevis_**, Conference 5a:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The door slid open, and two young women entered the small conference room; Ensign Thomas in her white uniform dress and a blonde, who was wearing a dark collar, sunglasses and a white skirted tunic. "Good afternoon," Ensign Thomas said to the group of slave girls sitting in chairs or kneeling on the carpeted deck. "If you didn't know from on planet, I'm Ensign Thomas; this is System Governor Sullivan. We're here to give you a briefing, so please find a chair."

Michelle found one, still gagged and leashed with her hands still cuffed behind her. She still wore the white slave tunic, and while it felt a little strange not to wear a bra, and the slave belt was a bit uncomfortable, it was no worse than a wrinkled menstrual pad in her panties. She sat back as the Governor took her seat at the head of the table, Ensign Thomas resuming, "Thank you. First, the Doc has given you all a clean bill of health, which is not really surprising, but we had to check. Second, the reason you haven't had your various bits of equipment unlocked is that there have been some changes since you were shipped up from Earth in stasis tubes, and that's why we're here. We'll unlock you after this briefing is finished." She poured a glass of water for the Governor and another for herself, which she sipped. "After we had you fixed up on Tosul, the original plan was to put you back into those tubes for the rest of the trip, then smuggle you onto Windfall and let you integrate yourselves with the local slave population. For that reason, quarters were not allocated for you, and all three ships are literally jammed to the deckheads with people. We're on Deck 5, which is a crew deck. That means you shouldn't run into passengers, but you will run into crew, as this is where we're quartered – the lower level of Main Engineering is down the passageway. Right now, you may be humanoid, but you don't _look_ human." There was a questioning whimper from someone, and she gestured, "You've got tawny fur, slit eyes, an elongated nose, small fangs, pointed ears and claws, which none of the passengers or crew do. The First Officer is looking into the cabin problem, but these two conference rooms…" (she gestured at the room) "… this one and 'B' across the passage, are really simply two-person quarters that were out of place and we converted. They're normally used as our rec rooms, and for training. Now, we have a Marine standing sentry outside, their orders are not to keep you _in_, but to keep others _out_. The Captain asks that you not leave this room, as you're not supposed to be here."

Christine stood, "The original plan that was drawn up on Earth, as the Ensign said, needed to be modified for Windfall. For one thing, the radars in orbit over the single continent will pick up any shuttle or aircraft; they're part of the air traffic control system. For that reason, we decided to simply import you as normal slave cargo, paying taxes and so forth on you. However, one question that still needs answering is why a cargo ship like the _Nevis_ would have picked you up." Ensign Thomas made a note on her legal pad as she continued, "Once you'd gained the slave mindset (she finger quoted), you'd be shipped off to another planet to set up an intelligence network in a port." She took a sip of water, "That's not going to work. I apologize for the delay, but I needed to get up to speed myself. In the few days since we've left Earth, Windfall has held an election for the planet's Basic Law, its Constitution. While most of it went our way, some of it didn't, as will happen in an election, but some of the sections that didn't are not exactly female or slave - friendly." She took a sip of her ice water; then continued.

"Let's start off with the law. You are all citizens of Earth, the Terran Empire, and while you may _look_ like slaves, you are _not legally_ slaves. You are all volunteers, are all here with informed consent, and are paid through your parent agencies. Is there anyone here who is NOT here of their own free will?" She waited, there was silence, and then she continued. "Second point, the ship is registered on Epsilon Eridani Three, a slave - holding planet, and thus their law applies aboard ship. However, as I said, unless you have crossed your wrists to someone, you are free females who are disguised, and may expect to be treated as slaves. Is that clear to everyone?" She waited again. "Third, our destination is Windfall, in the Benecee system, another slave – holding planet. There, as you have the _appearance_ of slaves, including collars, belts, and hip implants, you may expect to be _treated_ as slaves. This is your last chance to opt out, if you do, go stand by the door."

"Ma'am, what kind of treatment can they expect?"

"Not like Tosul. I'll go into this more, but when the new Basic Law went into effect, all persons owning private slaves, with the exception of starships, were expected to sell them to the planetary government. That government is the only legal slave owner on the planet, and it's through the Ministry of Commerce and the Slave Control Agency, both of which are predominantly staffed and run by slaves. Another problem, when we import you, we'll have to turn over your programming modules and control chips."

"And the keys to their belts," Ensign Thomas said. "Medical wanted that, with sealed belts they couldn't do OB/GYN work." She made a note, "We don't have a slaver station on board, so we can't recollar them, and if we have to turn their chips over, we'll also have to turn over the keys to their belts, which opens the possibility of slave rape."

Christine nodded, "Returning to your expected treatment. Day to day, it's better than I've had as a slave myself; as a legally imported slave you'll have some basic rights, including the right to own bank accounts, and from what I understand, voting rights. Slaves voted in this past election, and that was apparently part of the problem, they're not used to making their own mind up. They were told how to vote and were given a sample ballot by the conservative Traditionalist party, so that's how they voted because that's how free persons _told_ them to vote. There's an investigation going on right now into election fraud. Because of that questionable election, right now the Traditionalists have a fairly solid grip on power on Island and the planetary assembly; to the tune of around eighty percent … do we have any sort of map or slides available?"

"Yes, ma'am…" Ensign Thomas came down the table, asking Michelle, "Can we trade places so I can work the computer?" She got up and traded as the room lights darkened and a planetary map came up. The Governor swiveled in her chair, "There's only one continent, and Island is the sideways pear shaped island in the lower right. It's 150 by 50 kilometers and was originally a fishing settlement." The map display changed, showing Island. "Lower right, the shoulder of the pear, is Port Lincoln, which is our main facility on Island. This is where we've been importing the rescued slaves you've heard of. To the northeast is East Port, where we have some nautical R & D; to the north-northwest is West Port, where we have several docks and cargo facilities. If you look roughly north from Port Lincoln, there's a small bowl-shaped valley, which is known as 'The Farm'. One of the previous rulers, Elder Baasht, kept a slave breeding farm there, with a lot of sadistic guards, hence the name and its rather evil reputation. That's understandable, of course. The guards are gone; it's been refurbished to some extent, better lighting, ventilation and so forth; and its being run by the slaves 'as it should be run' (she finger-quoted). However, one of the options on the ballot that passed by a decent margin of something like 58-30, is the proposal to remake the Farm into a slave immigration and control facility. That's primarily why we haven't removed your gags and leashes; they would need to be reinstalled when you're imported through the Farm." There were several whimpers, one girl stood, back to them, and tugged with her arms while she whimpered sharply. Christine said, "All right, you'll have the option later to have it taken off with that understanding. Remember, slaves will on occasion go days or weeks bound and gagged as you are, I have, and these are a lot more comfortable." The girl nodded, whimpered once and sat back down.

"What kind of treatment can they expect, ma'am?"

"First, the election is only a few days old, and from what I understand, the slaves in an immigration reception facility at Riverside were packed up and shipped to the Farm. They're still trying to get organized there, for now; they're just stuffing half a dozen slaves into each cell until they figure things out; what to do and where they all go. The Farm works on all paper records, too, so they're trying to install a computer network and access to the slave database for record keeping and access control. That puts several thousand slaves in that one building, and while it's built into the side of a mountain valley, it's still going to be hot and cramped, as well as Island being subtropical." There were several whimpers at that. "Think six slaves like you, bound and gagged like you are now and locked into a cell the size of a small closet. That's not going to be comfortable; however, they do have electric lights in the main corridors instead of torches, so it's not too dark and medieval. Hopefully by the time we get there, their organizational problems will be sorted out. I asked about keeping them outside, while Island is sub-tropical, at least they'd be outside in the fresh air."

She waited, and while there were people stirring, no one left for the door. Christine continued, "Day-to-day on Island, and especially in High Town, you might get some sneers and contempt from the free males, most of who apparently believe that females, and slave girls especially, are a lower form of life. There's a natural sense of superiority in all the males, the Source made them male, so no matter how reasonable they are, you're going to get at least arrogance, if not outright sexist bigotry, even brother-to-sister." She gave a small smile, "We've all encountered sexists, think of religiously motivated ones like in Saudi Arabia, but there's also the 'class' factor, slaves are, at best servants. While you might smile and be polite to the waitress, you don't date her or marry her." There was also some shifting, and she said, "Well, you didn't come here to catch a guy, did you? There is some social mobility, and slaves with dark collars are treated as simply 'free females' on Windfall. Not slave, but still female."

"That's the one place," Ensign Thomas put in. "On Tosul, the Port Inspector was a former slave with a dark collar, and she obviously knew the delivery slave that dropped you off. That girl was wearing a judicial collar like you, she expected to have a dark collar soon, when her sentence was up; she was looking for a job. My limited experience is that slave treatment varies by planet."

"Oh, definitely," Christine agreed. "We're talking about Windfall, though. Now, I apologize if this duplicates something you've already been told, but overall, the planetary population is around two hundred five thousand, the free males of all ages are about thirty five thousand, the female population is around one hundred eighty of which slaves number about fifty thousand. I don't think there's ever been a formal census; although we've kicked around the idea. Other places are mostly Terran occupied, but the big population center is on Island. Among the slave girls, there's the usual cliquish competition, but there's also some camaraderie. The major news network on Island is the slave gossip network; which is 'so – and - so's master just did such – and –such,' that kind of thing."

Christine took a gulp of water. "However, the relationships between free females and slave females are different; the free women know they could easily wind up in a collar, or at least they could under the Elders; depending on their political connections, so some will treat you like dirt, literally. You'd be expected to lie in a mud puddle so they wouldn't dirty their shoes or go to all fours so they can step on your back to board a carriage. You're sort of like a disposable tool, and some of them treat you like a slightly stupid small child. They will _not_ be friends with you and will _not_ ask your opinion; at best, you're a servant to them. When Miss Wayne asked a shop slave's opinion, it was regarded as scandalous behaviour; it had tongues wagging up and down High Town."

She smiled somewhat grimly, "On the other hand, Terrans have been talking about arming slaves, and slave girls from the colonies have been seen in High Town with holstered guns. This has made some people very nervous; one thing slave owners fear is a slave rebellion. However, the sub - colonies require their people to go armed against the wabbits, and restricting firearms _didn't_ make it on the ballot; I think because whoever it was in the Traditionalists that decided these things didn't really know the Terrans, or they were afraid of our infantry forces."

"It's called 'force appreciation' in the military," Ensign Thomas put in. "Understanding how your enemy thinks."

"Thank you. People are still feeling their way, ever since we arrived and Elder Paavue decided to get greedy and tried to kidnap and torture our people, kicking off a minor war with his thugs, the Blacks, against the Terran Empire." She smiled slightly, "He apparently believed that we would tamely roll over and accept this, he generously offered to return the dead bodies if we cooperated. His troops were dressed in shorts and halter tops with a nightstick, we had modern infantry with machine guns, armor, snipers, mortars, and all the rest." There was an undercurrent of snorted amusement. "To say they didn't do too well is an understatement; we thoroughly kicked the Blacks' ass; then went back to peacefully doing business with the civilians. Those civilians are still trying to figure that out a couple months later, and as I said, the relations between slave girls and their owners, or strictly speaking, their lessors are still somewhat unsettled."

"Lessors, ma'am?"

"Officially, slaves under the Elders were owned by the government and leased. In practice, you could buy your slave with a small bribe, as well as import off-world slaves, which was a status symbol. There's still some of that, since you, we, look 'off world' there's going to be attempts to buy you. The planetary government owns you or it will, but it wouldn't surprise me that there are attempts to 'end run' the system and buy you. By the way, bribery is a felony that gets a thirty year collar in a road crew, anyone accepting a bribe gets a death sentence. The last I heard, there were ten or twelve heads decorating a fence in High Town with a sign 'Accepted a bribe' and the circumstances."

"Speaking of which, you need to go to Medical and get back to looking human, ma'am."

"A couple more things, then I'll go. One of the disputed sections of the ballot allowed 'financially secure', ie; male, property owners to purchase slaves outright from the government. One of the Basic Law sections also under investigation reverted property ownership to males only, the women can't even own the clothes on their back, not to mention real estate, businesses, or livestock of any kind, including slaves. That's where a lot of the attraction and the political horsepower went for the Traditionalists, who are all male. In order for a free woman to own her business, she has to find a male to head it, so he'll take a cut off the top. For signing his name a few times he's got a very nice income he doesn't have to work for."

Christine sat back, "One of the problems is that when the Traditionalists tried to rig the election, they weren't subtle about it, but then again, they have control of the still – unseated planetary Assembly. I can't procrastinate too much longer, I'm going to have to gavel it into session soon, which means they can just pass a law to enact whatever we shoot down in the Basic Law." She sighed, "I hate politics; I'm going to have to have a coalition government of some kind. Anyway, that's my problem. For you, some free people are going to treat you like shonnen shit because of your collar, others will be supportive and a shoulder to cry on, at least out of sight. They can't have the neighbors see them treat a slave decently, and all that. We're also installing a decent economy based on tungsten instead of the Elder's iron – based economy, so there's going to be some turmoil there, some of which you're going to catch simply because a passing slave, especially an off-planet slave is a handy target to take out their anger on; a slave can't fight back. One reason we've got additional army troops aboard, to keep the peace."

Governor Sullivan sighed, "Another bit of disputed law, judicial slaves are to report to the Farm for Enhancement as a security measure. Now, given that a master can 'convict' (she finger-quoted) his slaves of anything he damn well likes, we're going to offer you an option. You're already wearing judicial collars and brands, and with the Enhanced speech pattern of 'my master' and 'this slave', you should be safe from that. An alternative would be to move you to a common collar and disable the Enhancement functions, as was done for me, and nobody will know you're Enhanced. The problem is, down the road there's a chance that common collar girls and free females will be forcibly collared and Enhanced. The Ministry of Commerce, the Farm and the SCA are all run by slaves, with only a few free people there, but they're empire-building and politically close to the Traditionalists, and they've ordered a lot of new Enhancement kits and other equipment, enough to collar and Enhance every female on the planet."

There were some looks and shifting between the girls, Christine paused before continuing, "The Captain tells me we've got a few days before we leave Tosul orbit to rejoin a convoy with our other ships, so about another ten days to Windfall." She sighed again, "Girls, I could really use your help, especially against the Traditionalists and in Commerce and SCA. However, that may mean going 'full slave', including the forced speech, and letting them know you're Enhanced. Anyway, last chance for the doorway. If you want your stuff off, line up over there, but remember, it will need to go back on when we get to Windfall." She stood, gathering her things, "I'll leave you in Ensign Thomas' capable hands while I go down the hall to Medical. I'll be available once the Doc lets me have visitors."

Michelle watched the Governor leave, along with Ensign Thomas, and the girls traded glances. After a minute, she got up and walked over next to the wall, turning, tossing her hair to her right front, and kneeling in front of the wall, back to the room, in what she knew was the personal slave position: knees wide, back straight, head down, her chin on her chest, showing her neck and collar. She didn't turn her head or move as someone else knelt next to her, or even when she heard chairs being shoved back and leather sandaled footsteps against the carpet. She waited, this is what she had volunteered for, and Governor Sullivan had said she needed the help.

"Would you go on to Windfall?" Christine asked as she paused while Helga walked her down the hall.

"Me?" The Ensign snorted, "Get in range of those Traditionalist bastards? Only with a shotgun and hunting license. Then again, I'm not trained for it, these girls are, and you were painfully honest with them. Even if we convict the Traditionalists of election fraud, it's not a capital crime, is it?"

"Maybe. That's why we have lawyers." Christine looked at her wrist comp, "How many do you think we'll be able to keep?"

"If we're lucky I think we'll keep, one, maybe two. The rest, back into the stasis tanks, I guess. Well, here's Medical. I'll stop by and see you when the Doc lets me."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Sunday, November 10, 2002: 07:37 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Sheila Hawking's townhouse:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning," Sheila said as Julie Morton came in the kitchen, followed by Mattie, both girls in bathrobes and fuzzy slippers. After a minute, Arthur came in wearing maroon Ohio State track shorts, flip-flops and a white sleeveless t-shirt, she pointed him to the teapot, "I'm glad Minerva let you have a weekend off. I let you guys sleep in, I hope you don't mind using Eddie's tea and his room, Arthur. He's off doing an inspection tour of the shipyards and lunar sites."

"Uncle Eddie? Cool." Mattie asked, adding, "Who wants coffee?"

"Two sugars, please," Julie said. "Orange juice?"

"Please," Arthur said, taking a seat and sighing as the first swallow of tea went down. Sheila waved the girls to the table, asking, "Who wants what on their pancakes?"

"Now that everyone's somewhat woken up, I wanted to discuss something with you," Sheila told her niece. "You have got to rein in your online spending, especially on your black card."

"I haven't used that card in months, I was planning on cancelling it, I just hadn't gotten around to it," Mattie replied. She took a gulp of coffee, then stood and started to collect the dirty plates as Arthur summoned a jar to pour the leftover batter in. "The last time I used it was … um … on Corfu, at Elena's graduation. The hotel desk clerk said there was a problem with my green card, so I used that. I'd forgotten all about it."

Julie started a dishwashing spell on the dirty dishes, saying, "I remember him, he was cute," as Arthur did a cleaning charm on the griddle.

"What about your green AMEX?" Sheila asked,

"I've done some Christmas shopping online and in London, Crystal's picked up some stuff for me; but I got her a card on the account and I've kept the receipts, and I've been putting them in the spreadsheet you gave me. I've done some shopping with my Gringotts card; I added that to my spreadsheet," she added as she poured coffee refills; then fetching tea for Arthur as Sheila reached down, dropping two file folders next to her place. Mattie took a gulp of her coffee; then opened the first folder. "What the heck…" she said as she looked it over. "I've never been to Mobile, Alabama. Why would I buy car parts there?" She shook her head, "None of this is mine." She opened the other one, "Okay, this is the green card, and some of this is mine. I'll double check when I get back to school, and email you the spreadsheet, but nothing since summer break in North America. No, wait, there's one for Amazon, I bought some books… that's in Canada, though."

"That's what I thought," Sheila said. "These are way off base for you; but they seem to start when you were in Greece. I'll want to cross-check with your spreadsheet. Double-check your online accounts; then we'll call AMEX."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Sunday, November 10, 2002: 08:29 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Donaldson flat:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"So what do we do?" Ev asked her husband, and Warren put down his cereal spoon. "No way am I going to some boarding school."

Gene put down his coffee, "You may not like the idea, but you were able to get sparks from four different wands, including Mr. Dumbledore's, son. I think that's pretty conclusive proof that you're a wizard; and like Wayne said, if you're going to use the gifts God gave you, you'll need training."

"I can't say I like the idea of him going off to Scotland, either," Ev said, sitting down across from them at the table in the small flat. "Still, especially if we can get financial aid…"

"Morton did say that he'd make a call regarding a job for me," Gene said. "He didn't guarantee the job, but he said he could arrange an interview with Arrowhead's HR lady for their IT shop. The only thing is, I'm rusty, and so many companies are Microsoft shops."

"Not Arrowhead, though," Warren said. "Macs and Unix all the way, dad! Woo-hoo!" He pumped his fist in the air.

"Well, I want to see this Alley place," Ev said, standing and moving to the sink. "You two go get ready while I finish the dishes; we're going to meet Mr. Dumbledore at ten."

"Mrs. Donaldson, how very nice to meet you," Albus said, shaking hands. "May I introduce Callista Vector; she is Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress and Mathematics instructor." The two women sized each other up; Ev was reassured to see that Ms. Vector looked 'normal' and wore a skirted suit, unlike Mr. Dumbledore, who wore an eye-searing robe of purple with yellow stripes.

"You should see what he wears for golf," Callista said with a smile and nod toward Albus, who looked vaguely offended. "We checked our records, and couldn't find Warren listed in the 1992 wizarding births," Callista said, accepting tea from the toothless barkeep with a smile and a 'Thank you, Tom'.

"Oh, we're from the States, and came over here about eighteen months ago, and I lost my job a few months later," Gene said.

"Because you told that asshole boss of yours the truth, dad!" Warren said. "Paying that much money to Microsoft when you can use something for free? What was she smoking?"

Callista raised an eyebrow, and Gene sighed, "The boss wanted to install some rather sophisticated software called Exchange. With the necessary hardware and software licenses, it would have cost the company some £ 300,000. I suggested using free software and some of our spare equipment, which wouldn't have cost us anything. She … took it badly; there were apparently some other, political factors I was not aware of. I was let go shortly thereafter, and she has been giving me poor recommendations, which has made finding a new job difficult."

"However, Mr. Morton has said he'd call and arrange an interview with a Ms. Bundy, who is Miss Wayne's HR person," Ev put in. "That's why we're hopeful we can work out the financing."

"Karen Bundy, I presume," Albus said, and Gene looked at him, the old wizard's eyes twinkled, and he said, "Yes." Albus smiled gently, adding, "Please mention my name when you speak to Ms. Bundy, Mr. Donaldson."

"I've known Karen a long time," Callista said. "We're housemates; add my name to Albus', please." She pulled out a file folder, "Wizards use a different currency, although I've converted it into Sterling here. Most merchants on the Alley will accept pounds, we'll need to get you set up with a Gringotts vault for Warren, where his funds would be deposited, and Hogwarts would simply debit the vault for his tuition and fees."

Ev asked, "Gringotts … where have I heard the name before?"

"They are the Terran Empire's affiliated bank with Lantern Bank, the interstellar bank," Callista replied. "Should you wish to go off-world, they would be who you would deal with. They have a special relationship with Hogwarts and Miss Wayne's various companies. You may wish to move your other accounts to them, and please be sure to utilize their various offers, like their discounted Oyster card for the Tube." She smiled, "Shall we take a short stroll through the Alley? Then we'll see the goblins."

"One of the difficulties I had when I found out I was a witch," Callista said, sipping her tea as they sat on Florean Fortescue's snow-covered patio, while Warren drank a hot chocolate. "That was the months between my initial visit to the Alley, as this is for your son, and my actually starting Hogwarts. I was teased mercilessly, I was 'outed' publically, as Warren was, and there were any number of times when I wished to change my tormentors into frogs." She smiled, "As the students say, 'Been there, done that.'"

"Got the t-shirt," Warren put in. "Bummer. You can actually do that? Change someone into a frog?"

"Oh, yes, although it is fifth-year transfiguration," Callista replied. "No kissing a princess to reverse it, though." She smiled again, "One of the difficulties you will have, young man, is to restrain yourself in the 'muggle' or non-magical world, especially when your neighbor insists on playing loud music at two in the morning. For this reason, there are the underage restrictions on usage. Outside of school, you cannot perform magic for that reason."

"But Miss Wayne … admittedly, Warren egged her on, he got in her face, but she made his hair grow. I was there," Gene put in.

"Miss Wayne and Mr. Morton are somewhat of a special case, due to the threats against them, and that they have Wizarding bodyguards," Callista admitted. "Trust me, if you had irritated her, or been considered a threat, you would not be sitting where you are now. A _follicus_ spell is nothing; a first-year spell, you may wish to keep the longer hair, it is the style in Wizarding society." She sipped her tea, gesturing to the file folder. "Included in the packet is a release form to send your academic transcript to Hogwarts. We recently endured our first OFSTED inspection, the school had gotten along very nicely without visits from the bureaucrats for the last thousand – plus years, but now…" She sighed. "Warren, at the completion of his schooling, will have his muggle GCSEs and any A levels he wishes to sit, as well as the wizarding OWLs after fifth-year and NEWTs after his seventh year. In addition to my own specialty of Arithmancy, I am teaching the other mathematics courses such as algebra and calculus. You will have chemistry as well as potions, history, the usual courses. There are currently some 350 students in Hogwarts; it varies slightly year-to-year." She put a few galleons on the table, "Shall we go see the bankers?"

"Ms. Vector! Always a pleasure," the goblin said, bowing and shaking her hand. "How may Gringotts assist you today?"

Callista returned the bow, "Mr. Claspbar, this is Mr. and Mrs. Donaldson, and their son Warren. They're considering Hogwarts for their son; they were referred to us by Mr. Morton."

"Oh, excellent!" the short goblin said. "Such a good referral! We'll be more than happy to assist them, please; step this way to my office…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Sunday, November 10, 2002: 10:32 (GMT)****  
****Tosul orbit, **_M/V (A) Ben Nevis_**, Conference 5a:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Danielle turned as the door slid open, she called, "Mistress Governor!" and dropped to the personal slave position, reflexively cuffing herself along with the other girls in the room. Governor Sullivan paused, surprised, with the door open behind her; and then took a few steps into the room, allowing Ensign Thomas to enter behind her. The door hissed closed as she looked around the room; then walked to the head of the conference table, sat, and said, "Report, please."

"Yes, mistress," Danielle said, sitting back on her heels, her hands cuffed behind her. "Mistress is looking much more Terran," she added with a grin. "With the assistance of Mistress Thomas and the Captain, your slaves have made great progress, although we still need to discuss certain things with Mistress Governor Sullivan."

"Please, stop with that 'Mistress' crap," Christine said. "It was annoying enough when I had to say it."

"With respect, mistress, it is there for a reason," Danielle replied. "While I will agree that it is annoying, it is there to reinforce the image of these girls as slave. That is why we kneel, why we have cuffed ourselves, it is what privately-owned slaves do. Even common-collar slaves need to remember to use the term in relation to free persons, and especially with such upstanding citizens as the Traditionalists." She nodded to the side, and Christine saw several girls with common collars.

"Our back story, mistress (one said), is that our Mistress Ensign Thomas won us in a Tonton game here on Tosul," another girls said. "Mistress Thomas is known as a card player, it explains our presence on ship and our lack of quarters. We were the crew of a tramp freighter, one extended family, as is typical for those types of ships. When the pirates took the ship, they of course enslaved and sold us, the ship's officers were Enhanced and placed in judicial collars, the common crew they left in common collars. This is a common enough story, but it was also recent enough that we are still together, only one transaction away from the pirate's 'fence'. Our collars have been laundered, so to speak, and should anyone investigate, our previous owners were a rather shady slave house on Kittredge Five." She nodded to Danielle, "Our two sisters with experience in collars believe that the Traditionalists will not be so motivated to investigate, they will instead take us as presented: slaves."

"Especially if we bow and scrape appropriately, mistress," another girl said. "Our history will be further obscured when Ensign Thomas has a strip torn off in public, and is ordered by the Captain, in front of the planetary Customs officers, to sign over our titles to the system government, we will then be no different than the hotel slaves that are bought and transported here. One difficulty still in need of addressing: we will need to have the appropriate databases and Spacer's Guild ratings installed for each girl, which means being transported back to the planet. We would also like to have more individual variation in appearance. That can be performed aboard ship after the Spacer's Guild ratings are installed. However, we also each have different scents."

"What …" Christine said, then sniffed. "Oh, I see. I'm not used to thinking of scent. Please continue."

"Mistress must remember, that the more complex the lie, the more difficult it is to remember," the girl continued. "For instance, I previously worked on Wall Street; and thus am covered as our tramp freighter's financial officer. Mr. Burnet, the head of your Finance Ministry, has agreed to find me a cover position as a slave in his ministry, where I might keep an eye on the opposition. Should the opportunity arise, I will be influenced by them, possibly by engineering a sympathetic financial opportunity or two."

"What if they try to buy you?" Christine asked. "What about discipline, what we call torture? No, it's too risky…"

"Mistress, we have considered that. Please remember that we shall not belong to them, but to you, as the head of government, and private ownership of slaves is illegal. As far as discipline, we anticipate no more than an occasional backhand or kick, routine for slaves. Anything more would leave the perpetrator open to charges of property damage. Should they try to steal us for their collection, that is slave theft, a felony, and in the worst situation, we still retain the suicide option should you be unable to recover us."

Christine grumbled; then asked, "How do you report in?"

"That is a different question that we shall address in a minute, mistress," Akane said. "I am the other one of our two experienced slaves; you do not have need-to-know. We have another difficulty in that when Ensign Thomas sells us to you, as the government, she must also turn over our control chips and programming modules. This caused quite a bit of brainstorming, due to the orbital traffic control radars. However, there are three options we have discovered, all three depend on our being recollared and having a second, updated set of chips and modules created."

"Please continue," Christine said as she turned and sat back, crossing her legs.

"The older, invalid set of chips would be turned over to the planet's Slave Control Agency while you keep the newer, working set, mistress. From reports we have seen, the slaves in the SCA will simply file the chips and lock us in cells, they are not particularly efficient." Akane shifted on her heels, "In addition, mistress, the only way for them to test functionality of those chips is to insert them into a portable slave controller, which would also affect their own collars. It is designed to be used by free persons, not slaves, mistress." She winced; then said, "Mistress, you have commented on our use of the term 'mistress'. The adjective 'my' as part of that setting can be individually disabled in our Enhancement firmware, we have set our collars so we will not feel more than a level three discipline shock, and nothing other than required for our survival is enabled. This is why we are not saying 'my mistress' or 'this slave' with every sentence." She shook her hair back, "In addition, mistress, if we time things right, arriving at a busy time, they should just wave us on through and we'll be lost in the crowd of other imported slaves and immigrating colonists."

"The key is to create that updated set of chips, mistress," Danielle added. "Not a duplicate set, which we could arrange here on Tosul, but the updated, recollared set, which will use a different set of security algorithms, and will invalidate the previous set. There are two slave ships that frequent the planet, the _Scythe_ and the _Taalah_. They could be used; but would require informing the Captains, at least. We are trying to limit knowledge of our existence; that is why it is preferable to sneak us on-planet and use a machine that is located in Port Lincoln, near the beach. The difficulty there is the traffic control radars; they cover the single continent and have sufficient overlap of several hundred kilometers offshore."

"Therefore, mistress, what we propose is the _Nevis_ use two of her shuttles," another girl said. "A small passenger shuttle which we shall be on will leave the ship outside the radar coverage and fly in stealth mode. Another, a larger cargo shuttle leaves the ship and flies top cover, hiding our small shuttle in its shadow. This happens toward the end of third watch, when people are tired and sleepy, and it is night on planet. We are dropped on the beach at Port Lincoln, recollared by Mistress Castellano, who keeps our updated chips and modules, and we re-board the shuttle. We anticipate this should take no longer than five minutes per slave, although three hours is budgeted. We fly back up to the _Nevis_, and are then offloaded with other cargo, passengers, and slaves."

"Hmph…" Christine said, sitting back and running through the scenario. "That could work. What about your paperwork?"

"To Planetary Customs, we'll be legitimate slave cargo, mistress," Akane said. "As you said, we'll be somewhat exotic and therefore the Traditionalists and their sympathizers will see us as collectable slaves; which is what we want them to think. We assume they have security people who will view us as what we appear to be; Enhanced slaves. Given the personality types, we think the Traditionalist 'powers-that-be' will override any suspicions and objections from their security people. For the first month or so, we'll be doing exactly what we're ordered to do, nothing more; nothing less."

"Reinforcing the cover legend," one girl commented. "Given the opposition's mindset of natural male superiority, they will assume female slaves are not clever enough to fool them, and will probably be simply tracking our movements by collar transmitter."

"Given those assumptions of general female ignorance and slave stupidity, we will place dead drops in places with large amounts of slave foot traffic, such as marketplaces," the first girl commented. "Similarly, given the reports from our previously collared sisters on slave interaction, it makes sense to have similar packages available for brush passes…"

"… which take skill to pull off," another commented. "Not all can do it."

"True," the first replied. "Not all of us will be case officers, contrary to what spy stories may tell you, mistress," she added with a smile. "Like any endeavor, there is support staff, only here they also deal with recruitment of both principal agents and others. Recruitment is very much an art form, mistress, and your function would not be any form of 'cloak and dagger'."

"No 'Jane Bond', or 'shaken, not stirred'? Darn," Christine grinned.

"No, mistress, you are far too valuable to be a 'double-0' agent," one girl said in an exaggerated British accent. She smiled, dropping the false accent. "Mistress, you are valuable because you are part of our cover. You are the System Governor, and as part of your official duties, you will claim the High Town residence of former Elder Daala, who was their head of government. You will be as obnoxious and arrogant as the Traditionalists are, and in public you will treat your slaves, us, as the Traditionalists treat their slaves, as they expect slaves to be treated. That residence has a staff of slaves, which will keep it in shape for your use, and for the use of visiting dignitaries such as Mistress Empress Wayne, should she visit."

Christine objected, "But they'll see my dark collar, and that's not really my style…"

"Mistress, did you ever act in high school?" Danielle asked.

Christine shook her head, "I was a band geek. I still have my clarinet somewhere."

"It would perhaps be better if Mistress Sullivan were to be the 'ignorant patsy' of our plan," another girl said. "No offense to mistress, but part of this plan involves having a 'sympathetic insider', and being female and a former slave; that would be a stretch for even the best actress."

"Ah," Christine said, tilting her chair back. "Two things for you to consider; Piotr is former KGB counter-intelligence, his wife and daughter are on the _Manhattan_. He's already been very helpful to us, and is the nominal head of the Security Ministry. In addition, there are several people in Riverside from the Mounties and FBI with counter-intelligence experience." Several of the girls nodded, and she continued, "Second point, my former chief of staff, Walter Cuthbert, is transferring to Port Lincoln for his health; he's former MI-6, and besides being a member of the House of Lords is also a wizard. They have already been involved in some … 'actions' … I believe he called it."

"KR Line? That's good, although you'll need to let him know we're initiating operations, mistress. With Master Lord Cuthbert, he may be ideal for the part of our 'sympathetic insider'. We need to know of his actual feelings, though."

"I think we'd be safe on that score," Christine replied. "While you'd probably want to talk to him yourselves, he's already helped out several girls in sticky situations, in a very quiet, behind-the-scenes way. However, I do want to say that we are keeping the existence of witches and wizards very, very covert. Officially, they don't exist; they're a myth, like the rest of the galaxy believes."

"Of course, mistress," the girl said. "That could be useful for official cover, as well. I would suggest you invite Mistress Castellano, Master Lord Cuthbert and Master Comrade Piotr over for tea, mistress. We will discuss matters with the two Masters while you and Master Burnet give the other Ministry heads a briefing."

"After you have taken over the Prime Residence, of course, mistress," one girl said. She sat back on her heels, "Mistress Governor, may we assume we have your full cooperation?"

"You may," Christine replied. "I will ask Mr. Cuthbert if he is willing to cooperate, he is moving to Island for his health, after all. Why do I need the Prime Residence?"

"Mistress, we have looked at plans and maps of High Town, and considered the equipment installed in each of us." She shifted on her heels, "Mistress; that includes a short range transceiver. These have a range of zero to five meters; we have set each of ours for one meter. We will need to do some actual scouting of the area, but we think we can simply use the deep rock tunnels that connect the buildings in High Town as the 'slave' entrances. We have thought of disguising things like neck rings as antennae. Equipment that is designed for slaves, as only free people use the main entrances."

"You simply get within range of a suitably disguised antenna, and upload your reports, which are then bounced off a satellite…" Christine said. "Excellent!"

"That would work, mistress," a girl said. "We had other things in mind, however, which you do not have need-to-know. The principal use we would put the Prime Residence for is a base of operations and training, using a covert cell structure and the existing slave gossip network. We still have several problems to resolve, mistress, including document handling, message flags for drops and secure communications."

"This is something that we need to work out through scouting of the High Town area, mistress, something you are not trained for." She shifted where she knelt, "Mistress, we must assume a hostile environment with active counter-intelligence by the Traditionalists; your primary job is to provide political cover for us." The girl looked around, "Therefore, Mistress, what we would need from you and Mistress Castellano would not only be political cover, but to turn a 'blind eye' to our activities. You would throw parties for the upper crust of the social order; and return the favor by going to their own. You would also play the parts of upper-crust social snobs, you are, after all, the Imperial System Governor, and while you would reserve the very best of the best suite in the Prime Residence for Mistress Empress Wayne, should she choose to visit, you would occupy the second-best suite. This information would be passed around High Town through the slave gossip network."

"I really don't like that; I'm the daughter of a fisherman…" Christine objected.

"Ma'am, my father was a farmer," the previously silent Ensign Thomas said. "I'm going to take a strip torn off in public from the Captain for their 'ownership'; the Captain has said it won't affect me. These girls are going to be in a lot more danger, the least we can do is throw a few tea parties and be snobs for them," she said. "I'm sure Lord Cuthbert can give you tips on how the upper-crust behaves toward their servants."

"Slaves, mistress," a girl corrected. "Servants are free, we are slaves. We would be invisible to the High Masters and Mistresses." She looked at Christine, "Mistress, not only will we need to staff the High Residence; we will also need to move our people into the different ministries."

Christine nodded. She started to rise, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Mistress, we have four witches we have spoken to and then programmed to sleep, they were to report to someone, we don't know who," the girl said. "Aside from that, we shall make our plans, which you do not have need-to-know, mistress. We will send Mistress Ensign Thomas to you should we need something, or to brief you."

"I know who they report to, I'll have her come by for them," Christine said as she stood. "I'll arrange with the Captain to have those Spacer's Guild ratings installed. Thank you," as she left the compartment.

"Ms. Fukuda, I am to relieve you," Petunia said, dropping her small travel bag next to the Japanese witch. "They want you upstairs, something to do with four girls. Governor Sullivan wasn't very specific."

"All right," Yuki agreed. "Let me give you a quick status report on what's done, and what needs to be done." She unrolled and spread out blueprints on the shaded picnic table. "The plumbers, electricians and painters are done on levels 'A' and 'B', and the ground floor. They've run fiber data cable from these cages here on 'B' behind the stairwell and elevator shafts where the various network connections and racks are, up to the top floor and to this point on the roof." She traced the route with a pencil on various sheets. "They're running horizontally on each floor to these points on each wing."

"It seems excessively complex," Petunia commented.

"That's what I asked on Earth. The computer people said it was like connecting spider webs, that if the accountants, for instance, were all in this room …" (She flipped through sheets.) "… Here, on third floor west; if we needed to isolate their computers for security, we could simply plug those cables into a single thing, they called it a switch or router, they could get out, but others couldn't get in." She shrugged, "I confess I don't understand it. They also said that the types of cable in the room are different, and only has a hundred meter maximum length, so the room cables go to these points on each floor, and the floor points are connected with the fiber cable, which has a much longer maximum length, a couple of kilometers each. Those are run back to the central point down on 'B'; where we still need to install the back-end computer kit."

"Like side streets connecting to larger roads…" Petunia mused. "Oh, well, if they understand it…"

"They do, the contractor looked at it for a few minutes, grunted and said 'Not a problem', and went off with T'awny," Yuki replied. "The computers are small things that fit in a power box. Fortunately, the power is not as complex. What is taking time is painting; both inside and outside. The building is yellow brick, which has that unfortunate 'slave' association, so we're painting it white outside. We still need to install things like partitions, desks and lights, which have at least been delivered. On the roof, they've fixed the leak and given it a sealing coat, they need to install various antennae and…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Sunday, November 10, 2002: 10:44 (GMT)****  
****Deimos, Engineering studies base:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Well, howdy, sweetheart," the tall, lanky fellow drawled. "You the new barmaid?"

"Why, no," Chantal replied, kicking behind him in the base's effective (.0004g) null grav. She reached out and grabbed his thumb to stop; using his mass to stop her momentum, then locked her boots to the steel floor, set and twisted his arm up behind him. "I'm one of the new engineers, as you might have seen when you looked at my ball cap. You DID look a foot north of my tits, didn't you, Longhorn?"

"Why, shore did, sweetheart," he said, setting himself and trying to dislodge her grip on his thumb.

"Why, that's wonderful," Chantal purred. "What school is it, cowboy?"

"I can't rightly say," he admitted. "I was so distracted by your beauty, y'see, darl'in."

She hooked a leg around his, "Sweet talker. Try the color, Tex, otherwise you're going to be singin' soprano in the base choir."

"I do believe it was as red as a Texas sunrise, darl'in. Now why don' we grab a beer or two an' talk about how you an' me..."

"You do move fast, longhorn. Y'see, us mountain gals from West-by-God Virginny have heard that before. Bringin' lunch to our fathers and brothers down in th' coal mines, y'see. Now, I might not have punched cattle, and god knows why you would..."

"Tradition, dearest lady," he said, and twisted around, holding her hand up behind her shoulder blades. "Well, I do declare. MIT. One a' them halfway - decent Yankee schools, but I do believe I'll forgive you that if'n you'll buy the first round."

She pushed away, "As long as I don't have to watch what these Europeans call 'football'. Real football is played with pigskin."

He bowed in midair, "In that we are agreed, darl'in. Budweiser or Coors?"

"So I've got m' little laser trackin' along, and so far I've fried every sensor its hit. Last one went through at least a klick of rock and ventilated the chamber," Chantal said, sucking on the rubber nipple of her beer bottle.

"'An on just a hundred watts o' power? Holy shit." Chuck 'Tex' Wrangel said, using the base of his beer to push down on the spring-loaded catch, and extracting a chicken wing with two fingers. He let go his beer (which floated in midair) to pull and twist, pushing the bones into another basket. He chewed, thinking; then snagged his beer, "That may apply to my missile warhead project, darl'in." He glanced at the screen; then pumped his fist, "Hot dayum! First down!"

"As long as it isn't the damn Patriots," Chantal said. "I swore I'd never wear blue again. Four years in Boston. Give me the Steelers."

"Darl'in, you sure y'not taken? Dayum, a woman likes football an' beer, I'm in seventh heaven. Now if I could just get you to like the Cowboys…"

"Not unless they're playing the Pats. You keep your eyes north o' my bra, longhorn. Gaw-damn, they fumbled the ball." She did the chicken-wing trick herself, "I ain't no brood hen; Tex. God gave me a brain for a reason."

"No argument, sweetheart," and he clicked his bottle to hers. "See, I'm workin' on a gamma laser that I'd like to mount in a missile..." He whooped again, "Ride 'em!"

"Damn Green Bay cheeseheads… Chantal griped. "What's your source on the gamma pulse, and how are you confining it? Antimatter and grav plates as a shaped charge?"

"Hadn't thought of a shaped charge… he said, then "Damn! Interception!" while Chantal whooped.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Monday, November 11, 2002: 10:56 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Donaldson flat:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

**bring bring** **bring bring**

"Hello, Mr. Donaldson, please."

"Speaking."

"Mr. Donaldson, this is Ms. Karen Bundy of Arrowhead HR. Would you be available to come down, fill out some paperwork, and have a short interview today at two pm? I know it's somewhat short notice."

"No, no, not a problem," Gene said. "Should I bring anything?"

"A copy of your CV and references, please. I understand Albus and Callista spoke to you? They have contacted me. By the by, what security clearances do you have, and are you willing to work off-planet?"

"Um, I had a security clearance from the US Air Force; it was withdrawn when I was honorably discharged. As far as off-planet, maybe; I'm usually home when my son gets off school and my wife doesn't get home until about six."

"There is a position coming up on Tosul that we would need an IT bloke, initially for setting up networks and things in a building we've bought; a former school building. We can discuss that with you this afternoon, though."

"I look forward to meeting you."

"Two pm at the Imperial building then. Allow at least fifteen minutes or so to clear the security blokes. I'll see you then!"

"I don't have any other technical questions," Liz Sterling said. "I apologize, I'm a programmer, not an IT bloke, so as you Yanks say; I'm 'pinch hitting'."

"We will of course need to verify various things," Karen said. "Assuming they are confirmed, what do you think about working off-world?"

"It's something I'll need to discuss with my wife and son," Gene said. "My son gets home, depending on the Tube, between 3:45 and 4:00, and my wife doesn't get home until six. You mentioned it was on Tosul, can you give me more information?"

"We have a trade office that we're setting up on Tosul, which as I mentioned is a star system about a week away," Karen said. "We'll need to install various bits of equipment, some of which is classified, and why I asked about your security clearances. Aside from that, setting up and testing the various bits and pieces. You would have some of our staff there, but we would also have slaves we had hired."

"Hired slaves? That seems contradictory."

Karen replied, "Tosul is somewhat unusual. It is a slave planet, true, but it is also reported to be one of the easiest places to _be_ a slave. Personnel free and slave are hired through guilds, which provide housing, payroll, medical support, and that kind of thing. Therefore, our guild is more of what we would call a union, and doesn't discriminate to a great extent between free and slave. Slaves are bought or hired into a guild, just as free persons are contracted or hired." She tapped her pencil, "Therefore, hired slaves, as well as free persons."

"Okay…" Gene said slowly. "I'll need to know things like user lists, what kind of security they want for the network, mail, that kind of thing. I assume we'll have access to the local planetary network, but what about to our ships and back to Earth?"

"For ships we would have antennae and other kit on the roof, there are power and network connections there, we also have a connection to the planetary Internet." Liz replied. "As far as connections home, I understand it's some sort of thing that is very, very hush-hush, and that's from the rumor mill. It's classified way up there." (She waved her hand above her head.)

"I don't know how it works either," Karen admitted. "Assuming you check out, you'd be briefed in; we don't have need-to-know. Please don't repeat what we've just said, even to your wife and son."

"Of course. When will you know?"

"Wednesday to Friday," Karen said. "I'll make you a tentative offer now, subject to security confirmation." She wrote a number on a scratch pad, "Payable to your Gringotts Bank account."

"I'll have to move it over from Barclays," he said, writing a different number. "Direct deposit okay?"

"Not a problem," Karen said; standing and offering her hand. "Welcome, Mr. Donaldson, to the Terran Empire."

Warren turned as he heard the key in the lock, it was too early for Mom, and Dad had left a note… "Did you get it?" he called.

His dad came in the small kitchen where he was doing his homework. He pulled him into a hug, "Thank you, son, for mouthing off to a billionaire." He took a deep breath, "Don't do it again," he said rapidly. Another breath, "Yes, a tentative offer; which is subject to my security clearance. I should know by Friday." He handed over the scrap of paper, and Warren gave a whistle. "These are pounds, right? Not yen."

"Yes, pounds sterling, deposited into a Gringotts account, which means Lantern Bank. I was also asked if I wanted to go off-planet, specifically to a planet called Tosul, about a week away. I'd be setting up their local computer networks, but I really can't talk about it." He took another deep breath, "What do you think about Hogwarts?"

"Nervous. I don't know how good I'll be at this wand-waving stuff."

"Join the club. I don't know how I'd do with setting up a network on a completely alien planet." He took a final breath; then released it. "How's the homework going?"

"Almost done with math, then I need to write a report on the field trip. I don't even remember that much of it."

"Well, just do the best…" Gene's cell phone rang, "Hello, dear. No, not a problem. Yes, I got an offer…" he held the phone away, they could hear his wife's excited screaming. He waited a minute; then said, "Yes, I think this deserves a night out. Come home as quick as you can, dear, we'll go out. Since Warren is the cause, I think he should pick it." He handed the phone over, "Hey, Mom! Yeah; great news. What do you say to pizza tonight?" He grinned at his Dad. "Cool. Here he is."

Ev Donaldson hung up the phone, took a deep breath; and then said, "YES!" to the suspended ceiling. Her cube-mate looked over the wall, asking, "So?"

"Gene got a tentative offer, based on his security clearance. We'll know by Friday."

"And who's it with?" Sylvia asked from another cube.

"Arrowhead and the Empire…" Ev said quietly, her eyes wide.

Another head popped up, "As in, like, space, and planets and stuff?" Gina asked, popping her gum.

"As in the Terran Empire…" Ev said. "He may be going off planet. We'll need to set things up for Warren, too."

"Your son?" Sylvia asked. "What about him?"

"He got an offer from Hogwarts, you know, the wizarding school, for next year's class."

"Congratulations," Mrs. Bromley, their supervisor said. "Does that mean you'll be leaving us?"

"No, ma'am, I don't think so," Ev replied. "I may need an earlier shift, though, to be there when my son comes home from school this year." Mrs. Bromley regarded her; her dour expression unchanged; then said, "We'll see what's available. For now…" (She looked at the clock), you won't get any decent work done. Clock out and go on home, Ms. Donaldson."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"You're welcome, Ms. Donaldson, and congratulations. On both counts." She gave a tight smile, "I have no wish to be turned into a toad."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, November 12, 2002: 09:35 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 7 Primus, 163, 16:48 (WFT +3)****  
Windfall, Brazos, community meeting:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

" … and that concludes committee and department reports," Anita said, tapping her gavel. "Aggie, Karen, anything else?" The two other Town Council members shook their heads, and Anita continued, "Old business, only one item, the greenhouse expansion."

"Ma'am, the foundations have been poured and electric and plumbing lines have been run in," Chuck Rice said as he stood. "We've got the concrete blocks for the base of the walls ready to set and the lumber walls ready in the North drying shed, the steel frame is being manufactured and glass has been ordered from Qing. We're a day behind schedule due to the all day rain we had. Other than that, we're good so far."

Anita looked around, "Okay, thank you. We move on. New business, work assignment changes. Miss Carrie Morse, you wanted to say something?"

"Yes, ma'am," the teenaged bleached-blonde said as she stood. "I've asked to be changed from the transport job to grounds maintenance, but I'd really prefer to head a landscaping department. This town could look a lot better with the addition of some flowers and ornamental shrubs, and we could cut down on the insects by planting some local versions of the Venus fly trap." She held up some papers, "I've prepared some preliminary budgets and things…" and distributed the copies.

"Thank you," Anita said as she studied the sheet. She shook her head, "Your projections of greenhouse space are a little unrealistic, Miss Morse. Most of the greenhouse expansion is for either starter plants or otherwise useful plants, not for begonias."

"I realize that, ma'am," Carrie replied. She gestured, "I did some sketches of Town Hall, but there are also some neighborhood gardens we could plant with very little investment. That would make the different neighborhoods look better, but if they plant veggies, add to the food supply."

"How so?" Karen Meyers, another Council member asked.

"We have two basic housing options, aside from those people that live over their shops," Carrie said. "We've got family housing, and two-person apartments. Both of them have central grass strips with a mailbox and fire connections at the end of the street, while the smaller shops are two or three units around a semi-circle. What I'm proposing is that those central strips can be turned into micro-gardens for things like carrots or flowers, and if we have a landscaping department, the commercial areas' semi-circles can be planted and landscaped; much better than boring old grass."

"Hmm," Karen said, studying the sketches. "You've got a lot of brick here, which is expensive, an import item. I'd prefer to see something like treated wood for the backstops for your gardens, at least the ones around the Town Hall boardwalk. I'd rather see something higher and shallower, maybe terraced arrangements. What about the dock sign and hitching posts?"

"We could do a rail arrangement for the horses like in the movies, instead of the rings I put in, ma'am. As far as the dock sign, I'd have to replant some of the slope from vines. I'd have to look into it and make a sketch or two."

"Anything else?" Anita asked. "The way I see it, we need at least two motions, one to create the Landscaping department for the Town, another to appoint Miss Morse as its head. I'd suggest a preliminary budget approval for the Town Hall boardwalk landscaping project, any other businesses along the boardwalk can contract with her. We do want a somewhat consistent look, though. Public comment?"

"Miss Morse, if you come see me after the meeting, I'll talk to you about treated landscaping timbers," Chuck Rice said. "If you're willing to commit to a certain quantity, we can haggle over a better rate." She nodded, and Karen said, "So moved to create the Landscaping department." The motion passed, and Karen made the second motion, which also passed.

"Second item on new business, Cyndi, you had a suggestion?"

"Yes, mistress," the blonde former slave said, standing. "As some of you know, I have been taking a group of several slaves around the town to introduce them to different businesses. We have noticed that our Terran masters and mistresses are still … irritated when a slave uses those terms."

"We know that it's a lifetime habit, but it is irritating. First, we don't consider you slaves, and secondly, using the term 'master' implies that we own you," Bob Jourdain said.

"Yes, ma … sir, and it is a difficult habit to break," Cyndi replied. "You are not _owners_, however. What we propose is that each sla … girl keep track of her usage of the offensive terms, and then donate her labor to the Town to assist in breaking that habit at the rate of fifteen minutes per usage." She took a breath, "Therefore, if I err, and use the terms six times, I would owe the Town ninety minutes of my time."

"Public comment?" Anita asked.

"I see a few problems," Carrie said. "I could use the help, but having people come and go during the day would be a problem. I would suggest the girls keep track by the week, and that it be scheduled sometime in a week. That way, I can know that I will have available person one for six hours on Seconday, and person three for eight hours on Fourthday, and can schedule the work accordingly; not everyone on Fifthday. Second point, I would like to request of the Town Council a dedicated wagon to haul tools, personnel and supplies around town."

"Work up a design and get a quote for the wagon and horse rental," Karen said. "As far as scheduling, I assume the girls will be paid, but by who?"

"We can consider this part of their citizen's contribution, so they would be paid by the town at the general labor rate," Anita said. "What about tools and supplies for them?"

"Smocks, gloves hand tools and such? Provided by the town, they're working for the town. What about other departments than Landscaping?"

"Miss Morse, Cyndi, why don't you work out details with the Personnel office?" Anita said. "With the understanding that the Enhanced girls are exempt, and that this is voluntary on the girls' part. Next item, we have …"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Tuesday, November 12, 2002: 17:26 (GMT)****  
****Deimos, Engineering studies base:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Maybe it's just me," Chantal said over a beer. "But did you ever try hooking up the warp field generator to a load? You know what it's supposed to produce, right? The right readings and stuff?"

"Sure, it creates a seven dimensional field," 'Egg' Young replied. "Weird field, but we've taken a Galtech unit apart, nothing too strange in there, and put it back together. Still works, but the ones we build don't. That's what's driving people batty, not only why it's working, but why it's not." He took a pull at his own beer, "Why, you've got an idea, MIT Beaver?"

"Yeah, you California Cannon Cocker," she replied (referring to his own alma mater of CalTech). "You've spent too much time surfing. We got someone here that's neutral, even if he is from Texas and breathing too many cow farts." She turned slowly in midair, "Longhorn, you're my witness. Surfer boy here has hooked up his toy to a load, but I think he's missed a trick. Remember the _Enterprise's_ big ol' deflector dish on her engineering hull? I think he needs a _variable_ load, not a _static_ one."

"Could be, could be," he allowed. "You were right in that shaped charge for my laser. Didn't last long, but it lasted long enough to almost double the beam strength. I want to play with the Wolter mirrors some, too." He took a slow, thoughtful swallow of beer, "I see what you're getting at with the deflector dish. A ship travels along, like the _Enterprise-E's_ warp engines continually _beamed_ the ship along; the jump drive is like a continuous rubber band. Stretch, snap; stretch, snap. The amount of stretch is going to be determined moment-to-moment by the local spatial conditions…"

"Amazing how science fiction applies, isn't it?" 'Egg' commented. "I was thinking this morning about space-based fighters, pivoting in a three-point frame. They were using reaction engines, but I think we could do it with reactionless…" he waved that away. "If it proves out, what would you like?"

She grinned, "My name above yours on the patent, and a CalTech hat as a trophy."

"Your name with mine, and the hat," he counter-offered.

"Deal." They shook, and Tex said, "Don't I get anything?"

"You can buy the beer," 'Egg' said. "You went to a second-ranked school. How do we test this?"

"Texas Tech is second-ranked? Bullshit!"

"See, even now he's punching cattle," Chantal said with a grin. "We'll put you on the patent as 'assisting'. We first need to establish a baseline field strength, then vary that with the Galtech unit. It's got to be resisting _something_. Once we've figured that out, we…"

Several beers later, Chantal held up her beer and said, "'Nother thought, guys. One of the things that got me started on my laser was the main weapon on the _Wisdom_." She folded her legs, sitting tailor-fashion in midair. "That's a brute-force weapon, why do we assume the Jump Drive's the only way to drive a ship?"

"Point," 'Tex' agreed. He took a pull on his Coors, "The Galactics are known for getting to 'good enough' and stopping. Are there other drive systems out there?"

"Have to be," 'Egg' mused aloud. "We know the subspace drive creates a pocket which shrinks distance, does the same thing for comm systems. That's why ten AU seems like a tenth AU, and why there's a warp limit. Officially it's just outside the orbit of Mars at two AU, but I wouldn't want to fire up an FTL drive and run through the asteroid belt."

"Safer to wait until 3.5 AU," 'Tex' agreed. "We know the Subspace drive is good for in-system use, although that does require use of an inertial sink. We've built those, although the physics still give me a headache."

"You've inhaled too many cow farts," Chantal replied. "Why seven dimensions to FTL, to the Jump Drive? Why doesn't it use the more conventional five, or ten?" She took a long, slow contemplative pull at her beer. "We've got too much evidence that FTL flight and comms are possible, unlike… hell, unlike five years ago. However, those methods are all brute-force, energy intensive. I've read sci-fi; and Einstein as much as you guys have; we know the end result: create a fold or pocket in n-space. I say we take a blank sheet of paper and go from there."

"We all have bosses that are paying our way," 'Egg' objected. "Not that I don't agree, but I do like a steady paycheck. Second objection is licensing. Assuming that this goes anywhere, we're going to need to patent and license it."

"Okay, so we form a sub-S corp," 'Tex' replied. "The … LSB Corporation. I'll burn my free legal time setting that up, but we'll need to have something to show as a corporate asset."

"C'mon, I need something to write on," 'Egg' said, swimming toward the bar.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
****Friday, November 15, 2002: 18:00 (GMT)****  
****Tosul orbit, **_M/V (A) Ben Nevis_**, Bridge:****  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Four bells sounded for the middle of the afternoon watch as Jack pressed a button, "Computer, log entry, this date and time; Third officer James Pitman recording. We continue to orbit Tosul while awaiting the arrival of our other two ships, the _Manhattan_ and the _Dover_. They are an estimated two days overdue. Meanwhile, the work on refurbishing our building dirtside in the port is in the final stages…"

The comm panel 'binged' and Jack crossed to the vacant station. He donned the headset, then said, "About time you two got here! We've got a bit more work to do on the building, what kept you?" He nodded; then said, "Okay. I'll let the Captain know. _Nevis;_ out." He touched the proper comm combination, "Ma'am? Sorry to disturb you, I just got a comm call from the _Manhattan_. She and the _Dover_ have just entered the system, and the last estimate from dirtside was another day or so on the building. If we can wait that long, we can inspect and sign off on it, and then go to phase two, getting the security service on it until we can get personnel on planet." He nodded, "I don't know why they're late; they said they were held at the buoy by Eridani Departure Control. No, ma'am, I don't know why they diverted to Eridani. No, ma'am, several ships, not just ours. Cap'n Bradford asked if you could join a secure conference call with him and Cap'n Yoshikawa, at 19:00, ma'am." He nodded, "Yes, ma'am, I'll let them know." He touched buttons, "_Nevis_ calling the _Manhattan_…"

Gloria appeared on the bridge, freshly uniformed, "Jack, call my gig, I'm going over to the _Dover_. Let Bill Murdock know, he'll need to adjust the watch schedule. Also, let dirtside know we'll be able to accommodate their estimate."

"Yes, ma'am." He called the shuttle bay as she left, then sat back, "Ship's log, supplemental. Third officer James Pittman recording. The _Manhattan_ and the _Dover_ have finally arrived in system, and the Captain has called away her gig to fly over to the _Dover_. First officer William Murdock will need to adjust the watch schedules. The refurbishment of our building is reported to be nearly complete dirtside; an estimated day or so remain, primarily so the painters can finish. Our staying here that much longer has been authorized by the Captain…"


	6. 16 30 November 2002

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Chapter VI: 16 ~ 30 November 2002  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Saturday, November 16, 2002: 06:14 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, Ravenclaw table:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

_To: Arthur Morton (school)  
From: Elena Morton  
Date: 16 November 2002  
Subject: Dad n' stuff 07  
_

_Hi. little brother!  
I got your email #6, and I have to say I'm still worried about Dad. He seems to be slowly coming apart, and he really needs some stress-free time, what we in the military call 'leave'. I expect you to arrange that, so the most stressful part of his day is choosing what color shirt he's going to wear. Got it? Good. Do it. You're the one with the influence, that's why. _

_Okay, that being said, I can move on. I'm on board the _Mozart_ at the moment; we've left Novy Rodina (which was site 24) toward Riverside. We're going to stop at sites 14 through 16 and 6 through 8 to give them a quick check, as they're west of the river. The reason for these diversions is the construction snafus we had with the other sites. I'm told that the _Fuller_ has left P'wheel and is coming back to us on Windfall. _

_We've got several other boats ready to commission; the _Bach_ and the _Beethoven_ are riverboats, while the _Frederick II_ is what's known as a 'snag boat'. It goes around and pulls dead trees and other obstructions out of riverbeds. The _Pachelbel_ is a dredge for deeper water, while the shallow-water dredge _Moncada_ is named after a famous Mexican musician, while the _Arango_ is a supply ship._

_In addition, there are a bunch of local tugs commissioning, one for each 'seedling'. The reason I've mentioned this all is that Dad was thinking of investing some of the Helium mining money here and part of a shipyard like the one the Nuevo Mexicans have seems like a good bet. _

_Anyway… _

_When I left, the Russians, err, the Rodinas, sorry, were teaching the fundamentals of soccer, what they called football to their little sisters, with the intent that they were gonna kick the other seedlings' arse. They said that it was too warm for hockey, so this was the 'next best thing'. Great people. In addition… _

"Got a letter from Elena," he said to the study group in general and Mattie in particular.

She held up a finger, typing away at her laptop and homework. Finishing for the moment, she saved; then sat back, picking up her coffee. "What's she say, and how's your dad doing?"

"She's doing well; she wants to get back to flight status," he said, looking through the rest of the email. "She's stayed dry even when she's with the heavy drinkers in Rodina; you know how the Russians are with vodka. She's even held off on the beer with the Germans, staying with tea and ice water. That said, she's worrying about Dad, he's stressing out, and she thinks he needs serious leave time, when his toughest call is choosing his shirt color."

"Works for me," she said. "As soon as Christine gets there and is briefed in, he's on leave. Let me know if I can help, okay?" He nodded, and she continued, "What else?"

"The _Mozart_, the ship she's on, is stopping by the unoccupied sub-colonies west of the Amazon for spot-checks on conditions. The _Fuller_ is due back from P'wheel; they'll be able to fix anything major. You know about the Mexican shipyard, she thinks we ought to invest in it."

"Shipyards are good boosts to the local economies," she nodded approvingly. "Especially with the Mexicans, their islands are just made for building slips. Anything else?"

"They're looking into a footy league, and the Rodinas were training their little sisters on the fundamentals; they want to kick butt in that league. Elena said that the Rodinas said it was too warm for proper hockey, when there was ice in the river and snow on the ground." He smiled slightly at that. "The rest of her letter's family stuff."

"Cool. Back to my Citizenship homework…." she said.

"That's not due until Thursday," Felicia said. "I'm having trouble with Economics…"

"Trade you for help with Magical Creatures," Mattie replied.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Saturday, November 16, 2002: 09:05 (GMT)****  
****Deimos, Engineering studies base, cafeteria: ****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"G' morning, boys. I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Chantal said as 'Tex' and 'Egg' approached her table, plates loaded from the breakfast buffet. One of the Swedish logistics contractors came by, topping up her coffee cup and pouring for the two men.

"You drink black coffee?" Egg asked with an overly-dramatic shudder as he dumped creamer into his coffee.

"Wimp. Real men drink it black," Tex replied. Chantal grinned, "I do confess to adding a bit of sugar, sugar," she admitted. "I'll let you jump-start your brain; then I want to bounce my little lightbulb off you two." She waited until plates were pushed aside and Tex refilled his coffee. "Shoot, darlin'."

"'Kay. This equation is the subspace drives we're building, and this one is the jump drives we're banging our heads against; d' you see the similarities?" She waited a minute; then used a red pen to draw circles and arrows.

Egg uncapped a blue pen of his own. "However, we've been there, and done that. These sections here, here, and here are the killers. Properly speaking, a jump drive isn't, it's a fold-space drive. A little misdirection."

Tex nodded and borrowed her red pen, "And this little section here requires strange matter, and this over here requires something like three times the mass of the galaxy converted into energy."

"Energy we got," Chantal replied. "We know we can brute-force it with the jump drive. Now Egg here has taken apart a gal-tech Jump Drive, put it back together so it works again. You said there's nothing unusual in there, but there had to be. Are there any particular fields, or coatings, or anything like that? Anything we had to import from off-world, like the Belt?"

'Egg' Young sat back, sipping his coffee and thinking. He pulled the notebook to him and flipped to a fresh page, starting to sketch as he thought aloud; "There's an array of very thin rods held in an antigravity field with a spacer grid so it forms a sphere, each of the rods is like a tenth of a micron thick. Perfectly straight, we took one out and somehow bent it. It tested as a standard aluminum alloy, a bit of nickel and bismuth, we machined another one and the machine started right up, but it wasn't quite right. I do remember that the grid looked like it had been powder-formed, sintered." He shook his head, coming back. He poured a refill of his coffee, adjusting it, still thinking, "With the subspace drives, we do need to use an element from the extended periodic table, number 126 as I remember. We called it 'Element X' as I don't think it has a formal name yet." He sipped his coffee, "We have an asteroid source for that, and I think one of the colony planets has it. I remember that it's a transuranic element with a filled electron shell."

"A spherical array like that … I'm thinking of an Alcubierre field drive," 'Tex' said, pouring a refill. He grimaced, holding up the coffee carafe, waggling it and catching a waiter's eye. "Problem there is extending the field to the ship."

"No, remember the _Wisdom's_ shield layout," Chantal replied. She held up her cup and accepted a refill from the waiter, who also topped off 'Tex'. She shook a packet of sugar, pouring it into her cup and stirring as he left. "We've got to remember to tip him, who's got some Euros? All I've got is dollars."

"Add it to the bill," 'Tex' replied.

Chantal shook her head, "I worked as a waitress through school. Do it as cash, that way they don't have to report it as taxable income. Anyway, the _Wisdom's_ shields were always on, we thought they were just particle shielding for n-space. Why can't those little dandelions create and maintain the drive field?"

"Power supply could handle it, and with that pin-grid spherical array … that could work." 'Egg' mused. He pulled the notebook closer, adding to his original sketch. "The galactics used an array of electrical contacts, one per pin, which was horribly complex. Better to have a simple disk for the X and Y coordinates, and a vertical bar for Z. Then just move the contacts on opposite sides …" He demonstrated with his hands. "Like a hard drive's read/write heads." He shook his head, "This is milliamp stuff. Why the hell did they need all this power? It sure ain't the hotel loads for the ship, keeping the lights and the A/C on."

"Weapons? Shields?" Chantal guessed.

"Not in jump space," 'Egg' replied. "That's all n-space." He waved that off, "Couple of things we need to do, Formalize our agreement…"

"Got that," 'Tex' replied. He reached down to his bag, passing around legal forms, "One for each of us, fourth for the court clerk. Pass 'em around, read 'n sign."

"Thanks," 'Egg' replied, accepting his copy. "Second thing is building our test rig and instrumenting it. I'm particularly concerned with g-forces."

"I'll do that, I've already got some ideas in that direction, and my laser has smoked drones out to two light seconds," Chantal said, and 'Tex' whistled, "Six hundred k-klicks? What are you waiting for there, darlin'?"

"Those have just plodded along on a straight line, I want to test against an evading target, and that takes time to arrange." She looked around, catching the waiter's eye and rubbing her fingers for the check. He nodded, and she said, "I'll gin up a 3-D model for one of the test drones, I should have that done today or tomorrow." She started to pull her stuff together, "Later, guys?"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, November 16, 2002: 22:47 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 11 Primus, 163: 10:00 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, DHL **_**Gruppe**_**, security office:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Herr Horst, the slave you asked about is here," his secretary said as he arrived for the day. She motioned to the hooded slave locked in a neck ring. She wore a sheer white slave tunic; he grunted, walking over to examine her. He noticed her un-natural stillness; then said, "Slave, release. Have you been suctioned yet?" She quivered and relaxed, then shook her head. "Ach. Slave, enable voice." He turned to his secretary as she whimpered once, "Find her keys, _bitte_, remove her hood and gag and suction her, then bring her to me. We do not treat these _frauleins_ like collared animals; we are civilized. I shall be in my office, renewing the fight against paperwork."

"Herr Horst, the slave 81845," his secretary said, pushing the girl in the door and closing it. The girl dropped to her knees, her head to the ground, her hands still cuffed behind her. He stood; quietly moving to the door and suddenly jerking it open, to find his secretary there. "What have I said about standing at my door?" he asked.

"Master, I … was bringing tea for you," she said.

"And none for my guest? That is rude, _fraulein_. Bring a tea service for both of us, _schnell_!" He closed the door, telling the girl, "Up, _fraulein_ Cam, _bitte_, and let me get your hands. We must be careful of what we speak; the walls are not soundproof; however it would raise even more suspicion were we to move to the secure conference room. Speak softly, please."

"This slave thanks you, my master," Cam said, working her jaw and rubbing her wrists. She sank to her knees, making a face; then tried again, "This slave…" and she growled.

"I was under the impression that your Enhancement was to be turned down to the minimum possible," Horst said quietly. "That is what Walter put in your instructions."

"My master, Master Cuthbert also said my master could not guarantee this, as my master did not have physical access to this slave's programming module," the girl replied, equally quietly. She clenched her hands together, "My master, this slave's conditioning instructs this slave to cuff this slave's hands, as well as to resume kneeling." She glanced at the office door, "My master, this slave believes that when this slave was programmed, the slave doing so was acting in part to punish this slave as well as the slave's belief that this was 'the basics'. This slave was being punished for an 'escape attempt' (she finger-quoted) while this slave was confined." She tapped her penalty brands, and then gripped her leash chain. "This slave is doubtful how much use this slave may be to this slave's new owners…" She winced; then added, "This slave is certain my master is aware of this slave's true meaning."

There was a tap on the door, the secretary entered with a tea-tray and one cup. She looked offended, "Master, I was unaware this slave was so presumptuous. Let me put this down and I shall bind her for a proper beating…"

"I will take care of any discipline necessary," Horst said. He sighed, "Leave us." The secretary shot a disgusted look at Cam, then left. Cam regarded the door; then said softly, "The slave sees this slave as a threat to the slave's position, my master." She looked up at Horst, "My master, this slave is not certain what function this slave can provide now for my master and this slave's new owners."

Horst nodded, settling back. "I am thinking of assigning you to the Canadians here, they have a few roaming Inspectors and are responsible for the safety, training and operations of the various port and postal facilities. As a slave you are owned by the government, and DHL _Gruppe_ would simply lease you and pay your salary, and assign you to the Inspector as a glorified secretary. This would give you several days, at a minimum, in each sub-colony, but it would not be suitable for High Town and the interior regions of Island. However, those would be covered by other personnel; you do not have need-to-know."

Cam nodded, and Horst asked, "We would like to know what your experiences as a 'slave girl' have been like." He looked at his desk clock, sighed, "Just the basics, please. I will wait to see your more comprehensive report that you will email back. While you start that, please stand, I shall remove that odious leash from your neck."

"Yes, my master," Cam said as she stood next to his desk. She could see him rummaging in his desk for a screwdriver. "This slave was initially installed in stasis tanks, and dropped on a dirt road by a small shuttle. This slave was partnered with another slave; this slave remembers seeing several other slaves vanishing into the night when this slave was given permission to remove this slave's blindfold."

"How many other slaves were there?" Horst asked as he set the first locking screw aside.

"Eight to ten other slaves aside from this slave and this slave's partner-slave, my master," Cam replied. "This slave observed them for at most thirty seconds, my master, before they vanished. The only illumination was starlight and the cockpit lights from the small cargo shuttle, my master. This slave's orders, and presumably the others, were to travel for at least an hour in a random direction, then hide and wait for daylight. This was done, at which point this slave's partner-slave broke up with this slave. That slave felt that slave could gain better intelligence in Port Lincoln, this slave believes, and still does, that it would be easier to vanish into the crowd of other slaves."

Horst put the second and third locking screws next to the first on the edge of his desk. "Please continue, _fraulein_. How were you equipped?"

"Minimally, my master; we had a supply of MREs, a pair of slave smocks each and some of the Elder's money. This slave abandoned all of that in a broken culvert, as this slave had decided to use the 'escaped from an abusive owner' cover. This slave considered this more likely than 'escaped from a slave house', that is why this slave kept only one slave smock. This slave was able to move cross-country, at night, hiding underground and stealing food and supplies, much as an actual escaped slave might do. This slave was able to stow away on a boat to Riverside, where this slave was apprehended for violating the nightly curfew."

The last two locking screws were set aside, and Horst said, "_Ach_, this ring is spring-loaded. I shall hold it apart, _fraulein_ Cam, and you ease your neck out, _bitte_."

"Yes, my master, and thank you," Cam said. She rolled her neck and shoulders, then said again, "Thank you, my master." She took a seat on the edge of the guest chair, examining the leash ring and chain, and then she started to replace the screws as she talked. "My master, the slave center was not what this slave expected. This slave expected dark, dingy, medieval dungeons. Instead, this slave experienced what could be described as a light security prison. Cells, guards, and so forth, but also clean, well-lit and ventilated. The food was liquid, but then again, this slave was gagged and leashed on intake, once this slave's photo and information was recorded. This slave and other slaves were fed by tube and kept bound and exercised when this slave was not in classes." Her mouth twisted, and she gestured at the floor, "My master, may this slave kneel? This slave's conditioning informs this slave that chairs are for free persons, and this slave's belt makes it uncomfortable for this slave to sit."

Horst nodded, "_Ja_, of course. What makes you comfortable, _fraulein_. Tell me of your Enhancement, _bitte_."

"Thank you, my master," Cam said in relief as she took a few steps away, turned and knelt while cuffing herself. She pulled at her arms, "More conditioning, my master, reinforced with this slave's Enhancement." She quoted, "_An obedient slave will kneel and bind herself if she is not performing a task for her owner_." Cam smiled and tossed her hair back, "Think of the conditioning as 'rock-in-shoe' uncomfortable, my master. This is much more comfortable for this slave, as this slave is now an _obedient_ slave." She cleared her throat and continued, "My master, this slave's class of slaves had finished an exercise period when the Training Slave appeared, stated that slave had been tasked with gaining a hundred-percent volunteer ratio for something, and that the Training Slave had never failed to gain this. What this entailed was not deemed need-to-know; the class was slaves, after all. The Training slave then came around, recorded the individual slave's collar number and the individual slave thumbed the consent form. This slave was then led off to another compartment where the procedure was presumably done. This slave was kept unconscious for that. Therefore, my master, this slave did, technically, volunteer for Enhancement."

"Without full consent," Horst grunted.

"Yes, my master, but my master will remember that this slave and her sisters are slaves, animals, and therefore have very few if any rights. Would the cow consent to being bred, or the bull to slaughter? In any case, this slave's Enhancement is water past the bow, my master, it cannot be undone."

"I do not like it, but must agree with you. Your Training Slave was simply following her orders; I am sure. As you said, legally, you are animals, but we are trying to change that."

"The Terrans are trying to change that, my master, but the general slave consensus this slave has heard …" Cam chewed her lip, "My master, please remember that this slave has only experienced what this slave has on Island, and in the processing center. This slave was shipped to DHL as cargo, and while some slaves were crated, this slave was chained on deck. The ship's Captain ordered this slave and this slave's sister-slaves to be moved to the topmost aft deck from where this slave had originally been chained at the bow by the dock crew. The cabins were full, my master, and this slave's fare was paid at the cargo, not the passenger rate." She shrugged, "My master, please remember that most of the slave handling this slave has experienced has been done by other slaves, who believe in the 'proper' way to handle their sister slaves." She shrugged again, "My master, this slave has heard the general slave opinion that most individual Terrans are decent masters, the slaves would not object, indeed they would prefer to be owned by a Terran, but the stated Terran objective to free slaves, to give them a dark collar, is…" she chewed her lip again, "… well, considered foolish, my master. Their attitude is more along the lines of 'we are slaves, you are our masters,' and that is the way the Source intended things, my master."

"But we have said…"

"Yes, my master, but how much of any large organization like government does an ordinary citizen trust? The big banks, Wall Street … they are all viewed as out for themselves, and to do that they screw over the little guy, my master. Slaves will believe the Terrans, my master, when they can speak to slaves in dark collars who will verify this. The Terrans lack credibility, my master. Even so, there are quite a few who believe that there are only two classes, female slaves and free males. That has been the experience for millions of years." Cam tossed her hair back, "My master, bred slaves in particular believe strongly in the Source and the Spiral, and they are paying the price for a previous life's sins by being bred female slaves. To make any headway, the Terrans must include a religious component, one that can be understood by the Source's True Believers. Think of the Orthodox believers of any religion, or the Catholic Church, my master. This slave believes it is equally difficult to convince a Muslim to eat pork, my master. Even if my master does not convert them, my master will have made headway with the less … devout."

"Wonderful," Horst sighed.

"This slave believes that the religion of the Source was originally designed to help suppress the slaves, my master. Over millions of years, it simply became the dominant religion over the twenty-eight known galaxies, what my master must do is to form a 'splinter' cult of some sort. Perhaps make my mistress Empress Wayne a deity of some sort." Cam shrugged, "Not my decision, my master."

"Nor mine," Horst agreed. "Let us change the subject. What was your 'I'm okay' and 'I'm compromised' codes?"

"If this slave were not Enhanced, this slave could lie…" Cam said with a grin. "Unfortunately for this slave, my master knows an Enhanced slave cannot lie. The compromise code involved a road in the first paragraph, the 'okay' code involved water activity, boating, swimming, and so forth in that first paragraph."

"One wonders what they planned to do to extract you in the event of capture," Horst mused. "Still, they got you on planet through a compromised crewman somewhere. That is my problem, _fraulein_ Cam." He turned, motioning her to stand and releasing her hands, then spreading out the contents of a manila envelope for her.

"We shall need to have you re-programmed for several things, _fraulein_ Cam," Horst said. "I understand that the modules are being stored at the Farm, which is quite disorganized at the moment. Someone gave orders to have the girls transported from Riverside, and they lack proper records. I think we can wait a few days, a week or so, for them to figure things out, then send you over there for additional programming and to remove the annoying speech patterns." Cam nodded, and Horst continued. "I shall send you to the Personnel office; they will provide you with suitable documentation for setting up your Lantern Bank account as well as your quarters, and you will need to visit the company supply office for the proper uniform smocks and skirts."

"This slave thanks you, my master," Cam said, rolling her shoulders and neck. "This slave can travel with this slave's Canadian use-master as secretary, and when things are more organized in several weeks or a month or two, this slave can be given leave and sent back to the Farm for additional 'training'. My master, this slave is reasonably comfortable now, and the forced speech adds to this slave's cover. Will this slave's Canadian use-master be aware of this slave's purpose?"

Horst nodded, "If you're willing to wait, we can attach you to people that are arriving on the incoming ships," Horst said. "This will give you time to establish yourself here, have some rest…" He glanced at a planetary calendar, tapping it. "Today is the eleventh of Primus; the ships should have arrived in a local week, about the sixteenth. That will allow your Canadian family to arrive and begin to settle in. If agreeable and the timing works out, we shall arrange a meeting with you on Fifthday the … seventeenth of Primus. This is subject to change, of course."

"Yes, my master, subject to change. Does my master wish this slave to be 'full slave' with this slave's Canadian use-family; their family slave…" Cam looked at Horst's expression, adding, "Just keeping this slave's options open, my master."

"I would prefer you not, although that would be your decision regarding your cover. In addition to my personal feelings, I would think that a family slave going off with the husband or wife and leaving the balance of the family would look strange. I think better a personal assistant, who happens to be a collared slave. Would that fit in your existing cover, _fraulein_ Cam?"

"This slave would agree, my master. This slave does expect to be put to work getting the household sorted out, though. Perhaps this slave should be introduced on arrival, my master."

"No. Having moved myself and my family recently, a day to rest and think about things before starting to unpack and settle in is best. Perhaps you may 'drop by' to introduce yourself that first day, or bring a pizza or something." He smiled, "We have developed some very nice small restaurants, _fraulein_." He waved a hand, "There is a bank card in here for your expenses, fraulein. As long as you do not charge a Porsche™ on it, no questions will be asked. It will need to be activated and linked to your hip implant, as will your personal account at Lantern Bank. The Personnel _volk_ will handle that." Horst made notes; then slid some paperwork into a manila envelope. He put down a photocopied map, drawing on it. "We are here. The personnel office is here, on this island. You may either walk along this route, over these bridges, or take the ferry here. If you take the ferry, you will need the transport tokens…" he started to look in a drawer, and Cam held up a hand, "My master, if there is no rush, this slave would prefer to take this slave's time to walk and enjoy the scenery. This slave may acquire tokens later."

"As you wish, _fraulein_. My card is there, let me know if I might help, and where you are quartered." He tapped the paperwork into the envelope, paper-clipping the map to the envelope. "Enjoy your leave, rest, and let me have your contact information tonight, please." He handed her the envelope and walked her to the door. "Have a pleasant day, _fraulein_."

Cam knelt in the shade of a large tree and studied her map. The island that she was on was shaped something like a reversed 'R' (only without the lower part of the oval), forming a small lagoon, with the diagonal linking by a short bridge to another island that formed a reversed '7'. The Personnel office was located on the very end of the tip of the '7'; another short bridge linked the 'corner' and the 'shaft' of the '7' to the small administrative island that Personnel occupied. She looked around; another slave had arrived and was sitting on the low concrete seawall next to the bridge. The pontoon bridge floated on the currents, held in place by chains anchored to the shore. There was an open-brick wall (painted yellow), with yellow lit poles at the ends, perhaps a few hundred feet long between the two islands; the water didn't look that deep. Pulling off her smock, Cam unlaced her sandals (although she couldn't remove her riveted metal ankle shackles and bells), setting them on her envelope of paperwork, and joining the other slave on the wall.

The other girl had laid back on the grass, her white slave smock open and her ankles in the water; her belled wrist shackles visible under her hair as her hands supported the back of her head, she turned her head and said, "Greetings. I am 08130."

"This slave 81845 returns the greetings of sister-slave 08130," Cam replied, dropping down to soak her tunic in the water. She pulled it out as the other girl said, "Oh, Enhanced? It seems as though all of us will be. How is it?"

Cam shrugged, "Aside from the forced speech, this slave has grown accustomed to this slave's Enhancement, as this slave's tight new mesh." She ran a hand down what looked like a fine, black metal bustier, a short collar that had been under her leash ring ran down her spine, encircled her ribs and went under her breasts, dropping down to compress her stomach and pelvic region with her slave belt placed over the mesh. "This is new, this slave has not seen other Enhanced slaves with this, this slave believes it is to protect implants, such as additional data storage and discipline devices placed here," and she tapped her crotch. She caressed the penalty brands on her upper thigh, "This slave notes that this area is _not_ protected."

"Of course," 08130 said dryly. "There is no temple implant?"

"No, this slave is programmed with a module that clips to this slave's collar, and is kept with this slave's control chip," Cam replied. "Do not be concerned, the procedure is painless and brief. While this slave has heard that the Slave Control Agency has sufficient Enhancement units for every female on planet, this slave does not believe the Terrans will permit this with their females. Their slaves…" she shrugged. "This slave, like slave 08130, has heard different things about the Terrans."

"Truth," the girl replied. "I am in a common collar, so I will hopefully not be Enhanced before I gain a dark collar." She sat up, folding her legs under her and flipping her hair out as Cam wrung out her wet tunic. She fussed with her own tunic, "I am grateful to be owned by the Terran Empire, although I would still prefer a private owner."

"Truth," Cam agreed, deciding to test out some revisions to her cover. "This slave's previous owner was an _Owner_, and this slave was able to escape and journey to Riverside, where this slave hoped to sell this slave to a private Terran master. However, this slave was confiscated when this slave violated the nightly penalty-time." She wrung out some more water; then pulled the damp smock on, tying it tightly and adjusting it properly, freeing her hair and draping it over her right shoulder. "This slave is pleased to be owned by the Terrans. Ever since this slave was captured as a young, free female, this slave has been slave." She eyed the other girl, "The slave 08130 is a bred slave?"

"Yes, but the Terrans say they do not permit private ownership of slaves…"

Cam shrugged, "This slave has heard different things. Under the Elders, private ownership was also not allowed, but still occurred when a master simply paid a Ministry master an additional fee. While this slave has seen heads of those that are claimed to have taken that extra fee, this slave does not know the truth, but suspects the fees are still there."

"Truth. We are slaves, and so we accept the Will of the Source." 08130 shrugged, "I would like to have a dark collar, but that is uncertain now. With the recent planetary elections, I would agree it is likely that judicial slaves will be Enhanced, and I would not wager against common-collar slaves."

"It is still early, this slave will advise patience," Cam replied. She stood, "This slave is thirsty; is there a fountain nearby?"

"The other end of the bridge is a small park, you can suction there too. I will join you." She made herself presentable, "The road has family housing on it, and there are several Terran children that love to order Enhanced slaves. Some of them are small owners, the kind you wish into a collar."

"Restrict!"

"Release."

"_Restrict_! I want to play with the slave, so shut up and get out of here!"

"The young master does not own the slave; she is on a task for her owner. Release." Cam started to move again, trying to get out of range of the young boy. His slightly older sister, perhaps eight, came out of the house and said, "Hans, you must get inside and clean your room, mother says."

"_They_ are slaves, _they_ can do it! _Restrict_!" Once again, Cam stopped moving. She had made about ten feet before the boy stopped her again.

"Release," the sister said. "Inside, Hans; now." She rolled her eyes, muttered "Brothers…" and shoved her brother inside the house.

"This slave thanks you," Cam said as she walked, her hands cuffed from the young boy's '_Restrict_' command. 08130 carried her envelope and had not questioned Cam's wish to remain that way, it was, as she had told Horst, a matter not only of her conditioning and programming, but maintaining her cover. She was 'comfortable' that way, something 08130 recognized.

"They are one reason I wished to walk with you," 08130 said. "He has done this before to other slaves. Fortunately, there are not many like the small male here; things will improve when the Terran schools start. Until then, the small owners are bored, and there are slaves available to receive their feelings. Try to move through housing areas like this in a group if possible, or at night."

Cam nodded, "The small female?"

"The free Terran females are aware of recent political events, and have become slightly more sympathetic to slaves as they contemplate the possibility of wearing collars of their own. The difficulty there is the recent election gave the bulk of political power to the Traditionalists on Island, who are all males and _Owners_."

"With the majority population of free females, this slave would not think so," Cam said, looking both ways before crossing a side street.

"When the election occurred, I believe many slaves on Island voted as they had been instructed by free males. This is why slaves that pursued an Assembly seat received it from the Terran seedling colonies, and not from other locations. For we here …" she paused to allow an electric vehicle to turn into a side street, "… we received a 'sample ballot' with the various options, and a printout describing the options. I do not believe the slaves on Island received the second, they were simply told to vote approval on the Traditionalists, and so they did." They turned at the 'corner' of the '7', 08130 said, "This is a commercial area, one can borrow a three-wheeled vehicle, one propels it by taking the seat and pushing up and down with your feet on the pedals, there."

"I see," Cam replied. There was a rack of single-speed bicycles, both two and three-wheeled with baskets, several of them had signs advertising local businesses. There was also two or three with racks for insulated pizza boxes that were locked to the steel racks. Next to them were half a dozen electric golf carts plugged into chargers, parked on a shaded gravel lot, above them vertical wind turbines spun on top of lights, there was the hum of a transformer from a locked steel box. She started walking again with 08130, who said, "While the Terrans do not officially discriminate against slaves, some businesses prefer slaves use the rear entrance. If you use the front, you will be waiting a long time for them to serve you." She shrugged, "Slaves can either use the rear door, and complete our business quickly, or use the front and wait until the staff decides to attend us." She pointed, "That is the local branch of Lantern Bank. There is another at the passenger terminal." She checked Cam's map, "Over the bridge and to the right, there. I will assist you."

"Does the slave 08130 have tasks to perform?"

"No, I completed mine for the week, and so my time is my own. It is almost like having a dark collar…"

"She is a new slave? Lock her over there," the ancient Terran female said, gesturing to a row of neck rings. She snapped her fingers, "Paperwork!" 08130 shrugged and followed Cam over to the rings, where she knelt and was properly secured; her neck stretched tightly as the old woman glanced over the paperwork. She snapped, "Restrict!" and then "Vision off. Voice off." Cam felt 08130's hand squeezing her shoulder as she waited, hearing the rattle of a keyboard and the click of a mouse.

(_**Author's Note**: BDM was the female branch of Hitler Youth. Frau Geist would have been born in the 1930's and would have been required by law to join BDM. She would be seventy or so years old_.)

"Ach, Frau Geist, Ist dies das neue Mädchen?" (Is this the new girl?)

"Nein, sie ist ein Sklave, kein Mensch. Ein Tier. Zumindest ist sie nicht ein Jude." (No, she is a slave, not human. An animal. At least she isn't a Jew.)

"Frau Geist, Sie wissen, dass das nicht richtig. Mir ist bewusst, Sie gehörte dem Bund Deutscher Mädel in dem großen Krieg, aber sie ist in der Tat eine Person. Du kannst nicht behandeln sie wie ein Tier." (You know that's not correct. I am aware you belonged to the League of German girls in the great war, but she is indeed a person. You cannot treat her as an animal.)

"Warum nicht? Das ist, was das Gesetz sagt, sie sei." (Why not? That's what the law says she is.)

Cam heard a sigh, "Ist ihre kompletten Papierkram?" (Is her paperwork complete?)

"Es ist." (It is.)

The younger voice switched to Trade, "Good. Slave, release, enable voice, enable vision." Cam shook herself, whimpering once; then looked over at the door. She saw a young blonde wearing a perfectly tailored, immaculate skirted suit, complete with hose, sensible pumps, and a conservative hairstyle. She strode over, releasing the locks, and with a hand under her elbow, helped Cam to stand. As she did, Cam felt distinctly grubby next to her sleek perfection. The young woman indicated the inner door, "If you please, _fraulein_. I shall be a moment."

"My apologies, _fraulein_, she lives in the past, but she is Meine Urgroßmutter." (My great-grandmother.) She sighed; then gestured the kneeling, cuffed slave to a visitor's chair as she resumed her seat. "You may sit, _fraulein_."

Cam knew her records as a slave were good, she had seen them earlier that day. There was nothing to indicate she was a Terran herself except the genotype code in the medical section, so she continued as a slave, "Does my mistress order this slave? This slave prefers to kneel, my mistress."

"Whatever makes you comfortable, _fraulein_." She sat back, "Herr Mueller called, asking about you." She sat back, tenting her fingers, a silver pen in between her fingers. "He expressed concern that your journey was taking so long, it is almost 15:00." She twirled her pen, "I do not meddle in Herr Mueller's business, but I wonder why he is concerned about one slave in the thousands on this planet." She waited expectantly.

Cam shrugged, "My mistress, this slave does not question my master's orders. This slave encountered delays on this slave's walk, this slave begs forgiveness, this slave was not aware of a scheduled time." She smiled, "It is a very pleasant day, my mistress, and this slave was enjoying the sights and the journey."

"After being in a slave house…" the young woman prompted, and Cam simply smiled. She sighed, "Very well. Alles ist in Ordnung." (All is in order.) "She leaned forward, gesturing, and Cam sprang to her feet, turning so the young woman could release her hands. She put down another map of the local area and drew on it, "We are here. _Frauleins_ such as yourself are quartered in these apartment blocks. You are assigned to this one here, Building E-10, Number 17. That is on the fifth level, there are four apartments to a level. By the time you arrive, the door should be keyed to your hip implant. The uniforms are available here, in this store, along with other equipment you might need. You will need to stop by the Lantern Bank branch here with your packet to set up your accounts and link them to your hip implant. Food supplies are available here, recreation complex is here, and as you walked, you saw the commercial area here. Questions, _fraulein_?"

"Is this slave alone in the … apartment, my mistress?"

"No, as you are scheduled to do a good bit of traveling, you have another _fraulein_, who works here. That way you do not need to worry about food spoiling if you are gone for a few months, _ja_?"

Cam nodded, "Yes, my mistress." She studied the map, "Uniforms, then the bank, my mistress?"

The young woman shook her head, "I would do the bank first as they close earlier, then go by your apartment and meet your mate, who should be off work by then. Together you can then go for uniforms and supplies." She dropped a business card in Cam's envelope; then stood, walking her to the door, "Good luck, _fraulein_."

"Greetings!" Cam called as she bumped the door closed with her hip. "This slave is the slave's new mate…"

"Restrict," a young male voice called, and Cam stiffened, kneeling and cuffing herself. "My master?"

"Disable voice," a teenage male said as he emerged from behind the apartment door. He smirked, "You and your friend are going to party with us…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Sunday, November 17, 2002: 11:00 (GMT)****  
****Tosul orbit, **_M/V (A) Ben Nevis_**, Bridge:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Six bells rang in the forenoon watch, and Jack keyed the computer. "Ship's log, supplemental; Third Officer James Pitman recording. Six bells have rung, and we have received word from dirtside that our building inspection has passed muster. When the Captain's gig returns from that inspection dirtside, we will break orbit and proceed to the buoy to join the convoy to Mangione." He keyed off the recording, turning to the comm station. "Ms. de Galais, status?"

Lise turned, touching her headset, "All departments report ready for departure, sir. The Captain's gig report they can see the Captain sitting under a tree signing paperwork with the Captain's guard standing nearby, and the security service is in place for the building. The _Dover_ and the _Manhattan_ are waiting for us at the buoy."

Jack nodded, "Thank you. Helm?"

"Ready to navigate, sir," the tall, dark haired young Dutch-woman said as she turned slightly. "Subspace engines are online, as are Jump engines. Course is laid in to the buoy, ready to accept navigational commands from the convoy. Kick the tires and light the fires, sir."

"Thank you, Ms. van Staan, but I think the Captain would be somewhat irritated if we left her," Jack replied. The former model smiled slightly, sketched a slight salute, and returned to her board. He completed his report, calling up some paperwork, and then sighed. "My hat is off," he said. "I really don't want to do paperwork. Danni, I've been wondering. If you don't mind my asking, why'd you quit modeling?" He saw Lise turn also.

"I got so tired of it," Danni replied as she turned from the helm. "You can make good money, but the hours are long and it's a cut-throat business. There are a lot of beautiful girls out there, and your career is short. Now, I don't need to panic if I gain a centimeter on my waist, and I can actually eat real food instead of one leaf of lettuce. I can actually enjoy a slice of pizza or a hot dog." She tapped a manicured nail, "I had a sailboat, which I loved, but I wasn't taken seriously, even when I gained my seaman's licenses. With Greywolf, I was in London for a shoot, and stopped in to see them." She grinned, "My agent was NOT happy when I told him 'I quit.'."

"It seems like such a glamorous life," Lise said. "I would go to the fashion shows in Paris…"

"It's nasty; the girls are all prima-donnas, you've got only a few minutes to change and repair your makeup, and some of the clothes I wouldn't wear on the street on a bet," Danni replied. "Here, I can travel and see the stars, I enjoyed liberty, and my little brother is insanely jealous…" Lise's board beeped at her, she turned, putting a hand to her headset. "The Captain has finished, she's shaking hands with the locals, and her gig is starting engines."

"Okay, the hat is back on," Jack said. "Ms. van Staan, ready to answer, Ms. de Galais, please inform the docking bay of the Captain's ETA, as well as the _Dover_ and the _Manhattan_."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, November 17, 2002: 22:13 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 12 Primus, 163, 13:26 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, cargo docks:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"The slaves 11641 and 11642, my master."

Tom inspected the two slaves kneeling before him. "Good. Remove their hoods, gags and so forth. They will be sent on to their assigned workplace. What about their programming modules and control chips?"

"My master, the SCA retains those, as they, along with the slaves' title, are legal proof of the slave's legal status and ownership, my master," the slave replied. "My master would need to complete the necessary forms and then ship the slave to the Farm for any additional programming. The slave would then be returned to my master," she said as she removed the girls' bonds, she commented, "This slave looks forward to when all females are properly collared and Enhanced, as the Source intended. My master, it is the most efficient way to handle females." She put a grease pencil behind her ear, having made marks on the girls' naked upper fur. "My master will sign for custody of my master's slaves?" Growling, Tom did so, and the girls' leashes were handed to him. "Enjoy the slaves, my master," the SCA slave smirked.

Tom towed the two girls behind him until he reached a semi-secluded spot; then sat on a bench as the two slaves knelt. "All right, quick test; slaves' release. Please say something normal."

Eleanor rolled her shoulders; then said quietly, "The first thing I bloody well want is to brush my effing teeth." Marie looked around; then added just as quietly, "After that, I would love a shower, I stink."

Tom sighed in relief, "We're going to the greenhouse; that's where George and your kit are. Play slave another twenty minutes or so."

"We're still bloody well Enhanced cat-girl slaves, my master. This slave requests restriction and chaining us together to look right."

"I agree, unfortunately, master. Lock us down until we get there."

"Right…" Eleanor moved to stand behind Marie, and Tom sighed and said, "Restrict."

"So what about this mesh you're wearing? You didn't have it the last time we saw you," George asked Marie as she knelt, leaning back against his legs.

"I don't know," she replied. "We were put under for surgery, that's when these two wonderful additions were placed." She tapped her crotch, adding, "Presumably the mesh is to protect them from wandering hands…"

"Meaning ours," Eleanor said from the small kitchen in their hidden quarters where she was preparing tea. "A sealed belt isn't enough, oh, no; we have to have a chain mail corset added."

"What was added?" Tom asked from his position leaning against a wall.

"Additional data storage and a discipline device around a particular nerve cluster there," Eleanor said, "And believe you me, we can feel them there. The one feels like a large cucumber, all the way in. Not comfortable," she added as she brought out tea.

"Well, we're slaves, so our comfort has always taken a back seat to our security and discipline," Marie added. She changed the subject, "Speaking of our being slaves, I understand issuing death certificates, but the cause of death was animal attack?"

"Wabbit attack, actually. Marie and Eleanor had gone to the Northern perimeter to collect plants there and were ambushed," George replied. "They had started to munch on …"

Marie waved him off, "Thank you, I can live without the gory details. The slaves 11641 and 42 were illegal imports?"

"Too bad, that was a nice bit of Photoshop© work for the autopsy photos," George replied. "The slaves are twin sisters, which is apparently comparatively rare in the galaxy, and they were part of one of the Elders' slave collections; they managed to stow away and make it to Riverside, where they were picked up for violating curfew. That's why there is minimal documentation on them, or rather, you two," George replied. "Like I said earlier, the two slaves have email accounts, and Marie and Eleanor's former accounts are simply forwarded to the new accounts. You've both got quite a bit of mail built up, and Tom has, on the sly, kept your families up-to-speed on your status, as we know it." He nudged Marie, who reluctantly stood. "I'm going to get your laptops set up for you while Tom goes over your wands and how to release yourselves from the cuffs." He stood himself as Tom took a last gulp of his tea, setting the mug aside as Eleanor shook out her hair. "Right, here we go, and I apologize in advance. Slaves, _restrict_!"

"You couldn't have done that a different way?" Eleanor complained. "The cage thing means we're always going to be sleeping on our tummies."

"Or sitting," Tom replied. "I'm open to suggestion, how do you conceal a wand on a near-naked slave? No boots or long sleeves, but you're always wearing the metal belts…"

"Oh, enough with the logic; come kiss your slave, my master," Eleanor said, purring and wrapping herself around Tom. "Oh, I want you…" she moaned, and maneuvered him to a soft chair.

"Come here, my white knight, my master…" Marie whispered to George in the greenhouses. She wrapped her arms around him as she maneuvered him to the ground, "This collared slave girl wants her Terran master," and smiled at him, showing her fangs.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Monday, November 18, 2002: 08:13 (GMT)****  
****Terra, London, Ministry of Magic:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Dolores Umbridge, Permanent Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, sat back in her expensive custom-made nundu-hide chair, and considered the financial report in her hand. Behind her, the array of kittens on plates mewed and played, the pink doilies comforted her, her tiny (very large) office was a shelter and home-away-from-home for her.

The Finance Department's report indicated the top ten financial players in Wizarding Britain; and what their investments were as a percentage of their total wealth. Heading the list was that little chit Wayne, who led the list in terms of Wizarding investments, with Narcissa Black as a distant second. Indeed, her net wealth and that of her company were approaching a trillion muggle pounds, when one considered all her off-planet investments. She turned to a second report, listing blood status, and while her father's line had a good percentage of Scottish wizarding blood, her mother's line was weak on the French side. Wayne, when one looked at things properly, was a mudblood…

"Yes…" she whispered. The next question was how to gain control of Wayne, and her finances… The chit had not achieved her majority under muggle or Wizarding law, and had a Regency council for her 'Terran Empire'. Dolores snorted to herself; the only real government was her own Ministry. While Rufus Scrimgeour was the current Minister of Magic, those Ministers came and went, the top civil servants such as herself _were_ the Government. While she had been restricted in some of her movements due to political interference from Wayne, it was mere inconvenience by the little chit, but it had given the girl ideas above her station that demanded firm correction.

"Correction that I shall be happy to provide," Dolores said to herself. The chit's Regency Council had several members, the girl's own mother and her finance's mother. (He was another mudblood, she noted.) In addition was a Gringotts goblin, her aunt; who was a solicitor, and Minerva McGonagall. "Mudbloods, blood traitors and muggle lovers…" she snorted disdainfully. More of a threat was the girl's 'kitchen cabinet' who contained several fellow Slytherins (she did not accept the expulsion from her house, and proudly wore green and silver), as well as a Ravenclaw, and a few unimportant Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. She sat back and took a sip of tea, only to find it lukewarm. Tapping it with her wand (which had the standard Ministry limiting and tracking spells removed, of course), she warmed it up; then considered. Control of those funds would be acceptable at a slight remove. She needed a suitable patsy, easily controlled, but pureblood, of course… The problem was in the limited number of suitably controllable patsies, the wizarding birthrate had been dropping for years. What she needed was a pureblood like a Weasley that bred like rabbits; no contraception charm had yet held out against them… The problem was that all the Weasley children were already … no… there were a few possibilities there, and their father, Arthur, was a gullible idiot that worked for her Ministry. She needed to convince his formidable wife, Molly, then they would be suitable shills for her purposes, and they were on friendly relations with the Wayne chit...

She sipped her tea, considering her half-formed plan. What she needed was a legal smokescreen to seize control of those funds, McGonagall would disapprove; she was married to that dotty old fool, Dumbledore, and the solicitor-aunt would seek to overcome it… She smiled, this is what subordinates were useful for. She reached over to tap her intercom, telling the message form that popped up, "I need a legal way to control funds from a mudblood. Find it." She addressed the form with her wand, sending it to one of her Ravenclaw flunkies, and sent it. The form folded itself into a paper airplane, then went off through her office's transom window as Dolores returned the reports to their proper folders, putting them in her 'Pending' box and turning to her next task.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, November 19, 2002: 07:20 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, Politburo meeting:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

("Comrades, I must bring up an important point,") the Trade Minister said. ("Wayne's ongoing economic campaign has cost us a considerable amount of business, money the rebels on Formosa have been more than willing to accept. At this time of year, production of Western toys and trinkets is at its peak, which pays for a significant amount of our needs. We must demonstrate to Wayne that we are not to be trifled with. However, she has rebuffed our attempts at negotiation.")

("Simple. Kill her and her family.") The Defense Minister said. He looked over to the Foreign Minister, adding, ("Like the rebellious ambassador in London.")

("Do not remind me, comrade,") he replied with a grimace. ("The staffer that ordered her on-screen execution has been suitably punished, his wife received the bill.") The others grunted or nodded, that had been an additional embarrassment the People's Republic could have done without. Much better to do so off camera, behind the walls of the Embassy; that incident had caused the actual mass defection of several complete Embassies, as well as a number of personal defections. The Interior Ministry was suitably informed and punished the appropriate families for the misbehavior of their relatives; still, it was a disruption in the smooth operation of the government …

("There is something in what you say, comrade,") the head of MSS commented. ("Wayne's fiancée and his family are much more lightly guarded. Killing them, especially in a particularly horrible way, would demonstrate that we are not to be trifled with. It would also motivate those Western firms that have foolishly moved their manufacturing contracts away from us to return, although at not so lenient terms as before.")

("I like that,") the Trade Minister said. ("How difficult would it be?")

("We may do so in London, Wayne and the other schoolchildren arrive and depart by means of a school train. Killing Wayne and the three Morton schoolchildren in the midst of their schoolmates and parents should send the message that corrective action will be administered. If necessary, the other Mortons can also be terminated as an additional lesson, although they are in truth passive bystanders.")

("Collateral damage,") the Defense Minister said with a wave of his hand.

("Comrades, we are certain to be the prime suspects here,") the Finance Minister warned. ("There is certain to be retribution.")

("What can they do against us?") The MSS Director said with a wave of his hand. ("We are the People's Republic, they can do nothing! In truth, I would have uniformed agents carry out the attack to make certain they know whom they are against.")

("We should make certain the British Government knows they are not the ones under attack, only the foolish Wayne chit and her mates,") the Foreign Minister put in. ("In truth, it would be preferable for them to simply hand Wayne and her finances to us as compensation for our damages.")

("Make that point to them, comrade,") the Trade Minister said. ("We may consider canceling the attack on Wayne and the others if she signs over her business to us.")

("That is several hundred billion pounds, on multiple worlds, comrades. For that, we may consider leaving Wayne alone.") The Finance Minister said approvingly.

("We may consider that, although I would not in actuality, comrades. She has damaged the good name of the People's Republic, which demands payment,") the Foreign Minister said. ("We must demonstrate our resolve here. One may not insult the People's Republic as Wayne has and not pay a price.")

("So we are agreed, comrades?") The Chairman said for the first time in this discussion. ("We will direct MSS to kill Wayne, Morton, and his brother and sister before the end of the year. We shall leave the method to our good comrade here, as long as it is suitably horrifying. In addition, the British are to be reassured, and we shall demand the transfer of Arrowhead and the other businesses to our control.") He looked around at the nods of approval, ("I call a vote.") The resultant votes were, as always, unanimous, and he moved on, ("Next item on the agenda, comrades, is … )

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, November 19, 2002: 09:00 (GMT)  
Terra, West Midlands, Safehouse # 3:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Wai was weeding the front flowerbeds when she heard the crunch of a car's tires on gravel. She looked up; then stood, brushing off her knees as the car stopped. With a cry, she dropped her tools and ran to the opening doors, gathering her husband and son into a fierce hug.

("Mrs. Wouk said, but I never really believed … oh, you're here, you're safe, oh, thank God…") Wai said in Mandarin from the depths of her hug.

("We're really in England?") Jia, her son said, somewhat disbelieving. ("I mean, they drove us by Big Ben and all…")

"We should speak English, it's only proper," Liu, her husband said in that language. Wai dried her eyes and agreed, "Yes, it's the polite thing to do, although James and Mrs. Wouk are fluent…"

("Whatever makes you comfortable, dearie,") Mrs. Wouk said in Mandarin as she bustled up, ("Now, James has your luggage in the boot, you can freshen up and change…")

("So that's where we've been,") Liu concluded an hour or so later. He finished his cup of tea; then added in English, "We were taken shopping on Taiwan; we escaped with the clothes on our backs. I don't know how we got out, and I haven't wanted to ask."

"Need-to-know," Wai said. "As long as you're here, and safe, I don't care." She sat back; it had been an emotional day for her, and it wasn't even half over. "I've gotten an offer through the British from Miss Wayne for relocation off planet. She did warn that we'd have to be able to do the work, if we're covered as carpenters, we'd need to be able to nail something together."

"Means a colony world," Liu agreed. "From what I've heard of the physics, that throws my doctorate out the window. I could get certification as a bookkeeper or accountant, what about you?"

"Chemistry, I think," Wai said. "It's what my degree's in, or possibly something in administration, but that might be too high-profile. I've asked to meet with Miss Wayne and her fiancé, Mr. Morton, now that you're here…" She looked at Jia, "He's about your age."

He grimaced, ("I was just getting somewhere with Zong…") he complained in Mandarin.

"I doubt they could have gotten her or her family out," Liu answered. "Besides, we were politically disgraced, we don't really know why."

"I did a BBC interview with Miss Wayne," his wife replied. "I've got the tape somewhere if you want to see it. That's one reason I want to meet with her, to clear the air between us." She waved that off, "Thank God I don't have to serve as an apologist for those idiots in Beijing anymore. I had to meet with the Queen about that attempt at the race and say what those bumbling fools in Beijing wanted me to say. I was never so embarrassed…" she rested her face in her hands for a minute, then took a deep breath and sat back. "I've gotten some notes on the different colonies, and made some notes when I heard you were coming." She looked at her watch, "It's almost time for elevenses, a clever little British tradition. You can look over the material I've got, and I'll go send a note to Miss Wayne. Maybe they can come by this weekend."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, November 20, 2002: 06:11 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Minerva tapped her teacup, "If we are all supplied, may we begin?" she asked, flicking her wand to distribute the meeting minutes. Mattie raised a finger, "Please put me in under 'New Business', I've got a couple things coming up this weekend."

Minerva nodded; then turned, "Callista, the financial report?"

"New business; Miss Wayne?" Minerva said, rather snappishly. She was still somewhat peeved with the girl about the building in Paris.

"Two things, first, I apologize for the short notice, but this regards the Sisal Project." Both Filius and Severus looked up as she spoke carefully. "I've got teams from four major computer networking companies looking at the equipment with the plan to increase capacity. They have questions, and that's why I'm inviting you to a weekend away. They're at Malfoy Gardens; bring your wife or Bella for a paid weekend there, like the teams have."

"I wondered about that when my manager mentioned it," Narcissa commented.

"Need-to-know," Arthur commented, and Narcissa waved it off. Filius asked, "I've looked into these muggle computer things, what are the companies?"

"Cisco, HP, IBM and Juniper," Mattie replied. "Their equipment connects the muggle Internet, very high-end equipment." She grinned, "Just think, a weekend away from marking essays."

"We can but dream," Severus said dryly. "What else?"

"A request from MI-5 for a meeting, that's really all I can say, except that it shouldn't be more than half a day. It's for Arthur and I, and I was thinking of Sunday the 24th. We can leave from Malfoy Gardens to go there."

"Objections? Comments?" Minerva asked; then nodded. "Done. Hagrid, you wanted to …"

As the meeting was breaking up, Aurora Sinestra pulled Arthur aside, casting a quick privacy charm. "Mr. Morton, as Emma's mum, I'd like to thank you for tutoring her."

"It's really my brother Bill and Ami Bones you should be thanking, ma'am. They seem to have taken her under their wing, and I understand she let fly with a really spectacular jinx the other day. She got points taken, but…"

"I wondered about that; she was very proud of herself. I've been keeping an eye on Hufflepuffs, you know." She sighed quietly, "By the by, please let Mattie know Edward, Emma and I will be accepting her mum's invitation to Christmas, so we'll be traveling with you." She gave a small smirk, "So far Harry and Ginny are the only ones to go there, I'm able to beat out Filius for a bimble."

"I'm actually going to be late; I've got a meeting in New York; so I'm going to be bunking with the Cortez twins overnight. Gotham's not a very safe town, ma'am. Keep your wand and a nasty hex ready. Mr. Nigma may be a native; like Mattie, for the rest of us, it deserves its nickname: 'City of Nightmares'.

Under another privacy spell, Pomona and Severus asked, "What about Miss Branstone?"

"The elder?" Mattie clarified. "My latest information is that she and her partner Marie are out from the control of the Slave Control Agency and safe in their greenhouses, where they're getting to work. I know May Branstone received a long email along with a photo from her." She glanced at Severus, "That's one of the reasons for the network meeting with the vendors, to increase the bandwidth."

He nodded; then said, "I would like to go there for the Holidays; Bella went with Miss Branstone to visit her parents. Please make the appropriate arrangements."

"I've already spoken to Marie's Gran in New Orleans, she said the same thing. That's … seven people," she mused. "The three Branstones, both of you and Ms. Black, and Madame Laval?" She considered; then nodded. "If we can get out of classes and exams a bit early, that would be good."

"Don't forget, this year you and Mr. Morton both get to _give_ them, as well as taking them," Pomona said with a twinkle in her eye.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Wednesday, November 20, 2002: 09:07 (GMT)****  
****Deimos, Engineering studies base, cafeteria:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Chantal waved to her two partners as 'Tex' and 'Egg' approached her table, plates loaded from the breakfast buffet. One of the Swedish logistics contractors came by, topping up her coffee cup and pouring for the two men. 'Egg' nodded to her, fixing his coffee and taking a gulp before saying, "You're a morning person, aren't you?"

"Got to be," she replied; her own coffee cup in hand. "Get up with the sun, take care of the chickens and hogs; milk the cows, all that kind of thing. Been doing it since I was old enough to scatter feed; the bucket was as big as I was. As I got older, I did the washing and hung out the laundry to dry with my sister while the menfolk tended the fields and went off to the mines." She looked at the two men, "Good, honest labor, but God gave me a good brain. Got straight A's in high school and valedictorian, got _summa cum laude_ in two of my three majors, I ranked number one for those two at MIT. My third, I got a 'B' on one exam, which means I only scored eighth in that major. Overall, after five years, I ranked sixth in my class when I graduated, so I didn't get valedictorian. A German guy got that." She took a sip of coffee, "Arrowhead was willing to set up my pay the way I wanted: one third to Momma, one third to the Pigeon Breast School Fund, and one third to me." She took another sip, "How'd you two do in school?"

"_One_ B on _one_ exam, and everything else was straight A? And you ranked _sixth_ in your class?" 'Tex' asked somewhat disbelievingly.

"You went to a second-rate school, longhorn," she replied. "MIT is the world's toughest engineering school for a reason. Still, you're cute, and you got good manners, you don't chew with your mouth open. Finish breakfast, I've got a three-d model of my engine I want to bounce off the both of you."

"… Should work…" 'Egg' Young mused as he looked over her information. 'Tex' grunted, "You're basically adapting hard drive tech to each of the three axes? Roll, pitch and yaw?"

"Right, instead of a non-conductive glass surface, the bed of each disk isolates a conductive surface; the driver voice coil matches the two poles."

"What about shock and acceleration?" 'Egg' asked. "Where are you planning on mounting it?"

"I've got a test sled reserved," she replied. "As far as shock and acceleration, my design isn't more than a cubic meter; I was going with standard practices." She grinned, "Hey, surfer boy, I figured you could instrument it while Longhorn and I built the thing."

"That would work," 'Egg' replied. "What about…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, November 21, 2002: 07:30 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Slytherin table:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

May Branstone looked up at the bell signaling the end of Breakfast, then continued with her email to her elder sister.

_To: Eleanor Branstone  
From: May Branstone (school)  
Date: 21 November, 2002  
Subject: Life and other things.03  
_

_Hello!_

_Well, I've taken your email, printed it and mailed it off Mum and Dad. They're both working for the Empire now in a very hush-hush thing at Canary Wharf. They said they couldn't talk about it, something to do with Research. _

_We received your photo, and while it's something of a shock to see my big sister looking like a big cat and wearing a slave collar, we'll adjust to it. I understand you can't get it off; it's implanted in your neck. Arthur and Mattie were both somewhat irritated (all right, angry) when they saw it. At least you're safe, you've got your boyfriend, and you're productive again. I remember how you hated it when you didn't have anything to do. I hope we can visit over the Hols, I wonder if I can generate static from your fur grin. _

_I've got Mathematics I later this morning (Thursday) from 10 to 12. I almost wish I was Second-year, I think I mentioned Arthur Morton is teaching it, he seems like a good teacher. Professor Vector is good, but she tends to wander off into more advanced math, and we get confused. I'll see if I can get some private tutoring. Aside from that, we have Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff playing this Saturday, the odds are in favor of Hufflepuff, as their Seeker (Bill Morton) is regarded as the best in school since Mattie Wayne stopped playing for Slytherin. She says she just didn't have time to do a proper job of it, and given her schedule, I believe it. _

_I've mentioned Emma Sinestra, my fellow Firstie and Hogwarts' first off-planet student. She was being harassed by some of her year-mate girls in Hufflepuff, until Bill Morton (the Second-year) and Ami Bones took her aside and started tutoring her. She got off a joint-reversing hex on them that took Madame Pomfrey all day to set right. Professor Sprout took points, but she had a small smile when she did, and Emma got them back when she demonstrated it in DADA. _

_On other news, the confrontation with the Chinese (I should properly say the RED Chinese) continues in the news. They have had several Embassies simply open the gates and hand the keys over to the host country, although they have usually hung or shot some of their staffers first. The press speculates that those are the spies. The largest one has been Canada, although Belgium seems to be important for some reason. _

_I did mention that both Mum and Dad are working for the Empire, which means more money, although we've still got the little flat. I went with Ms. Black, who's been seeing Professor Snape, and learned some advanced Transfig, specifically changing (humans) to cockroaches. (You remember the gangs that come 'round. They're not human, after all.) It's a surprisingly easy one, Ms. Black stunned them all and then we practiced. I like her, although she did say it was more advanced magic, fifth-year and up, and I shouldn't mention it to anyone. We didn't kill them, though, they scuttled off into a drain with the other cockroaches, so I'm good with that, and you're my sister._

_For my other classes like Herbology, we … _

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Friday, November 22, 2002: 06:51 (GMT)****  
****Deimos, Engineering studies base, 'LSB engineering':****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Chantal turned as the comm terminal 'binged' with a notice flashing, 'Incoming call', with the next line reading 'H. M. Wayne, HIH Martha I'. With a quiet curse, she put down her screwdriver and wiped her hands, before sitting down. Keying accept, a young woman's face appeared, dark straight hair with paired white patches over her temples. "Ah, Ms. Rivers. Good morning; I wanted to talk to you and your two cohorts in crime," she said with a smile.

"Um, Miss, um, Milady, um, Empress Wayne…" Chantal stammered.

The young woman frowned, "Where did that come from?"

"It was on your caller ID, ma'am."

Miss Wayne blinked. "I didn't know that. Thank you. I'm calling in place of Anne to get your reports and discuss with you LSB's diversion of resources and equipment." She sat back; Chantal could see an old stone wall behind her as she licked her lips. "Um, ma'am, we had an idea for a new drive system, our other projects are stalled or waiting for other things to happen." Miss Wayne's hand moved in a circle, Chantal continued, "My laser, for instance, has smoked target drones out to two light seconds and beyond, but those just fly along in a straight line. I want to test against an evading target, like a missile warhead, but those are in short supply and I'm in line for them." She turned as 'Tex' and 'Egg' came in, and waved them over. "Tell Miss Wayne the status of your projects, guys."

"Howdy, Miss Wayne," 'Tex' said. "I'm Chuck Wrangel; I'm working on a gamma ray laser warhead. Right now the antimatter warhead doesn't emit much in the way of gamma, what I'm working on is a coating to increase that and focus more of the detonation. Egg?"

"I'm looking at instrumentation and making the containment and handling of the antimatter safer and more secure, ma'am."

"Okay," Mattie said, making notes. "Tell me about LSB and why you're using my facilities and equipment without an agreement. Ms. Rivers?"

"Um, well, we had this idea for a drive system, and since I had the most free time, I just got started with it. Chuck is doing most of the funding now, as he's a single guy…"

"… I'm workin' on her, though," 'Tex' said, then blanched, "Um, Miss Wayne, ma'am…"

Mattie chuckled. "Watch out for him, Ms. Rivers. Please continue."

"Well, we've got a partnership worked out; Ed's doing the instrumentation and telemetry, while Chuck and I are doing the hardware. We just got a test drone delivered this morning; I was just taking the panels off when you called…"

"Okay," Mattie said, sitting back again and tenting her fingers. "Send your technical notes to Anne, for now, you're authorized, send me a prospectus and a budget for funding, and as compensation for previous use, we'll get a discount on licensing. Ms. Rivers, I'll have the legal paperwork and such sent to your attention, please pass it on to your local lawyer." She looked over her fingers, "You DO have a local lawyer, don't you?"

"Um, not yet, ma'am," 'Tex' admitted.

"Get one, and an accountant. Now."

"Yes, ma'am."

"God love engineers…" she muttered. "My uncle Edward is a ME, he's currently on Luna; and I'm going to ask him to stop by and see you three when he gets to Mars. He'll give me a more comprehensive report, for now; just give me the highlights and what you need from me."

"Yes, ma'am," Chantal said. "Um, skipping the math, when Egg took apart a Galtech drive, we thought that …"

"Okay…" Mattie said slowly, "Instead of brute-forcing FTL like the Jump Drive, you form a pocket around the ship, which is … pulled through space. Correct?"

"Essentially," Chantal replied. "It's like putting a propeller on the front of a boat, the wake forms around the boat and is closed behind it. It should be a lot lower power; a 'draw' propeller is more efficient. To navigate, we just move the draw plate to the correct heading, to increase or decrease speed; we manipulate power to the plate." Miss Wayne nodded again, and Chantal continued, "We could use two things, ma'am. A reliable supply of a particular element, we call it 'Element X', it's 126 on the Periodic Table, and we need some research done on alternatives to the Jump Drive, there must be some."

"True," Miss Wayne said as she looked up. "Arthur (she spoke off-camera), please make a note for your Dad and Elena to check Tosul's planetary database for other FTL drives than the Jump Drive when they get there, please. We need the advantages and disadvantages; who owns the tech and is it for sale."

"Sure," he said as he looked over her shoulder into the camera. "Dad could use a bit of relaxation in the library. Is this Luna?"

"Deimos," she corrected. "This is Ms. Rivers, Arthur Morton."

"Mr. Morton," Chantal said stiffly.

"It's Arthur, please. If you say 'Mr. Morton' I look around for my Dad," he said with a grin. Chantal gave a small smile, "Your Dad?"

"He's on Windfall with my sister Elena, they're going to take my ship, the _Taalah_, and stop by Tosul on the way back to Earth for Christmas; so it might be a few weeks or so. Is that okay?"

"That would be fine. We're looking for any gotchas that they ran across," Chantal replied. On screen, Mr. Morton tapped his wrist. "Anything else, ma'am?"

"No, thank you. Good luck" and she disconnected. Chantal turned in their small office and let out a deep breath, "So that was Wayne and Morton."

"And we survived, and even got their endorsement and help," 'Egg' said as he sat in his own chair, while 'Tex' straddled his. "Yeah; way to go, Beaver-girl." He slapped the back of his chair, "So we got a new toy."

"Yes, but we need to get a lawyer and accountant on retainer, fast," Chantal replied. "Longhorn, if you can do that while I finish taking apart our toy and Egg works on his instrumentation."

"Bank accounts, too," 'Egg' put in as he lifted a carryall onto his workbench. "Go on, second-rate. Let the real engineers work…" Chuck huffed in false insult and strode out.

"Miss Wayne," Minerva said with a sniff of disapproval as she entered with Pomona Sprout. "This gentleman is visiting us from Tokyo and wishes to discuss some things in confidence with you. As they involve potions, and time is limited, I shall fetch Professor Snape."

"Sorry," Pomona said cheerfully to the assorted security and bodyguards, "I've been told it's top-secret, so if you'd excuse us, please?" Grumbling, they left to stand in the hall as Professor Snape came in, "What is so blasted important? I have a class… "

"_Stupefy_," Hikaru Okada said cheerfully. "Professor Sprout, will you please fetch a (he checked his notes) Miss May Branstone from her class?" He asked politely, adding, "Thank you very much."

Pleased with his day's work, Hikaru walked down the drive from Hogwarts to the small town of Hogsmeade. As he walked, he reflected, '_The key to memory charms is subtlety, giving them a reason to believe the false memory. In this case, it was simply a matter of planting a false memory of the witch's death on a colony planet, and Wayne helped with her secrecy. Now I simply charm the two muggle parents and the witch Bellatrix and I'm done with this end of the plan_.'"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, November 23, 2002: 07:11 (GMT)  
Terra, Malfoy Gardens, secure conference rooms:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Good morning," Mattie said to the thirty or so attendees. "I have the Non-Disclosure Agreements from everyone?" she asked. "Okay. Ladies and gentlemen, you may recognize me from the news, I am Ms. Mattie Wayne." There was a chuckle, and she continued, "What we have is a major secret of the Terran Empire. Nobody else in the galaxy, with the exception of the Oans, has an effective instantaneous interstellar communications network." She waited a minute, "This is how we are able to send email to and from our various ships and planets; however it is bandwidth-limited. That's why you're here today, to help us increase our bandwidth. I don't expect anything like what we have here on Earth, a hundred gigabits a second, or on the various planetary data networks, but something over 14,000 baud would be nice."

There was a chuckle, and she continued, "Right now, we're pretty much limited to email. While this does give us a definite advantage over the current method of sending mail by ship, we'd like to be able to send photos, if not video. In your packets are the current standard configurations for our Sisal point-to-point network. We haven't been able to measure a signal delay, and as far as we can tell, it's a secure network, but we are using by default public-key cryptography. In your reports, if you can transparently increase security; that would also be good."

One fellow stood up, "Jason Todd, IBM. We do offer cryptography chips and servers, and I would suggest hub-and-spoke network design."

"Thank you, Mr. Todd," Mattie made a note, and someone else popped up, "You mentioned the Oan's communication network. Can you tell us a bit more about that?"

"I don't know the method, but the Oans engineer on an atomic level." She waited out the murmur; then continued, "Each planet that has a Lantern Bank branch has a satellite in orbit to connect those branches in what is a high-bandwidth instant interstellar network. They also place what are known as Lantern Buoys in orbit over planets that they have an interest in, and yes, Earth has both. The satellites are the size of walnuts…" and she waited out the resultant murmur. "You do not futz with the satellites, as the Guardians of Oa by themselves are rather powerful, individually and as a group, and they control the Green Lantern Corps. Each Oan Ring can shatter planets. They are not people we want to get pissed off at us."

"No _shit_," someone said.

Mattie smiled, "As the Queen, dealing with the Oans and the Lanterns is part of _my_ job. For your information, the Secretary General of the UN has the control for our Lantern Buoy, but any deployment of Lanterns has to be approved by a Guardian. To get back to their communication network, the Guardians have refused for at least the last several hundred million years to allow anyone else to use their communication network…"

"Did you say … several hundred _million_ years?"

"I did. While the dinosaurs were roaming Earth's single continent, the Oans had an effective galactic FTL network, and each Oan, by the way, is over a million years old." She smiled and waited, "We are definitely the new kids on the block. Anyway, this leaves the vast majority of the people in the galaxy communicating by writing letters, as the most common long-range FTL 'radio' (she finger-quoted) is a massive power hog _and_ insecure. Not something you want to use for business. For short-range comms, there's a short-range FTL, which has a maximum range of about two light years, again a major power hog, subspace as we're using in-system, which has a maximum range of about fifteen AU. We have repeater buoys every ten AU in a sphere out to a hundred AU, which is also a sensor grid. Lastly, we have plain old radio, which is used for things like docking and ship-to-ship. Beyond local communications, people write a letter and send it by mail boat, which can take weeks or months to get between planets."

She waited for the discussion to quiet down, "Galactic technology to a great extent, gets to 'good enough' and stops. This is one area where the Galactics gave up and we were able to buy the tech on the cheap and get it working. As I said, this is a major secret, and what we're using is called quantum resonance. I can see your physicists looking outraged already." She grinned at the chuckles, adding, "One problem we have is, aside from the bandwidth limitations, is that it does not work in any form we know of FTL. It definitely does not work in Jump space, which is a seven-dimensional field, and that's why the Galactics gave up on it. That's really all I personally know about it. We are investigating other drive systems, by the way, as the Jump drive is an energy hog."

She took a sip of water from the glass, as someone popped up, "Why can't you plug in this unit when you get to where you're going?"

"Good question. The answer is that once the connection goes up, it has to stay up; it cannot lose power for even an instant. When your ship goes into that FTL drive pocket, it cuts the connection rather violently, destroying the equipment. That's why we're calling this the 'Sisal' network, as we've all done the tin cans and string when we were kids. We have multiple-redundant power supplies, but our solution is a bit different. We use a particular kind of stasis charm, and I must remind everyone that the existence of any sort of magical effect needs to be reviewed. The people of the galaxy at large believe that witches, wizards and magic, what they know as 'zarroji', are a myth, a legend. Stay with the tech you know, please."

She took another sip of water, "In the side rooms, there are four working Sisal rigs, they are currently configured to link to two live units in the field. One of the live units is located in the Eunomia base, which is in the Asteroid Belt at 2.6 AU; the other is on a planet in the Orion Nebula, roughly 1500 light years away." There was some murmurs at that, she waited a minute, then continued. "Please note the Sisal transmitter cannot, I repeat, cannot lose power. We have circuit diagrams and other equipment if you want to examine those, and Professor Flitwick (who waved), who developed the charm I mentioned, and Professor Snape (who nodded) developed the potion, which powers the charm. If there are no further general questions…" There was a stir as people got together and moved into each of the company's side rooms.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Saturday, November 23, 2002: 23:23 (GMT)****  
****In convoy, **_M/V (A) Ben Nevis_**, Bridge:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Six bells had rung, and the Captain came on the Bridge, wearing her skinsuit and carrying her helmet. She racked it on the command chair, "Mr. Pitman, I relieve you. Go to quarters for fifteen minutes and climb into your skinsuit. When you get back, relieve Ms. de Galais so she can get into hers, then Ms. van Staan." Jack nodded and left as Gloria took his seat, "Comm, please inform Convoy Control, the _Dover_ and _Manhattan_ we are leaving the convoy."

"Oui, madame," Lise replied, touching her headset. After a minute, she added, "Convoy Control wishes us the best, we have been refunded one kilo, fifty grams, and are warned of pirate activity."

Gloria turned, "So noted. Helm, drop us out of convoy, compute new course to the nebula's entrance, and transmit to the _Dover_ and _Manhattan_. Enable shields at one-third, preheat weapons. Comm, inform the passengers and crew, yellow alert procedure."

"La _Dover_ and La _Manhattan_ have left ze convoy and have passed us navigational and tactical control, madame," Lise added. She flipped switches, "Your attention; s'il vous plait. We have left the convoy; yellow alert procedures are in effect. Passengers will restrict themselves to cabins and mess hall; personal weapons are authorized. Merci."

"Course 205 mark 114," Danni said, and punched buttons on her console. "Ma'am, I have tactical and navigation linkage with the _Dover_ and _Manhattan_. Shields are forming at one-third, weapons are preheating." She flipped switches and typed on a board briefly. "I estimate thirty hours to the Benecee system, ma'am. Speed, five lights until we enter the nebula."

"Email has finished transferring to the ship's server, madame," Lise put in.

Gloria turned, "Good. I'll get to mine later. Comm, inform personnel of our ETA." She sat back as Lise did so, pushing the log button, "Ship's log, supplemental; Captain Alvarez recording. We have left the convoy and have assumed tactical control of the _Dover_ and _Manhattan_. I have set yellow alert procedure…"

A 'bing' and the Japanese voice, ("You've got mail!") caused Yuki to look up from her book. She knew mail was only transferred in n-space, but had no idea how or why. She set the book aside and walked to her laptop, turning for a minute to see the stars through the port before it vanished behind the grey nothingness of Jump space.

"Oh, the stars are back!" Christine said, and Petunia looked up. "Yuki can look at that grey mess, I get sick for some reason," she admitted.

"Well, I'm going to enjoy them while I can," Christine said as the ship turned. She saw the lit portholes and blinking lights of one of their colony ships, the stars seemed to stretch, then vanish behind the grey nothingness of Jump space. She got up, closing the view off, then went back to her laptop as it 'binged'. "Oh, good, I've got mail!"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, November 24, 2002: 10:00 (GMT)  
Terra, West Midlands, Safehouse # 3:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Wai heard the crunch of tires on gravel, and peeked out a window at the Mercedes limo. "Oh, they're here! Jia, comb your hair!"

"Yes, mother," her son drawled, and Liu chuckled at the knock on the door. Mr. and Mrs. Wouk had left them for the day, and Wai took a deep breath; then opened the door. "Good morning," she said, "Won't you please come in? This is my husband Liu and my son Jia."

"So…" Arthur said; then stopped.

"So you're Morton," Jia replied. He leaned over from where they both leaned against the limo; Steve (in his wolf form) lay in the shade and watched. "I don't see any wings or tail. You don't look like a demon." He snorted, "The Party lies again."

"They really have a one-child policy?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, yes," Jia said. "What's it like off-world?"

"Different…" he replied after a moment. "Most of the people are okay, but the slave girls, they're just so … I guess what we call messed up. They will take the abuse a master gives them, thinking 'I am a slave and this is the Source's Will.'"

"Brainwashing," Jia snorted. "Propaganda. Isn't it religious based?"

"Yeah, you move up and down the Spiral of the Source according to how you lived your life. If you were an obedient slave, you move up on your next incarnation, eventually reaching free male status. If you 'sin' (he finger-quoted) by being a disobedient slave girl, you move down the Spiral to bred slave, yada, yada, so there's a religious context. The Source and the Spiral has been going on for millions, billions of years."

"Religion is the opiate of the people," Jia quoted. "Never so true."

"Don't say that, you'll get lynched," Arthur warned. "These people _believe_, some more than others, but at the very least they'll pay lip service and make the Circle." He gestured, "Right hand if you're male, left if you're female. Clockwise male; widdershins female." He demonstrated, "Used casually, like you would knock wood or something. It invokes good luck."

"Widdershins?" Jia asked; then waved it off. He looked around, "This looks like a park, not at all what I expected England to look like." He sighed; then said, "I had to leave my girlfriend behind, but she had to denounce me. If we're going off-planet, I should be able to pick up a slave or two."

"If all you want is cheap sex, to reduce the pressure, then yes, you can," Arthur said coldly. "You can also order them to do just about anything you want. If they're Enhanced, you can even order them to kill themselves if that turns you on. What was your girlfriend's name?"

"Eh? Zong," he replied.

Arthur was getting tired of Jia's attitude, and decided to turn the screws a bit. "Think of Zong, imagine her as your sister," he continued. "Now, what would you do if she was a collared slave? Remember, she's got no choice, she's a slave now; she obeys or dies."

"Good point," Liu said from the door. He gestured with his chin, handing Arthur a mug of tea, then his son, and took a sip of his. "The girls have taken over the kitchen, banishing us. I had a question about this bio-sculpt; what can it do?"

"Thank you," Arthur said, taking a sip and finding his usual blackberry tea. "It changes external appearances; it can also shrink or stretch you a bit. You might look like a Vulcan or a Klingon, but you wouldn't have the internal organs." He gestured with his tea mug, "Jia might be changed from male to female, different skin or hair color, that kind of thing. I don't know if you two are officially 'dead' or not…"

"I believe so, but they might still be looking for a Chinese family," Liu said, regarding his son, who shifted nervously, asking, "What?"

"One way that people get rid of their enemies," Arthur added. "Rather unethical, in my opinion, but you bio-sculpt your enemies into girls, collar them and sell them off. That's what the Chinese, sorry, the Politburo was doing with some off-world slavers that kicked off the whole economic thing. Selling off the women and torturing the men to produce an addictive drug from their brain chemistry." He regarded the two, "That really pissed off Mattie; the whole slave thing is personal for her. She had to rescue a blood relative from slavers."

"Ah," Liu said. "So if we had blue skin and a daughter, they'd ignore us."

"Dad! I am not becoming a girl!"

"It's only reasonable to think MSS is looking for us," Liu replied. "Besides, what's wrong with being a girl? Zong didn't seem bothered by it."

"Another option," Arthur put in, "A couple moving to claim an asteroid and mine it, they've adopted a slave girl from off-world. The couple might be, oh, Russian or Swedish and the girl might have blue skin and she's wearing a common collar." He took a sip of tea, Jia's attitude was really starting to irritate him, "You need at least two people to mine asteroids safely, there's a lot of zero-gee work. You also spend a lot of time out in the asteroids, away from other people."

"Now that sounds interesting," Liu said.

"Dad! I am not becoming a blue slave girl!"

Arthur smirked behind his tea mug, "You'd be the adopted daughter," he corrected.

"Dad!"

"The problem is that we don't have any money for a claim, or equipment…" Liu said. "All we have is this one temperamental, misbehaving child…"

Arthur waved that off. "Don't worry about the money. We can speak to the goblins, the only concern is where an off-world brother and sister and their slave would stake a claim. You might want to go to one of our colony worlds where things are just getting started. For instance…"

"Dad! I'm not becoming your slave girl!"

The coffeepot finished gurgling, and Crystal moved to fix a mug for Mattie, setting her own tea aside. "I'm surprised that isn't in your dossier," Wai said from her seat at the table. "Then again, it was compiled by MSS in Beijing, so that explains it."

"Thank you," Mattie said to Crystal, then "How so?" to Wai.

"The idiots in Beijing filter everything, something like drink preferences are not considered important. Neither are things like clothing sizes or allergies, but political beliefs, those are thoroughly documented and analyzed by the 'experts' in Beijing." She snorted. "Fools and idiots."

"This doesn't mesh with what we were talking about on the show," Mattie said.

"Of course. There, I had to give the Party line, drawn up by the Foreign Ministry. Just like those other little confrontations like the golf course and the race. Dreamed up by the MSS and the PLA, respectively." She sat back in her chair, "You have embarrassed the People's Republic, and have declined opportunities to retract and apologize to the PRC, and therefore you must be either killed or kidnapped, where you would be _made_ to do so." She finished her tea, standing and moving to the tea pot, as Crystal asked, "You had a perfect opportunity to snipe at the race; that was our primary concern. Why didn't you?"

Wai raised the tea pot in her direction, and Crystal pushed her mug closer. "Please." As Wai poured, she answered, "Beijing's primary worry was damage to the streets. They believed the British and Americans wouldn't question her murder, but a sniper might accidentally kill someone 'important' (she finger-quoted). Now our sniper could kill a fly at five hundred meters, but no, he wasn't authorized, so…" She shrugged.

"That's so … disconnected from reality …" Mattie said as Wai took her seat again.

"Oh, I agree. The reason the troops were in uniform was so they would not be arrested as spies. Having a murder on television? Pfft. (She waved it off.) When I called Beijing, I was told, in essence, to shut up and do my duty. I couldn't even get through to the Foreign Minister; I wasn't important enough – the Ambassador to Great Britain!" She took a sip of tea, "The leadership in Beijing, especially the Politburo, lives in their own little universe. The only threats they worry about are political, the ones that threaten their power. Aside from that, they live like Greek gods, the best food, the most luxurious apartments, total power of life and death. They firmly believe that they can't be touched, they are accountable only to their comrades on the Politburo." She leaned forward, "They consider you a threat, while at the same time; they are untouchable. You are a troublesome, disobedient nuisance that won't go away, and won't behave. They have already sent troops against you; they have declared you disposable. You are in a state of undeclared war with the Politburo. You can do something that no one else can, something the citizens of the People's Republic will thank you for." She paused, "Please, kill those Politburo bastards."

The limo disappeared down the drive between the trees, and Wai hugged herself. "That's over. How did you do?"

"Morton was surprisingly helpful, although our son managed to irritate him. He suggested we go through bio-sculpt and come out as alien brother and sister refugees, with our own slave girl. We then do asteroid mining, either here in-system or at one of the Empire's colony worlds."

"That's actually a pretty good idea, what about financing?"

"Mom! I can't believe you're agreeing with Dad! I'm not a girl, much less a slave!"

"Would you rather be an alien slave girl with us, or be dead? Shot by MSS?" His mother asked. "We don't know if they think we're dead, but we have to assume the worst. They're looking for a middle-aged Chinese couple with a teenaged son. If they see a brother and sister in their twenties with their family slave, they're going to ignore them. Besides, what's wrong with being a girl?"

"I'm a guy!"

"That's worth your life?" Liu asked. "I'm willing to go and be your mother's twin sister if that is what it takes."

Wai shook her head, "Twins are rare in the galaxy. Older or younger sister, maybe, but that's something we can decide. No, I think an older brother and younger sister with the family slave girl. She's all they have left." She turned and opened the door, "Wayne gave me a couple of other options, including running a space station. Let's go inside, get a nice hot cup of tea and discuss this."

"Maybe we should have traded off part way through," Mattie said as Steve drove. "Wai wants me to put a contract out on the Chinese Politburo."

"She actually made good sense," Crystal said from the 'shotgun' seat. She turned, "If the UK were to do it, it would be a cause for war. They've already done everything but send you a telegram declaring war on you, and they don't recognize the Empire."

"Isn't that something like 'conspiracy to commit murder'?" Arthur asked.

"You would rather they kept on until she's dead?" Crystal asked. "The members of the Politburo are disconnected from reality. They give orders and expect them obeyed, no matter how impossible. They didn't snipe at Mattie at the race because their sniper might hit someone 'important', yet they're willing to commit murder on live telly because they don't think there will be any consequences."

"And that's why they sent uniformed, armed troops to do the hit?"

Crystal snorted, "Wai said they were more concerned with damage to the streets than the fact that those armed troops were on the soil of a foreign country, trying to commit murder on telly. There are only half a dozen of the members in the security committee; they're the ones generating the trouble. The others…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Monday, November 25, 2002: 05:36 (GMT)****  
****Benecee system, **_M/V (A) Ben Nevis_**, Bridge:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Three bells had rung a few minutes ago, and First Officer William Murdock had made the appropriate log entries for the morning watch. The ship was still running under Yellow alert, which meant that the Engineering station on the bridge, normally unmanned, now had an assistant engineer.

"Sir, I have the Secundus system buoy, I am dropping out of Jump drive," the Helm said, turning slightly. He added, "Going to subspace drive, I estimate planetary orbit in … (he worked his console) seven hours, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Pyle," the First Officer said, and the burly black man nodded. Turning to the Comm station, "Comms please inform the Captain; then make an announcement."

"Yes, sir," Ms. Weems replied, turning to her console.

Petunia looked up in their tiny shower as the announcement came: "Your attention please. We have reached the Benecee system, and estimate seven hours to planetary orbit. Debarking instructions will be given at that time. Please secure all personal weapons at this time. Thank you."

In conference room 5a, there was a frenzy of last-minute activity. Most of the girls knelt calmly, already cuffed and waiting to be gagged and hooded, while two of their sisters finished securing their documents and planning materials. Danielle pulled one girl's hood tight, snapping the locks and placing the seals, when Ms. Fukuda and Ensign Thomas entered the room.

"Oh, good," Helga said. "You heard the announcement."

"Yes, mistress," Michelle said, stacking the last of the notepads. She did a quick walkabout, looking for missing materials, then said, "That looks like all of it, mistress," and Akane nodded agreement as Michelle vanished into the tiny fresher.

"How can I help?" Helga asked as Akane finished stuffing briefing materials into bags.

"How long do we have, mistress?" Danielle asked.

"We could have waited to get you all tied up and chained again. The Captain wants to wait; we're going to be the last ship cleared," she replied. "The locals only have a single cargo station that's rather small, so the passengers aboard the _Dover_ and the _Manhattan_ are going first. They're estimating a local day for each ship; then it's the _Nevis'_ turn."

"As the free passengers would go first, of course, we're going to be the last of all," Michelle said, coming out of the fresher. She unwrapped a sterile new gag, standing behind one of the other slaves, who tilted her head up, opening her mouth wide as she listened. "We're only slaves, and not on the original manifest."

"Of course," Helga Thomas agreed. "However, once the _Dover_ has docked, all three ships are going to start shuttling cargo down to the DHL islands. Mixed in all that is the shuttle we're going to be on, which should land after the end of the business day, around 21:00 or so. Governor Castellano has confirmed the presence and operational status of the machine; she'll meet us at the docks with people she trusts, she'll guide us there and back, and operate the machine."

"It has all the right accessories?"

"It does," Helga said. "The Captain confirmed that already. Governor Castellano will retain the new chips, I've got the ones we're using for the upgrade, and which will be turned over to the SCA. Is there anything last-minute from your side?"

"Each girl has four numbered seals the slave house on Tosul put on us," Akane said. She nodded to Yuki, "When you made them whole again, mistress, which allows us to mislead the planetary customs people into thinking we've been secured, gagged and hooded this entire time." She took a few steps, tapping a printout. "Our hoods above and below our collar, the leash ring is snapped in place below the collar and has a seal, and the locking ring for our cuffs." She touched four in her belt's waistband, "These are mine."

"Why don't you let us do that?" Yuki asked. She motioned, "Go on, I had something last-minute to tell all of you, an email I got from Earth." She smiled slightly, "Slaves, _restrict_."

"Now was that really nec…" Helga started when Yuki said, "'_Stupefy_.'" She smiled again as the Ensign started to topple, she guided her into a chair as the slaves knelt, wrists cuffed, motionless and listening. "Now then," she said as she waved her wand. "This is known as a memory charm…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, November 25, 2002: 12:49 (GMT)****  
Seconday, 17 Primus, 163, 19:02 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, General Hospital:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"And … break," the surgeon said, stepping away from the table. The patient remained motionless, and he looked at the 'gas-passer' at the head of the table; that shook his head. "She's still flat-lined."

"Damn it. Okay, time of death at … 19:04." He stepped away as the anesthesiologist started to disconnect his equipment. "Pity, she was a beautiful girl; any idea how the other girl's doing?"

"Stable at the moment, Healer," one of the girls said, tapping her ear bud. "They've had to remove her limbs though; fortunately she's Enhanced and can be upgraded."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, November 25, 2002: 13:49 (GMT)****  
Seconday, 17 Primus, 163, 20:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Bill Morton's office:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Master, you asked to be informed when the incoming ships had assumed orbit?" One of his secretaries asked from his door.

"Thank you, why don't you wrap up for the day and leave a few minutes early?" he said as he looked up. "I've got a letter from my daughter I want to finish; then I'll be along."

"Yes, master, and thank you," she replied. He nodded and continued reading:

… _So anyway, Dad, there are some faults we've found, but nothing that's a deal-breaker, like indoor equipment used outdoors. I've compiled a list from all our scouting parties that's attached below; you can forward that on to the appropriate colonists. I've also taken lots of photos, some of the colony sites are very picturesque in the 'winter' (such as we get here), enough to have a nice early morning blanket of fresh snow, but nothing like sub-zero. Of course, it has to be the crazy Rodinas that complain about snow that's 'not deep enough'. _

_Moving on, I know we're expecting three ships in any day now. How soon do you think we'll be able to get on a ship and head for home? Arthur wrote and said we're invited to Mattie's house for Christmas and Mom accepted for us. Dad, once we're on ship; I don't want you to do anything stressful. I'll bonk you with the traditional rolling pin if that's what it takes to get you to relax! After all, that's the function of a good Officer's Aide! _

Bill chuckled and continued reading._ By my figures, if we leave on December first, we should be home about the time Hogwarts lets out for their Christmas Holidays. Now, the only decision I want you to make with Mom is where we're going to meet: Columbus, Gotham, or London? _

_I'll see you in a day or so, we're just upriver from you now. _

_Love, your daughter,  
Elena_

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Monday, November 25, 2002: 18:32 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, Gryffindor table:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Julie stacked her dishes, crossing her knife and fork on her dinner plate, which obediently caused the entire stack to disappear. Standing, she stretched, then fetched her laptop from her pile against the wall, and opened the first newspaper to check her stocks, sipping orange juice while it booted. Around her, other students were doing similar things, while her brother Bill wandered by from the Hufflepuff table after fetching something from the printer against the rear wall. "Hey, there," he said. "Heard anything from Dad or Elena?"

"I'm just booting, I'll let you know. Same?"

"Same," he replied, and wandered off. She checked her to-do list, she didn't know how others did it, but the only way she stayed organized was this list. This included a list of assignments, she wasn't as geeky as Bill, who kept his on a spreadsheet; she preferred a legal pad she could scribble on. She had no idea what Arthur did… The machine finished booting; her mail came up, along with the little graphic of envelopes flying. She waited; then said, "Oh, cool! I wish I knew how they did that."

"E-mail?" one of her housemates asked, looking across the table. "It is sent between servers, you then collect it from the servers. Simple."

"Well, duh," she replied, but with a smile. "Oh, goody; one from Elena!" She clicked on it, typing her decryption phrase and reading.

_To: Mom (home)  
CC: Arthur (school), Julie (school), Bill (school)  
From: Elena Morton  
Date: 25 November, 2002  
Subject: Life on Windfall .07  
_

_Hello!_

_Well, I'm back again, I just sent off a report to Dad, who's downriver at Riverside. I should see him within a local day. I've been doing spot inspections (and taking lots of photos – Arthur, please thank Mattie again for letting me borrow her camera!), and it's very picturesque. I've copied them to my laptop, so with the right equipment (which I'm sure the Waynes either have or can get), we can have a slide night once we're all together. I know Bill has wanted to see photos._

_Speaking of Dad, I told him, as his dutiful Officer's Aide, that I would clonk him one with the traditional rolling pin if he didn't relax once the ships arrived. Since they just made orbit, I figure that we should be able to leave around December first. Right now, there are six ships: the _McCoy_, the _Dover_ and the _Manhattan_ (one of which will take a load of colonists off to our island on P'wheel when we return to Earth), the _Nevis_ (my former ship, if she's finished offloading all her cargo), the _Taalah_ or the mail boat, the _Ngthsestr_. At two weeks (or less) that means we're home around the time Hogwarts lets out. However, do we meet in Columbus, Gotham, or London? _

_Unfortunately, I haven't been able to get much in the way of Christmas shopping done. What I have are mostly craft-type goods from the different seedling colonies – pewter, stained glass, that kind of thing. The toughest person to get for is Dad, but I think he'll be happiest to be home. _

_Bill, you asked about … _

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Tuesday, November 26, 2002: 06:48 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, Slytherin table:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Some of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws looked up when Mattie Wayne started to cackle softly. Sprink looked up from her own mail, "What's the joke, mate?"

"_Aerospace Review_, they're looking at the latest freighter from our friends across the Channel," she replied. Amy Johnson leaned back from Ravenclaw into the common aisle, "I haven't seen that one yet." Mattie folded the pages back, handing the magazine across. As Amy read and started to chuckle herself, Mattie asked, "Is Greywolf up to a little … investing?"

"I'll have to check our cash flow, but it certainly seems an opportune time," Amy replied. "Perhaps we can arrange a short-term loan of a few billion quid?"

"I think between Gringotts and me, we can certainly arrange that," she replied. A Firstie asked, "Did she just say 'billion' with a 'B'?"

"Welcome to Hogwarts," a Second-year replied from Ravenclaw. "Things happen around Wayne, and a few billion quid here and there is just part of the ride." She watched the magazine handed back, commenting, "Bloody hell, I wish I could get into Wayne's classes…"

Mattie leaned back, "It isn't all fun and games. Things don't always go the way I want, that's why I do my homework."

Amy leaned back in her turn, "A fixed game's no fun, and we're all playing to win. This is just a different field than Quidditch. In this case, the other side's coach just made a bad call, and we're taking advantage of it." She turned, "I expect Wednesday's class will be interesting."

"Yes, think you can duck your Friday and Monday classes for a quick trip to Paris?"

"I don't think Professor Flitwick will mind…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, November 26, 2002: 11:42 (GMT)****  
Thirday, 18 Primus, 163, 05:55 (WFT)  
Windfall, Orbit, **_M/V (A) Dover_**:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Isaac Levy grumbled as he made his now-familiar way toward the mess hall and the associated meeting room where Colony Five was meeting. Really, who scheduled a lunchtime meeting with the local? Why not earlier, give them time to consider…

Karen Meyers grumbled as she stirred her coffee; waiting for the meeting to start as people trickled in. While she was enjoying her first cup of coffee in several months, she wanted to get the meeting started. Henry Rosenberg, the new seedling's Chairman, leaned toward her and said, "Are you as excited and nervous as I am?"

"Nervous, somewhat, but I've adapted to the local time, and it's before dawn for me," she replied, covering a yawn. "I'm also somewhat nervous about my little sister, this is the first time she's flown solo, and while she put up a brave front, I could tell she was scared. Well, not scared, but definitely nervous…"

"Little sister?"

"One of the rescued slaves," Karen replied. "You do realize that you're going to get around three hundred or so, both off-planet rescued slaves and Elder Baasht's farm slaves?" She expanded a bit at his surprised expression, "Elder Baasht had a slave farm; and he bred and raised slave girls for sale. There are several thousand girls there, so dividing them up among the seedlings means between three and four hundred per."

"Oy."

"Indeed, 'Oy,'" she replied. "However, we've found a couple of things, they're really hard workers, very smart girls, and they learn quickly. The riverboats also ran a quick survey on each seedling, and took photos, which I've got for you."

"Good." He glanced at the clock; then stood, "It looks like we're all here. Jenny, could you get the door? Thank you, and welcome to the pre-landing briefing for Yerida Colony. Well, people, we're here, in orbit, and I'd like to welcome Ms. Meyers. However, we had best start with Rabbi Portman giving the blessing…"

"Thank you, Rabbi Portman. Ms. Meyers?"

"Thank you, Chairman Rosenberg. Good morning, everyone; I'm Karen Meyers, the IT head for Colony 17, although the seedling is now known as Brazos."

"Seedling? And it's after noon, Ms. Meyers."

"The seedling nickname seems to have stuck, for sub-colonies. However, it's appropriate, although I don't know where it came from, and on-planet it's not even dawn yet, Rabbi." He nodded, and she continued, "The last I heard, the plan was to have a small group, not more than five or six, scout out their new homes. When we started, there were several problems that delayed things, including the wrong type of equipment installed …"

"How so, Ms. Meyers?"

"Indoor electrical equipment like breaker boxes installed on the outside of buildings, gates left open, we had to deal with a Wabbit infestation, although I think you're going to be lucky there – Yerida is outside their temperature range."

"Wabbit?" someone asked, and people laughed. Karen leaned down, reaching into a box she'd brought, and pulled something out. "This is Roger, and aside from mass, is an accurate representation of one of the top predators of Windfall. The Wabbits are both pack and ambush hunters, and throw a poison quill from their tail. That poison will kill a person within five seconds, and we don't have an antidote. Planet-wide, we've lost a total of eight people to them, as well as a number of dogs and cats. They're small, they like to hide and can get through a two-inch hole, and most importantly, people; they're dangerous _after_ they're dead."

"After?"

"Post - mortem reflex, after you kill it, you have to cut off the tail." With a 'rip' of Velcro, she took off Roger's tail. "We lost a doctor from the World Health Organization to find that out. As far as usage, the Governor's office has a bounty on them; you bleach and send in the skulls, the meat is poisonous, although we have recovered an industrial wax from the bodies that our gunsmith uses. We use the fur for papermaking, among other things." She looked around, "I mention this because there's the possibility you'll go to other places in their range. The Wabbits hibernate in dens they dig during winter, which we're in now. This is one reason why everyone goes armed; I've got notes for your colony's gunsmith from ours."

Rabbi Portman appropriated Roger for examination as she moved on. "You're fortunate that your location is at the junction of three rivers, the Amazon, the Bug, and the Congo. You're going to get a lot of trade and through traffic; however, I would suggest you beef up your inspections, as Roger and his relatives have been known to hide in shipping containers among the pallets. I would think you'll also get a lot of travelers, so health inspections and so forth."

"Agriculture?"

"I would think fish farming, but you have your own plans. Each seedling claims up to a hundred kilometer radius as its territory, and upstream on the Congo you have site 12. I believe they're calling themselves Rattler, as they're an American school, Florida A & M."

Henry Rosenberg nodded, "Yes, although they're on the _Manhattan_, we've had several joint videoconferences among the executive committees. We had come to the same conclusion, Ms. Meyers, although I'm not pleased about basing our economy primarily on trade. Still, I have no objection to giving the DHL people some competition." He grinned; someone asked, "What about …"

Karen held up her hand, "Please, let me continue, I'll answer questions later. First of all, you know this is a binary system, and the orbits are different from Earth. A week of five, thirty-hour days, and the atmosphere blocks a lot of the UV, so you won't get much of a suntan. Practically, that means that sunrise is about 7:30, sunset is about 22:30, and office hours are from about 9:00 to 21:00. Some seedlings take a siesta around 15:00, some don't. We generally consider a business day Firsday through Fourthday, and take Fifthday off, but that's only recently. We hold a joint prayer service Fifthday morning at 9:00."

"Joint prayer service?" Rabbi Portman asked.

"Yes, sir," Karen replied. "Brazos is American, Texan in origin, so there's Protestant, Southern Baptist, Catholic … I'm one of seven Jews there, there's two Muslims, our electrician and his wife, and the little sisters are believers in the Source to various degrees." She gestured at the audience, "Rabbi, if you're thinking of converting one of the girls from the Source, you'll be the first. We find it's easier to simply have a service from one of our lay priests; they work out their own scheduling and deal with morale problems. One problem we've had with our Terran colonists is homesickness, so we try to arrange working parties to other seedlings, and host others. After the service is a social time, and several of the seedlings are putting together a football league, with both local play and, hopefully soon, competition between us." She gestured, "I've brought copies of our mayor's daily reports to the Governor, as well as the newsletter we've started to publish. Moving on, there are a couple people I definitely want to meet with, your gunsmith (Isaac waved, and she nodded.), and your IT people."

Henry Rosenberg held up another hand, "Um, our IT fellow's unit was called up unexpectedly. He thought he was out of the IDF, but apparently not. I was hoping that, perhaps, you could see your way to help us out…"

Karen stared at him, shocked. "I'll need to call back to Brazos, and maybe get some other IT people in from other seedlings. I want at least four of the new girls available to work with me to train, and there were problems we ran into with the satellites."

"Problems?"

"Arrowhead has a 'left hand – right hand' problem. They specified equipment for the ground stations that didn't match what was installed in their communication satellites. The GPS and weather satellites work fine, but there are two comm satellite constellations, a high altitude secure and a lower orbit _insecure_ system the Elders put in. Apparently you can't simply bolt in a subspace transceiver to the satellite, you have to replace the whole satellite, and there's a lot of speed-of-light signal delay because of that little error. That's why we're routinely using encryption. I understand the Governor brought out some technical people, so hopefully that problem will be permanently fixed. Moving on, for the first few weeks, until you get some crops in, you'll be living off Army rations and imported food from the locals. I don't know what the status is on your farm animals…"

Isaac listened as the girl continued. "Let me go over some differences between what's on Earth and here on Windfall. First, Governor Castellano gave us a briefing before we flew up to meet with you." She cleared a space on the table; then lifted a wicker tote into place. "Plastics. Any plastics you'll see aside from stretch film over food is imported. We've worked out a way to make that from plants, but we don't have any sort of oil field, or at least we haven't found it oozing out of the ground." There was some laughter, and she smiled and continued, "We've been more focused on getting bread on the table. Therefore anything that derives from petroleum like plastics or cosmetics is imported. Our fuels are plant based, like biodiesel, and any engines that we've made have been smaller – car or motorcycle sized. Larger engines like on the riverboats are expensive and maintenance intensive." She patted the tote, "We're using the European Union's standards, as they're fairly comprehensive. Americans like me have to mentally convert from feet to meters, but that shouldn't be much of a problem for you. This is what's known as a 'ninth', in that it holds a ninth of a cubic meter or about four cubic feet, and nine of them will stack very neatly on a European standard pallet."

Karen took a sip of water, and then continued, "Paper and cardboard. There's not much of a paper industry, there's only one envelope machine on planet, which supplies all the seedlings through the Post Office. The envelopes are prepaid for local mail, so if you want to send a letter to your Assemblyman, you would need to add additional postage."

"What about this Assembly?" someone called.

"It hasn't been seated yet," she replied. "Getting back to paper and cardboard, anything you ship would be in either a wooden case or a wicker one. Cardboard requires a huge paper industry, which we don't have. Our papers are being made locally out of bamboo and hemp fibers, which have worked out well so far. We're trying to be very eco-friendly."

She took another sip of water, "Electricity. With the exception of Island, we've standardized on 240 volt, 60 hertz. However, there's no grid between the seedling colonies as yet, I understand that's something Governor Sullivan is looking into. It's the same thing with the planetary Internet, not yet. Right now we're bouncing off satellites, but any power cables would have fiber-optic lines, so we can connect that way."

"Generally, we try to make it ourselves. We'll import from off-world something that we can't build, like computers, and substitute if we can, like this wicker tote for a plastic one. Simpler electronics like radios and controls we're using vacuum tubes, which we're manufacturing here. We're using animal power for things like drawing plows instead of importing a huge tractor with all its spare parts, oils, lubricants, and high costs. While a shonnen is slower than that tractor, our fields are smaller; they don't cover hundreds of square miles. That's why a farm cart has a radio and steel wheels, not a cell phone and rubber tires. We have to be able to fix it ourselves."

"It makes sense, and maybe we'll find that oil patch," Rabbi Portman said with a smile. "What concerns me is the food supply."

"It concerns all of us, sir, but we're working on it, and we've lived off US Army surplus MREs for a while now. They get a little boring, but that's never killed anyone, and we have to be very careful, especially with local foods. Some sort of fungus or spore killed the last colony's males, so we're sending samples to Riverside General for testing; we have lab mice and the local meepers we're testing with locally…" Karen shrugged, "It's still early, sir, but we do have some local fruits and vegetables passed by the hospital, the local beers and teas are good, so it's not all canned food and water. We've got honey and sugar beets, and the locals don't seem to have done much with wine. People forget that fruit trees and some plants take a few years to mature. We're doing some home canning and produced mead and beer. If you want to produce both kosher and non-kosher wines, jams, jellies and grape juice, it would fill a niche." There was a murmur from the audience, and she continued, "What else? Concrete and building. Concrete, bricks, cement, tile, that kind of thing is in limited supply, so most buildings are built of logs and timber. You'll have a full basement, and maybe one or two layers of concrete block, with the rest of the building being built of logs with the bark left on one side for waterproofing, and mortared together. I've got some photos…"

Isaac made his way up to Karen after the meeting. "Ms. Meyers, I'm Isaac Levy, the colony gunsmith. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Mr. Levy, I have some information for you from our metalworker and gunsmith, Mr. Jourdain. One of the main food sources we have is our hunters, and I understand the US and Russian armies have donated a bunch of rifles. I wanted to go over what's a predator, what parts we can eat, and especially warn you about the Wookies."

"Wookies?" The small man was puzzled for a minute, then said, "Ah, yes. A forest species; please continue."

"They are an _intelligent_ forest species, Mr. Levy, which we have good relations with. We'd rather not shoot them thinking they're a deer."

He nodded, "Perfectly understandable, I know who our hunters are. If you have photos and such, I will personally go over the material with them."

"Good, as one of the Russian hunters accidentally shot one, thinking it was a bear. The Wookie lived because we got him medical attention and apologized. They have a few small villages, and they come in to use our comms and buy and sell with us. We've asked them to wear a hunter-orange vest if they're within five klicks of our settlements, or on one side or another of a river. We've also set up river crossings for them, and those are marked on the navigation maps."

He nodded again. "I understand I am one of four gunsmiths on planet?"

"Yes, although the fellow from Qing is one of their former Olympic athletes, not military trained like the Russian fellow or Mr. Jourdain." She glanced at a ship's clock that showed local time, "If you want, I can call Mr. Jourdain and you can talk guns with him. I should call my shop, now that we're open for business." She turned and saw the Rabbi approach, "Rabbi Portman, something I wanted to mention to you. You're aware that we just had an election on planet, and that females outnumber males by up to seven to one?"

"Yes, I am," he nodded.

"Well, one of the election items that passed was legalization of group marriages," she said warily. The rabbi blinked; then sighed. "I shall consult with my colleague, the abbot," he said. "The Pope has declared Windfall among other planets in the Empire a 'territorial abbey', the first abbeys in centuries, along with a separate diocese for them. I confess; I can see the reasoning from a secular point of view. However, and I am certain my Catholic and Muslim colleagues will agree; it violates doctrine…" He sighed again. "Thank you, Ms. Meyers."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Wednesday, November 27, 2002: 06:16 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty lounge:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Let's get started, shall we?" Minerva said, rapping on the side of her teacup. Mattie raised a finger, "Amy Johnson and I will need a short weekend trip to Paris this coming Friday."

"New fashions?" Harry asked, and Ginny swatted him.

"Thank you," Mattie told Ginny. "No, an investment opportunity has come up with a French aerospace firm." She took a sip of coffee, turning slightly to Arthur, "If you can spare a few million, you might want to buy their stock as a present for Carson, his college fund."

"EADS?" he asked, and she nodded. "Not to spread it around, but in today's class I'm going to be discussing how to attack someone financially. In theory, we could bankrupt the French government; they're a majority stockholder, and they've given EADS a government guarantee. Of course, they'd have to be idiots to allow it."

"Then again, these are French politicians we're talking about," Harry said. He looked at Filius, "I think that's allowable, but is this insider trading?"

"We don't own stock in EADS, at least I don't," Arthur said. "A few million?"

"Yes, I owe something back to DGSE for attacking my family," she said with a cold, shark-like smile. "However, I'll set that aside, Carson is blood-kin to you. My revenge to you; do me proud."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
****Wednesday, November 27, 2002: 10:01 (GMT)****  
****Terra, Hogwarts, Business class:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

As Callista Vector arrived, somewhat out of breath, she heard very familiar music. She slipped inside, finding a seat saved for her by Severus. The music finished, and Miss Wayne stood up, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Wagner's _Ride of the Valkyries_. I thought that was appropriate." She waited a few minutes for notes to be taken, then continued, "Up until now, we've had some fun, you've hopefully made a quid or two, but money and economics can also be used in warfare." She paced back and forth, "You can attack, and be attacked financially. These are known as 'hostile takeovers' (she paused again for notes), and 'shark repellant'." She paced a bit more, "Some of you may recall a year or so ago, when a French DGSE agent, acting as a terrorist, outed the Wizarding world with the intent of a hostile takeover of Arrowhead." Her smile was sharp enough to cut with, "They failed, one reason being that they planned and executed it poorly. Politicians grow to believe they are all-wise, because their toadies tell them this, and the child-minder's attack was a prime example. A good prospect has come up, and today we're going to be discussing one attack strategy, known as 'leveraged buyout', in which the target company has to assume the debt of the attacking company, giving them a very poor financial structure, and therefore making them vulnerable to short-selling their stock."

"You mentioned 'shark repellant', Miss Wayne," Callista asked.

"Yes, this can be one of thirty or so defensive tactics. For instance, there's leveraged recapitalization in the face of a share bid. If a company's shares normally sell for € 10, and I bid € 12.50, the board can assume debt in the form of bonds to counter-offer € 15. However, that's debt, not equity, which does have to be paid back. If I make another offer of € 16 for common, and € 50 for preferred, I'll likely take the shareholders, who have just had their investment go up 700 percent. Now, to pay for that offer, I might sell off a division or two, but I'll probably guarantee the employees' jobs as part of that contract, or offer them a transfer." She took a sip of water, "It depends on my relations with that third company, and what they're willing to offer. A company's personnel are a valuable asset, that's why another defensive tactic is known as a 'brain drain'. This is performed by offering a stock option, in which they can purchase stock at a discounted price in the event of a hostile takeover. That happens; the employee cashes out their stock and leaves the company. The counter to that is to offer them a better job and paycheck if they stay with the company for a year or two."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, November 28, 2002: 20:50 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 20 Primus, 163, 10:03 (WFT +1)****  
Windfall, Riverside, General Hospital:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Oh, where am I?" The young woman asked.

Christine put her laptop aside, "You're in Riverside General Hospital, and I'm Governor Sullivan."

"Why can't I see, or move?"

"You're just waking up from surgery, and the doctors thought you'd become … upset, so they've turned off your vision, and shut off your limbs." She paused; then said, "Do you remember who you are?"

"If you're actually the System Governor, then I guess Herr Horst and Herr Cuthbert have cleared you for me."

"You're with CIA, seconded from another US agency. Fill in the rest, please."

"Okay. Sergeant Camanetti of the US Marine Corps, and we're hardly just another 'US agency'. I go by 'Cam'."

Christine chuckled. "Sorry about that. Like you, I'm Enhanced, but you've had more extensive damage, and therefore greater replacement with prosthetics." She paused, "Like your arms and legs."

"Oh," Cam paused, "I think I should be upset at that, but I'm not."

"You're tranquilized," another voice said. "I'm Dr. Yolanda Lopez, of the Cosmetic and Reconstruction department. I apologize for not being here when you woke up, but even doctors need to pee occasionally."

"This is true," Cam said with a slight smile. "Go ahead, doc, let me see. I promise not to throw you through the window."

"I'll remember that, because with the new prosthetics, you can." The girl felt a hand at the back of her neck, some clicking, and then Dr. Lopez said, "Close your eyes, please. Governor, please close the drapes." There was a slithering sound as they closed, Dr. Lopez said, "The room is actually fairly dim to me, for you two with enhanced vision, it should be fairly bright. Ready?" The cloth blindfold was removed, and Cam blinked twice. She saw two short-haired blondes, one wearing a dark collar, sunglasses and loose robes, the other a doctor's white lab coat. Looking down, she saw her torso under a white slave smock, with her arms held off to the side by Velcro cuffs to the bed's side rails, and under a sheet, two legs. She tried to move her fingers and toes, and failed. "Doc? My hands and feet? I can't feel them, or move them."

"They're turned off; you need to go through physical therapy in order to learn how to use your arms and hands, as well as how to walk, run, and so forth. Give us time; we'll have you playing tennis again." She leaned forward, touching a control, then unstrapping Cam's right wrist. She tossed a yellow tennis ball in her lap, "Hand me the ball, please." and took a step back.

Giving the doctor a suspicious look, Cam tried to simply reach for the fuzzy yellow ball, but her right arm swung violently, slamming into her left shoulder, then when she tried to move it by increments, it wouldn't; then it would in jerky movements. After a good five minutes, she finally had her hand around the ball, which popped when she closed her hand. "Okay, doc, you got me. When do you estimate?"

"Working hard, a week or so; by then you should be ready for those tennis lessons. However, your prosthetics, like your legs and arms require power, which means you charge the batteries every night, or when you can. That's simply an adapter you plug in when you're going to be in one place for a while – sitting at a desk, doing paperwork or something similar."

"Um, doc, I'm a slave, I'm not likely to be doing paperwork."

"Yes, you are, to both parts," Christine said. "As part of the prosecution of your attackers, we had to file a subpoena to get your programming module, and a motion to move you up to a common collar. This was a one-shot deal under local law, one per slave, and while the local judge was willing to move you from a judicial to a common collar, he wasn't willing to free you. Apparently to him, slaves are female and females are slaves."

"Such circular logic is wonderfully progressive," Yolanda commented.

"For some of the local conservatives, he _is_ a progressive," Christine replied. "Benni burned one of her prerogatives as Lieutenant Governor and Acting Governor for that while I was off-planet." Cam nodded, and Christine continued, "As a slave, you can't sue your attackers for damages suffered as a slave, nor can we file charges like battery and attempted murder. However, we did convict three of the four of malicious damage to and destruction of Crown property. They're now in road crews."

"You said 'destruction' and 'three of the four'," Cam said slowly.

"Your room-mate didn't survive, she died on the table, and the fourth at fourteen hadn't reached the planet's age of majority. However, we could get a conviction if you were slaves and Crown property."

"Like getting Capone on tax charges," Cam nodded. "Okay, I'm in a common collar, now what?"

Taking a deep breath, Christine sighed. "Now, Ms. Camanetti, I need to clarify two things. First, the conviction of Terrans shows that Terrans are equal under the law, and that we mean what we say about the treatment of slaves." She sat back, "I have a proposal for you. I understand you're medicated at this time, so I won't hold you to a decision. I'll fill in details if you take me up on my offer, but I need someone to take control of the Commerce Ministry and the SCA. Benni Castellano has too much on her plate as Lieutenant Governor to give it the attention it deserves. We need to move this society toward better, more equal treatment of both free women and slave girls, and you'll fit in nicely. Appointing a slave as the head of the Commerce Ministry will show upward mobility for slaves and women. Since your cover is an escaped, illegally imported slave that means you're not a Terran, so you can go places and do things that I can't. However, since you _are_ a Terran, only a few people will know that, and we can help knock down the Traditionalists."

Cam glanced at Dr. Lopez, "Um, I don't have any experience in running a government agency."

"What makes you think I do as System Governor?" Christine replied with a smile. "I'm a fisherman's daughter."

"Point," Cam said with a small laugh. "Why Commerce?"

"It is the one primarily run by slaves, followed closely by Finance. There are also a great number of sub-agencies, and very few free persons." Christine sat back in her chair, "I'm not saying it will be easy, but we have sufficient blackmail material on those free persons that should enable you to get your way. Perhaps not willingly, but you can also promote and demote, as well as fire people." She tented her fingers, "Benni went through there with a stiff broom, cleaning out most of the deadwood. As a matter of fact, those agencies are where a lot of the Traditionalists come from, males who are used to easy living and want that back. They're having difficulty getting that through the bureaucracy, so they're focusing on the legislature now." She took off her sunglasses and pinched her nose, "Be glad, Doctor, you don't have to deal with them."

"Life and death is so much easier," Yolanda quipped.

"True," Cam said with a small laugh. "You've got a deal with your slave girl, my mistress. I'll shake hands later, when I won't rip your arm off."

Christine let out her breath, "Doctor, I want her able to turn pages and use a pen within a week. Cam, I'm going to have some people stop by to see you, one is the head of my Security Ministry, who will give you a classified briefing. He's a nice young Russian fellow, an alumnus of KGB; his name is Piotr."

"Is he taken?" Yolanda asked.

"Yes, his wife and teenaged daughter came in with us." Yolanda murmured 'Darn!' and smiled, "Don't forget, ladies, group marriages are now legal."

"Yes, I have my eye on a certain German major," Christine said. "Nothing like a little competition, is there?" She stood, arranging herself and picking up her briefcase, nodded and left.

Yolanda and Cam watched her go, then Cam said, "Um, Doc, you know I'm not really … "

"A girl? Your DNA is male, yes, but now I need to explain some things to you. Do you want it straight, or candy-coated?"

Cam tried to take a breath, "Straight, please."

"All right. First, do you have any questions for your doctor?"

"Um, yes. My chest is, um, bigger, my waist is a lot smaller, and my hair is a lot longer."

"I'll get to those; in general, they were necessary for either function or aesthetics, as is your slave belt." Cam nodded slowly as Yolanda continued, "Frankly, if you hadn't already been Enhanced, we would have needed to do so. You sustained severe trauma and had to be revived twice on the table. You had brain damage, without all the medical jargon, that's one reason I'm glad you're in a functional collar; it's taken over part of the processing load." She pulled a lever, lowering the rail on Cam's right side, and leaned forward, undoing her white slave smock. She touched the black mesh that encased her torso under her breasts, "You've got a synthetic skin under this mesh, actual skin from under your breasts up, which means that's where you'll sweat. Your collar and Enhancement take up a lot of the brain's processing load and your primary data storage is down here (she tapped Cam's crotch). That's primarily why you're armored with the mesh where you are. If you were to gain an inactive collar, a dark collar, you'd have more motor troubles than you do now." She placed another tennis ball in her lap. "Don't think about the ball, just grab it. You're not programming a robot."

"In a way, I am," Cam replied. "I'll always be in a collar? What about the slave belt?"

"Objectively, as an Enhanced slave, you would always be in a collar without your injuries. The mesh and belt protect your cabling and sub-systems. With those systems, you didn't need the mass of a lot of those lower organs, so you get a wasp waist, and this simplifies replacing parts, including a very small heart-lung machine; which pumps and oxygenates your blood."

"What the hell did those little bastards do to me? To us?"

"Do you want to see the photos, or know the gory details?" Cam shook her head, and Yolanda said, "The Germans were _pissed_. They were out for blood, and I will say these words: blowtorch and soldering iron."

"Oh, god."

"Yes." She leaned forward, tapping Cam's chest. "We had to increase your chest cavity diameter by roughly five centimeters. You've got two small compressed oxygen tanks, so instead of panting you will automatically increase the O2 levels in your blood. That's why your chest feels cool, the insulation for the tanks. In your shoulders are two small gyroscopes to help maintain balance, there is a third in your pelvis along with batteries in the obvious locations."

Cam digested this, "I'm pretty much that robot. What about my chest and hair?"

"Primarily aesthetics, you had mentioned at one point you wanted them larger and longer, so we obliged you. They also allowed a slightly larger oxygen tank to be fitted. As far as eating…"

"Yes, I would think I'd be hungry after surgery, but I'm not."

"Ah. As I said, that's part of the gory details. Suffice it to say that any regular, solid food will simply go into a tank to be broken up and expelled. Your main nutrition will be from protein drinks, 200 milliliter drinks twice a day. However, stay away from alcohol, a single light beer will go straight to your head, the same effect as a half-liter of vodka or tequila. You can take that as an order from your friendly provincial doctor if you wish."

"You, I take it. You mentioned I needed to charge…"

"Yes. Objectively, you could run a marathon on one charge, or have two weeks just sitting if you're doing paperwork. In that situation, I would suggest simply turning off your legs; power conservation." She reached behind herself, tapping; "Your anal plug, and therefore your 'tail', conceals a charger, which also includes the normal waste disposal function, but if you connect an electrical adapter, it will also charge your batteries. Therefore, if you sit for any length of time, plug in."

"I'm sounding more and more like god-damn Robby the Robot."

"Would you rather be dead? We simply stop power to your heart; you suffocate and die within a few minutes."

Cam could swear the doc looked hurt. "Oh, geez, I'm sorry, Doc. It's just that this is a little much to take all at once."

Yolanda sniffed. "All right; I notice you've gripped the ball …" It popped. "See? You can do it. Now, I'm going to send in my Therapist, please try to be nice to her."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, November 28, 2002: 23:34 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 20 Primus, 163, 12:47 (WFT +1)****  
Windfall, Riverside, Greenhouses:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Eleanor put down her glass stirring rod and activated a timing charm. Covering her large cauldron, she adjusted it carefully; then said, "We let it simmer for a few hours. I'm going to take a nap."

"Thinking about a particular Mountie?" Marie asked. "I'll be glad when we can get those new girls in here. Just weeding all of these plants is a full-time job; and what about our new owner?"

"Don't know yet," Eleanor said, covering a yawn. "I don't bloody care about our owner at this point; we don't know anything about them. Him. Her. All I want is a nap. Wake me up in a few hours, please," she asked as she left the room.

Marie grunted and resumed chopping ingredients, and didn't hear anything until Yuki said, "_Stupefy_."

"_Enervate_."

Marie shook her head, and looked up from where she lay, bound and secured in one of the slave cylinders built into the outer portion of the greenhouse complex. She saw a young Japanese woman standing in front of her, arms crossed and wearing a skirted suit, who smiled and said, "Good afternoon. I am Yuki Fukuda, your new Mistress. There are a number of changes I have, and will be, putting into effect here. Among these are the presence of four other slaves in the other tubes, and we will be receiving six others, to give an even dozen slaves. All Enhanced and bio-sculpted like you are, and I will be planting false memories to match your covers."

Marie turned her head (with difficulty) as she heard Eleanor ask, "Mistress, what about our families?"

"I regret to say that Marie Laval and Eleanor Branstone were killed on a trip up north by Wabbits. Their death certificates were signed; and personal property is awaiting shipment back to Earth, including your wands. The relevant people, both here and on Earth have had their memories suitably modified, as I will be doing with you. For all that, and for what it's worth, I apologize."

She moved a folding chair over; they could hear the click of her heels as she gracefully took a seat, smoothing her skirt. "The other four slaves are also from your alleged homeworld, a planet that was conquered millennia ago by one of the galaxy's transtellar mega corporations. It is a slave planet, of course, owned and run by that corporation. One of the ship's crew won them gambling, she has signed them over to the Empire and has been suitably chewed out by her Captain."

Yuki arranged the hem of her miniskirt, adding, "An interesting detail is that what we thought we were making up is actually true. The felinoid natives of a particular slave planet are very similar to what you look like." Marie saw Mistress Fukuda turn, "Oh, please. Don't bother struggling, 11461. That tube is designed to hold slaves, and that's what you are." She settled back, "For now, 11462, you will remain First Girl here. Your priorities are to produce and package enough of the various seeds to not only fill your backorders, but to do so twice over in order to build up a suitable reserve. In addition, in order to comply with Empress Martha's order, the existence of witches, wizards and zarroji will be erased; they are mythical beings; as the galaxy knows. Your memories, as I said, will be suitably modified, you are entirely muggle slaves."

"Mistress," Eleanor asked, "I have two questions." Marie saw Mistress Fukuda nod, and Eleanor continued, "I know Mattie Wayne fairly well, and I can't believe she'd authorize our murder."

Yuki rocked back as if slapped. "Murder? I have no intention of killing you."

"You're killing Marie and Eleanor, wiping them from history, from existence. I'd call that murder," Eleanor said softly. "Can you look us in the eye and do that?"

Yuki stood, dusting off the seat of her skirt and adjusting it, then slowly, the only sound the tapping of her heels, walked over, crouching, and lifted up Eleanor's chin with a finger. She took a long look; then took a step sideways, crouching again to gaze into Marie's eyes. She let her chin go, gazing at the two slaves who lay on their bellies, tightly bound and secured on a sliding shelf. Hoses ran from their crotches to pump waste, their hair moved from a fan inside the tube, She reached forward, pulling Marie's hair free and arranging it, then taking a step to adjust Eleanor's. She took a few steps, fetching her chair, smoothing her skirt and taking a seat again as she thought.

"When I was approached for this job, I took it for a couple reasons," Yuki said slowly. "I had honor debts to pay back, and while Tokyo can be fun, it's also rather sexist. Something I knew, objectively, before I …" She waved that off, "I thought about going back to Chicago; I grew up there when my father was in the Japanese diplomatic service at our consulate there. I was happy there, Cub scouts and all, but…"

"Um, don't you mean the Brownies?" Marie asked softly.

"No, Cub scouts." Yuki corrected with a small smile. "I knew I was a girl in a boy's body from a young age, I wanted to play with the neighborhood girls, not the boys. Later, I realized I was a lesbian in a male's body, that's part of the debts I owe. Damn you both, this morning I would have answered 'Yes' without a question, but now, even though I don't know you very well…" She sighed, "I have my orders from Outworld Affairs, and I have to figure a way to get around them while retaining my honor. This morning, I would have swapped out your memories, flushed the old ones, bye-bye, put the seat down, you two would have memories of being slaves from birth (she gestured) like these four. As someone did to them on Earth, I just arranged to have them Enhanced and bio-sculpted on Tosul. They were just looking for the wizarding gene. You two, however…" Yuki shook her head, running her hand down a nylon-clad leg in thought. She looked at Marie, "Yes, pantyhose in a tropical environment. I like being a girl; I'm finally comfortable in my body. I wore them when I worked for the dungeon in San Francisco, I was 'Mistress Geisha', which is a contradiction, I know. Still…"

"Perhaps, mistress, some sort of keyword or phrase to lock or unlock memories," Eleanor said softly. "In public, I'm slave 11461, in private, I can remain Eleanor…"

"Possibly…" Yuki said. "I'd have to do some re-writing of the substitution charm's programming, and I'd want to back you both up…"

"Rewrite a charm's programming?"

"You British wizards need to move out of the 1700's; of course you program a charm. It's a standard memory charm, you pass it parameters…" She gave them both a moderate glower, "Damn you both, do you know how much extra work you're putting me to? And I can't do anything about your family at home, or the people here. As far as they're concerned, Marie and Eleanor are dead and buried. They've moved on, and I can leave the two slaves memories of illegal instruction by a previous master. Don't forget, the two of you are slaves from one of the Elders' collections."

"That would be … acceptable, mistress," Eleanor said softly.

"It had better be … slave 11461." Yuki said. "What was your second question?"

"Ah…" 11461 thought for a moment. "Mistress, you said we were muggle slaves. How will muggle slaves brew potions?"

"Ah, a valid question;" Yuki replied. "Good slave. The same way slaves brew beer, which is also what you will be doing as part of your cover. I have suitable equipment with me, and on order, which will allow you to brew both different types of beer as well as your fertilizers. You will be using a different formulary, which as part of the process will produce concentrate and dry fertilizers, the seedling colonies will mix these with water."

"Why pay to ship water?" Marie asked.

"Precisely, good slave," and Marie felt a pleasant tingle in her clit. Her new Mistress continued, "Now then. All six of you are in judicial collars, and are Enhanced, as I said. While I have the programming modules for the other four, for you two I'll need to get those. I have already suitably modified their memories, until I can get your modules, I'll be casting a small _Imperio_ on you two, and 11461, that spell is only illegal in England and Wales. Once I have those, and depending on your behaviour and production, I will suitably modify the wards and the complex security to allow you beyond the doors and slave barriers. Do you have any questions?"

Marie sighed, "No, Mistress, it looks like we're pretty much screwed."

"As I said, Eleanor and Marie are dead; their bodies cremated, and the slaves 11461 and 11462 have a new owner, or rather a clarification of their ownership," Yuki said. "Any last questions?"

"Mistress, I have wondered how the anti-slave Empire winds up owning slaves," the slave 11461 asked.

"Very good question, slave," and the girl felt a pleasant, warm tingle. "It's rather complex legally," her new mistress continued. "I'll skip the legal framework, which would be interesting only to another lawyer. Boiled down, the colony is incorporated as the Crown Colony of Windfall under Imperial law in Geneva, and registered as an off-world business here. However, since we're registered here on Windfall, we have to follow their business law, which means slaves are owned by the government and must be treated, paid, and so forth under that law. Legally, it's the same as an American corporation like Coca-Cola® having a division in France, which division would operate under French law." Yuki adjusted her skirt's hem, adding, "That's not what the Elders did when they ignored the law. We're trying to teach the locals that the rule of law is supreme, and that if you don't like that law, you change it. That's why we tried to change the planet's Basic Law, which we were somewhat successful with."

"Somewhat," 11642 (Marie) commented.

"Yes, and as the Governor's attorney and new head of operations, that's my responsibility," her mistress continued. "We would prefer to simply outlaw slavery completely, but that won't fly for a number of reasons. We therefore are taking a gradual approach, and trying to teach the rule of law. That's why the suspected election fraud regarding property ownership is being looked at very carefully; if necessary we'll have Empress Martha simply void the entire election."

She stood, smoothing her skirt, then folding her chair and setting it against the wall. "Therefore, going by the Elder's records, you are both illegally imported slaves, owned by the Crown, and leased from the Crown by Agricultural Support, who is paying your wages, reluctantly, I might add. As I said, for what it's worth, I regret doing this to you, but you both voluntarily crossed your wrists for a collar, and volunteered for Enhancement. You are slaves under planetary law, although your plan to gain a dark collar as beer-brewers can resume as soon as you have a sufficient stock of seeds and fertilizers, at least two months for all the seedling colonies. Once I know and can trust the slaves here, I shall grant you as much freedom of action as I can." She crouched to make eye contact again, "You are both in a bad situation that you foolishly volunteered for. I'll help as much as I can, but it will be the collared, Enhanced slaves 11461 and 11462 that will receive it. Marie and Eleanor are dead and buried, and beyond my help." She stood, and slid Marie's tube back into the wall, closing it and flipping switches. She addressed the former Eleanor, "I need to finish the muggle-repelling wards and work on reprogramming the charm. I'll pull you out later." She slid the slave in, closing the tube and flipping switches.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, November 29, 2002: 02:58 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 20 Primus, 163, 15:13 (WFT +1)****  
Windfall, Riverside, Government complex:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"… so that's conditions we found on the ground, ma'am," Elena concluded her briefing (and slideshow). "I'm not saying there won't be problems, but they should be manageable if we can get the fertilizers in quantity. The northern seedling colonies are in 'winter' (she finger-quoted), and most of them are working their greenhouses for all they can. Aside from that, building supplies like brick and mortar are needed."

Christine turned to look at the video conference, "Benni, what does the Commerce Ministry say?"

"We've got the brickworks on Island which is barely handling our needs now. However, there's really no room for expansion there, and management there was … well, let's say they needed to be replaced by more flexible thinkers." On screen, she took a sip of tea and played her bit for the watching public, "I really want to get someone in there to sort out the whole Ministry. I'm not happy."

"Operations? Ms. Fukuda?"

Yuki nodded and addressed the camera, playing her part. "Incoming cargo is being handled by DHL and inspected by Crown Customs. There are slaves that one of the ship's crew picked up gambling on Tosul, they have been bought and signed over to the Crown; they are in the slave house on Island. They, and other slaves already there will be divided up and sent to the various seedling colonies with our personnel. Unfortunately the Commerce Ministry and SCA are still using paper records, so they aren't as fast in record-keeping as we need them to be." She took a sip of tea, "Another problem is working animals such as shonnen and horses. Unfortunately, they only grow so fast. One can start to break and train them, but not put them in harness too early, their bodies aren't developed for it. We have learned from last time, each new seedling colony has or will send a scouting team to their respective colony; from there any necessary major repairs will be done once the _Fuller_ arrives back in system." She sipped her tea, "For now, a lot of local grains and foodstuffs are being exported from Island to our seedlings, which have produced an economic benefit for the locals."

Christine nodded, "What about the facilities for the Planetary Assembly?"

"Those are under construction, a meeting hall, smaller conference rooms, and each delegation's office spaces. Those are planned for one Assemblyman and four staffers, in each seedling equal space has been reserved for their local representative and four political parties, including the current two, the Imperials and the Traditionalists. We are funding those spaces to ensure all of them are equal, and relevant safety codes are enforced. Any new parties that form will also need to conform to those standards. For now, those are log and wooden structures, similar to our existing facilities here in Riverside," Yuki answered.

"Brick and mortar?" Benni asked from the screen.

Yuki continued, "We're using concrete block for walls and foundations, most of our current stockpile was depleted in the construction of the new seedlings' buildings. We're using up concrete as a thin binder for the gravel roads, along with the Roman tile for footpaths. We need to find or develop some form of road tar to seal the roads. Since the majority of our transport is animal-powered or small electric vehicles, a gravel road is adequate for now, even if it's noisy and dusty." She smiled slightly, "We're not building autobahns, but we could use a source of petroleum, some sort of oil deposit would be good. There are a couple of seedlings that are well-located for producing block and brick, for now Qing has the only facility for producing mortar, grout, and cement, and their capacity is limited," Yuki added. "Once the personnel in seedlings 15 and 7 arrive, they should be able to produce brick, block and tiles in quantity, which should lower the price. The Mexicans are already drawing up tentative plans for heavy barges and the appropriate loading equipment."

"Thank you. Orbital industry?"

Benni answered, "As our 'heavy industry' seedling (she finger-quoted), Qing has been working on a prototype space-to-ground shuttle, as well as space-only shuttles and tugs. We've imported two stations to service our asteroid belts, which will be built into asteroids or small moons; those will be off-loaded from the _Nevis_ after the other cargo is shuttled down." She took a sip of her tea, "Terra has been working on in-system freighters, which we can import, and once we have some orbital docks that's something we can also build."

"Security Ministry?"

"We had some young Terran hooligans steal and torture two slaves, one to death. They have been arrested, given a trial and appeal, and convicted of damaging and destruction of Crown property," Piotr said. "One was underage and left with the local seedling to punish; the others have been sentenced to road crews. The law is the law, if it were up to me I would have hung them all for murder." There were various grunts and nods of agreement. "Aside from that, Governor, it is good to see you back and looking so healthy."

"Thank you, it's good to be home," she replied. She checked her list, "Last but certainly not least, Major Gruber, the Defense Ministry?"

"Space-based defense remains a concern. We have our frigate; which has a mixed pirate/Terran crew and is used for escort duties. We have had stopovers of two Green Lanterns who were simply passing through, that is reassuring to me. Terra is working on system patrol boats, once our orbital industry ramps up a bit we can commission subspace sensor nets in both the Primus and Secundus systems, with the service boats for the buoys." He took a gulp of his own tea, "The _Nevis_ also has Imperial Army troops aboard, I will be garrisoning them on Island and in High Town, with a small detachment at DHL for additional security as well as aboard the various space stations."

"Thank you, Major," Christine said. "Finance Ministry?"

Jamie Burnet nodded, "We have off-loaded various banking equipment which will be sent to the existing sub-colonies' branch banks. We have also taken a page from when the Euro was deployed and created both personal and business packets of the new coins and bills. I recommend that we deploy the conversion on the first of Secundus at a seventy-to-one ratio instead of the previous seventy two-to-one, a bit better rate, and we hold that rate for the month of Secundus. After that, the Elder's previous currency is null and void."

"Make certain this is well advertised, with individual flyers and handouts," Hans Gruber said. "Some of the more isolated farms do not get much in the way of local news. It might be good to hire some people to go door-to-door, perhaps as part of the electrical survey on Island."

"Speaking of that survey, we're also looking at installing a power grid here on Island," Benni said. "We've got a survey crew from an electrical manufacturer out from Terra; we're looking at several different types of cable and equipment for a rural electrification network, as well as connecting the various sub-colonies."

"Communications?" Mr. Burnet asked.

"The cables would include a fiber optic line, so even a remote homestead or farm could be wired in and get anything from 120 volt to 480 volts from a line. Something called … (Benni checked her notes) 'Single wire ground return', used extensively in Australia. Some of those lines are hundreds of kilometers long, and they're just insulated, galvanized steel cable." She checked her notes again, "The plan is to run a long loop cable around the perimeter of Island, then just branch them off with a series of transformers for the roads, all the way down to the isolated farm. They'll have a connection to the local planetary network with a phone and a terminal in each house, but we'll have to sell them on giving up their old equipment and hooking up to the grid."

"We can subsidize the changeover, and we can leave some of the equipment intact," Bill Morton suggested. "Some of the equipment I've seen here in Riverside is in very poor condition, but we could probably make some money off it by recycling the metals. If we offer a credit for that, and new equipment with the labor to install it properly, we should have most people accepting it."

"Most…" Hans Gruber put in. "There will be the conservative, stick-in-the-mud people that don't want to change, don't want any of this new stuff."

"Then let them make money at it," Jamie Burnet said. "If a farm's generators produce more electricity than they need themselves, let them sell it back to us. I talked to those power people, they called something like Island a 'microgrid', and if we have several places pumping electricity in, it limits the damage in case of a natural disaster. In addition, with the installation of a telephone, they can call for emergency help instead of having a slave run several kilometers to the next farmhouse that has one." There was muttered agreement, and he continued, "Along those same lines, online banking and shopping…"

"Once we get the planetary network up-to-date," Christine added. "The planetary mainframe; I talked to some IBM people in Germany about that; Jamie, you were there."

The banker nodded, "I was. I'm not so sure that they've convinced me about security, though. Our customers trust us with their money; we must maintain the highest possible security on their data. For that reason, I will probably want to have separate operations people." He coughed and shuffled his papers, "Also for that reason, I am recommending we adopt the more conservative approach they proposed. While it is a higher cost, it is far more reliable, and if a hurricane were to hit one of our datacenters, the other two would continue on with business."

"What about using the locals' systems?" Bill Morton asked.

"If it is compatible, and in good enough condition, I would agree," Benni said from her part of the screen. "However, I myself have taken a look at the equipment at High Town, and the Elders neglected any sort of maintenance. I would assume we need to replace it and be pleasantly surprised by anything that's functional. From what I've heard, it's the same thing in Qing and Riverside. Bill, you're using freshly imported Terran systems there. What concerns me are spares and servicing, can we get some IBM guys permanently stationed here, along with parts?" She took a sip of her tea, "Second point, we'll need a planetary control center, and we've got a nice, new building just off the beach here at Port Lincoln. We can deploy parts and people from here, but do we train our people, or import them?"

"Both, I would think," Bill said. "Importing some IBM guys would be good, they can also do any training necessary, and it would help the gender balance."

"Assuming they're all men," Yuki replied. "I also assume they'll be using at least the existing rooms and such in High Town and Qing, not to mention here in Riverside. However, I agree, a call center and operations in one point makes sense. So, three datacenters linked together, all with mainframes?"

"I have always wondered what the difference was between a mainframe and a supercomputer," Bill Morton commented.

"As I understand it, a supercomputer is math intensive," Christine replied. "Lots of variables like in predicting the weather, and they're customized, and so more expensive. A mainframe, on the other hand, is more transaction intensive, like in inventory databases or banking. I talked about that with the IBM people on the trip out, they can add in equipment to our Riverside location so we can help the weather forecasting people here do their thing. They were the engineering staff, by the way, there was only one sales guy, and apparently we've already got a government account set up for the Empire." She grinned, "They really wanted to see the existing installations; so we'll just lead them to the right place and let them do their thing."

"The Elders' computers are in High Town, at the Commerce building," Benni said. "However, I mentioned that we've got a brand-new building here at Port Lincoln. We can have call centers here, as well as training and deployment of personnel and equipment."

"I believe having a beach and attractive young female colleagues will partially offset moving to another planet to work in a call centre," Sir Walter Cuthbert said dryly.

"Are you having problems settling in over there in High Town?" Christine asked.

"Not at all, Milady Governor," he replied. "I am happy to serve as your representative, and I have a most excellent staff here at the Prime Residence. Please have the IBM people see me, I shall do what I can to smooth their path."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, November 29, 2002: 06:05 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 20 Primus, 163, 18:18 (WFT +1)****  
Windfall, Riverside, General Hospital:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Good afternoon, _fraulein_ Cam. I believe Governor Sullivan said I would stop by? My name is Piotr."

Cam looked at him, she saw a fairly young dark-haired man in his late twenties or early thirties, wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses and carrying a leather briefcase. Behind him, Dr. Lopez watched him nervously as he set the briefcase on her single visitor's chair. He turned, "Doctor, I wish to have a private conversation with _fraulein_ Cam, assuming she is medically able to do so. How might this best be arranged?" He gestured behind Cam to the blinking lights of the diagnostic panel and the various wires and tubes coming from it.

Dr. Lopez chewed her lip, the young man made her wary. "I would rather she not…"

"Doctor, I must have privacy. This conversation cannot be overheard. Either you tell me she is not medically fit, in which case I shall return later, or you disable whatever monitors you have connected. If you do not, I shall use the jammer I have brought with me, which will result in damage to the hospital's electronics. Furthermore, I understand the _fraulein_ is medicated. Will those drugs affect her judgment?"

"No. She's on a mild tranquilizer as well as antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medications. Those won't affect her decision-making, but I don't like disconnecting her monitors."

"Um, could I go outside, or to a sunroom?" Cam asked. "I'd like to try walking…"

"Your room looks over the river," Dr. Lopez replied. Piotr stepped to the window and looked through the drawn blinds. "A very nice view, I can see the river's delta from here. A sunroom would be acceptable, Doctor."

"No walking just yet, she's had her first physical therapy session," the doctor replied. "No more than two hours, or when she gets tired. A wheelchair and you will have a portable alarm. If anything happens …"

"I shall be pressing the alarm most fervently until your arrival, Doctor." He smiled (he had a very nice smile), "Thank you for your cooperation, Doctor."

"Oh, what a view!" Cam said as Dr. Lopez parked her wheelchair next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. As the doctor shooed others out of the sunroom, Piotr wrestled a table next to her. The sunroom was located on the eastern end of the floor, and had a curved, 270 degree enclosed balcony that showed not only the brown sweep of the river to the east and south, with the far bank just visible as a strip of green; but also the southern end of the town of Riverside to the west. She blinked behind her sunglasses; then asked, "Master Piotr, do you have a laptop?"

"I do, and I understand the material is called ClearSteel™," he replied. "There are methods used to make metals transparent, which has started a bidding war for licenses on Earth," he replied. He pulled a second chair over, placing his case in it to extract his laptop. "Also, as we are to be colleagues, please do not address me with that distasteful phrase. My name is Piotr."

"Sorry, but conditioning, programming and habit," Cam replied with a wry smile. "Not using it is pebble-in-shoe uncomfortable to an Enhanced slave. When we're in public, I'll have to call you 'Master', though."

"As that would be consistent with your cover it would be acceptable; although I would like you to note that in that same capacity I shall be rather more rude to you and other slave girls than I would prefer." She nodded, and he continued, "That is part of what we must discuss. However, why would you inquire about my laptop?"

She nodded toward her shoulder, "The silver cable that connects to my programming module, I don't want to rip it out accidentally. Would you please hook me up, I'd like to dial down my various parts to minimum."

"I was wondering why your collar lights were blinking." He adjusted the position and connected the cable. "Ah. It self-adjusts to the preferred language. As you do not read Russian, I shall translate…"

("I am actually fluent, part of my duties with the Marine Corps,") she replied in Russian. ("I was first in my class at the Monterey language school. However, with the implants and prosthetics, I do not trust my typing, and it is your machine, so it would be rude to commandeer it.")

Piotr sat back, surprised. ("You have a Saint Petersburg accent.")

("The fault of my instructor,") she replied with a smile. ("I am, unfortunately, a poor chess and hockey player, although I do love a good game of soccer. Dr. Lopez (she nodded toward the corridor) has forbidden alcohol, so I fear I would make a very poor Russian.")

He laughed, ("Oh, thank you for that! I have very few opportunities to laugh, and my daughter is a typical teenager, she did not want to come.")

("If I may,") she asked. ("You look like you're in your late twenties, early thirties. How are you married with a teenage daughter?")

("Adoptive daughter,") he replied. ("She was my older brother's, and we just married, but we took her in when he was killed by partisans in Afghanistan. She was six at the time, and while not as materialistic as a Western teenager, still wants to hang with her friends and visit various shops. She did not want to leave Moscow and familiar territory.")

Switching back to English, Cam commented, "And now _Daaad_ (she whined like a teenager) has dragged her _across the galaxy_ to this _boring_ planet where there aren't even any decent shops! What a bummer…" She grinned at Piotr, who chuckled, "Exactly," he agreed in English. "It is somewhat unfamiliar territory to Larisa and I, but she had the chance to work on Nadia during the trip out. We are still unsure as to what we will do with Nadia during the day, as schools are not yet established, and I fear she will wind up as the German teenagers did. That is why I must apologize to you; I have violated your privacy in showing her the very graphic photographs of your injuries. I wished to shock her, as we are living in High Town, there are a number of bad influences on her moral character." He sighed, "That is my problem, let me address yours."

Cam sat back in her wheelchair, looking around and lowered her voice. "You can't use her in your shop?"

"Nadia likes to gossip, that would not be a good thing in the Security Ministry," he replied, equally quietly. "However, she is honest enough to own up to her mistakes, and to keep her word. I am hopeful that we may be able to strike a private deal, she would like to have her own source of funds, and Commerce would be less security-sensitive than other agencies." He turned back to his laptop; fiddling with the settings on the screen, and clicked on the summary tab. "Are these acceptable?"

Carefully, Cam picked up the hand exerciser she had in her lap, and squeezed, barely moving it. She dropped it back in her lap, delicately picking up a tennis ball and squeezed. Dropping that, she looked at Piotr, gently extending a hand. He gripped hers, and she shook it. "It's still like sighting a weapon, I have a cross-hair that I aim at, and I have to think, 'down thirty degrees, forward ten centimeters'. If you can get me a deck of cards, I think several games of solitaire might help make it more automatic." She nodded at the laptop, "Can you give me access to that, internally, I mean?"

"Let me try," he said. He worked at the machine for a minute; then sat back. "I don't think so. At the top of each tab it has the status of 'common slave', and the access tab is grayed out, I can't open it."

"Undoubtedly to keep slaves from changing their status," she mused, and he nodded. "You would probably need your control chip; there is a connector for it on the programming module." He gestured at the laptop, "Anything else?"

"No, thank you," she said, and he saved and disconnected. She leaned forward to allow him to remove the module from the back of her collar; he coiled the cable and set the module aside. "If you trust me, _fraulein_, I shall place your module in my private safe until you have your own safe at the Commerce Ministry." She nodded, and he extracted a folder of paperwork. He looked around again; they were alone. "Let me brief you on several agents that our people have sent to us, they are covered as Enhanced slaves, and are volunteers from various Terran governments."

"Wait, I was sent to penetrate your security and report back, now they're giving us people?"

"Intelligence work is a hall of mirrors, a rather schizophrenic one at that," he replied. "The reason is to compare the results, if there are several reports that agree; the data must be accurate. You report to CIA as well as being Frau Sullivan's new head of Commerce, I report to KGB as well as Frau Sullivan as her security minister. Herr Mueller is head of security for DHL as well as reporting to BND." He shrugged, "Until the Empire can build up the Imperial Research Services, our intelligence agency, we shall need to borrow personnel; this is the price we pay. It is early days for the Empire."

"The Marines were so much easier, even when I wore a women's uniform," Cam said.

"Ah, KGB has issued me a uniform, I don't remember the last time I wore it," Piotr replied. "I doubt that it still fits. Quite honestly, I prefer this for business wear (he gestured at his own casual clothes); I must agree with the Israelis, a suit and tie in a tropical climate is ridiculous."

Cam snorted, "I agree, this simple smock and a skirt is far more comfortable." She rolled her head, "So, they've sent us people. Enhanced slaves; as much as mine?" He extracted a file folder and started to hold it for her, she shook her head, "Let me try, please." Carefully, she flipped it open and started to read, delicately she turned the page and continued as he sat back and waited, watching her.

"Keep that mannerism," he commented, and she looked up at him. "That delicate, deliberate mannerism that implies you are carefully considering each word. Even if you are simply skimming the text, it is reinforcing your authority, which you will need. Your political fights at Commerce will be different simply because you are a collared female slave. I can help you in this; Moscow and KGB Centre were both intensely political environments."

She looked at him over her sunglasses, "Thank you." Eventually she sat back, closing the folder and setting it on the table. "Hmm…" she said. "Now I'm supposed to herd the cats of the Commerce Ministry?"

Piotr chuckled, "Well put. From Frau Sullivan," and he passed over a thicker file.

"Herding cats, indeed," Cam said as she looked up from the file. "I think my first step is consolidation. There are different sub-agencies and departments for weights, for measures, and for standards, not to mention those for agriculture and medicine! What were the Elders thinking?"

"Each one, according to records we have checked, was a patronage assignment. The supporters simply had to look at a few reports, and sign a few checks. No more than a few hours work, if you can call it that, and for that they took home a hefty pay packet."

"Before any graft and corruption kicked in," she added. She tapped the folder closed, then regarded Piotr. "I had a thought regarding Larisa and Nadia. What are they doing now?"

He tented his fingers, resting his chin on the index fingers. "At the moment, not much; Larisa is organizing our home, the first house we have had, and starting a garden, with the reluctant participation of Nadia, who doesn't have much to do but complain. She is almost fifteen and of legal age here, while Larisa would like a day job but is enjoying the warm weather here. She is also somewhat suspicious of my being around beautiful slave girls all day."

"She's insecure," Cam said, and gestured toward her collar. "On the other hand, I'm still a slave girl, beautiful or not, and about to take over the Commerce Ministry. One problem is that as a slave, I can't sign legal documents like checks and purchase orders. Only free persons can do that, so I could use Larisa's assistance; someone I can know and trust, and could probably use Nadia as a go-fer. As a free female she'll have a little more weight to throw around than a slave in that position, and it will leave her too tired to create trouble, while at the same time making her some pocket money."

She put a hand up to cover a yawn, and Piotr nodded. "I shall discuss it with them. However, it is almost two hours, and time to return you to your bed. I will secure the classified materials along with your programming module…" he turned to look around at Dr. Lopez, who was standing several meters away, looking at them. He waved her over, as he passed her a blank legal pad and several pencils. "For your notes, _fraulein_ Cam; and for you, _Frau_ Doctor, we have turned down the _fraulein's_ implant settings. Please find a deck of cards for her to play solitaire with; that should improve her dexterity." He stood, "I will return in a day or so, I have an appointment tomorrow morning with Frau Governor Sullivan. Will you need assistance getting her back into bed?"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, November 30, 2002: 07:11 (GMT)****  
****Deimos, Engineering studies base, cafeteria:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Good morning, I am looking for 'LSB Engineering'," Edward said.

"That's us, and you would be?" 'Tex' answered, looking the thin, balding fellow up and down. While the three wore casual clothing (jeans and golf shirts), he wore a three-piece business suit.

"Edward Nigma, here on behalf of Miss Wayne," he replied. "May I join you?"

"Certainly, Mr. Nigma; please have a seat," Chantal replied, pulling stuff out of the empty seat. He thanked her with a nod, transferring his bowl of oatmeal and an apple to the table from his tray, which he put with theirs on an adjacent table. Inspecting and polishing his silverware, he neatly arranged it on a second napkin to the side. 'Tex' and 'Egg' watched this with amusement, while Chantal studied him, her head cocked to the side. She suddenly gasped, "You're from Gotham!"

"I am indeed from Gotham City, Ms. Rivers," Edward said, polishing the apple before neatly sectioning it with a steak knife. "Your point?" He slid one of the eighths of apple into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before sipping his ice water. "Please do not let me distract you, gentlemen. Breakfast is a very important meal." He ate another eighth of apple before adding two spoonfuls of honey to his oatmeal and stirring.

"You're the Riddler!" 'Egg' said, warily putting his palmtop computer away.

"I have been known by that name," Edward replied calmly before taking another sip of ice water. "I am also Ms. Wayne's 'uncle' (he finger-quoted), here to examine your endeavors. I have seen a copy of her video call to you; I presume you have a report to hand?"

"Please don't kill us…" 'Tex' whimpered. "I saw the _People_ magazine article, but I never thought…"

"I must examine that article, perhaps my attorney can recover for slander," Edward said, eating another eighth of apple. "I have already recovered for copyright and trademark infringement from other firms; I have always wondered why the Batman did not pursue that course. I never got the chance to ask him, unfortunately, before he was killed." He ate another section of apple; then resumed his consumption of oatmeal. "He was a most worthy opponent, I regret his passing."

"You mean you didn't…"

"Of course not," Edward said, offended. "Do I look like some half-brain imbecile, or a madman like Joker? Trust me, we are all much better off now that Jack Napier is safely dead, and so fitting his demise, in a prison shower room." He spooned up the rest of his oatmeal, "No, if I were to discover who killed the Batman, I would make arrangements to pass the information along to his family. That would be the only proper thing to do." He examined the remaining half apple, "Your report?"

"It's, um, back in the shop," Chantal replied. "I met you on the station."

"You did indeed, Ms. Rivers. What happened to the clumsy suitcase thief?"

"The cops hauled him away; I had to give a deposition." She leaned forward, stealing one of his apple slices.

"As did I," he replied, stealing one of the sugar packets from her place. He poured hot water, allowing his tea to steep, and ate another apple slice. "Finish up, people, and we shall proceed to your shop where we shall examine your handiwork."

"Interesting…" Edward mused as he examined the machine, which bore the name plate 'Drone 1-138' on the aluminum frame. Roughly bullet-shaped with a flat 'nose', it was about three and a half feet long by three feet across, with aluminum bracing. He gestured at a stack of plates against one wall, which sat in an open shipping case on a plastic pallet, "Why didn't you use those?"

"We would need to order a new set or pay a penalty if the drone isn't returned in as-rented condition," 'Tex' replied. "Since we'd have to drill holes for the dandelions anyway, it made sense to drill holes in a new set of plates instead of theirs."

"That makes sense," Edward agreed, examining the 'pull plate' with his gloved hands. "The movement cone for this part?"

"Thirty degrees, beyond that we'll need to do 'Hard over' to get to the bearing," 'Tex' replied. Edward grunted, slowly moving aft, tapping an aluminum box attached to an aluminum brace. "Computer," Chantal said. "It uses a solid state hard drive, the most expensive part of the whole thing."

"Really?" Edward said with a raised eyebrow.

"Really," she said. "Everything's off the shelf, including the drive coils. We're using a Gal-tech battery and optical heads for navigation fixes, our initial target is Tau Ceti, less than twelve light years away."

Edward nodded, "Let me examine your programming, and then your books."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, November 30, 2002: 14:23 (GMT -5)****  
****Terra, Cincinnati, McCain home:****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"It's here, it's here!" Brenda announced as she brought the mail into the kitchen, waving a small, white cardboard folder. She dumped the rest of the mail in her father's lap, twisting away from her younger brother's grab, but right into her father's, who snatched the folder.

He looked at the cardboard DVD folder, "Arrowhead Publishing: '_Terran Empire: Call to duty_'" he read aloud. He looked at his daughter, "I've heard about this game. Right now, you're still in school, Brenda, _and_ you have homework to finish." He looked at his son, "You too, Chris."

"Oh, but _Daaaaad_…" she whined.

"Don't 'Dad' me, both of you, lunch is over, back upstairs and hit the books." The large black man frowned at his kids, "Upstairs! I'll be up in an hour or so to check your work, I want to look this over myself."

"Arrowhead publishing help line, this is Bill M, how can I help you today?" 'Little' Bill Morton said as he worked his terminal in one of Hogwarts' empty classrooms that had been converted into a small call center. The school made money and the students made money taking calls, although they were only allowed to do it if their grades were acceptable.

"Um, yes, this is Walt McCain in Cincinnati, where are you, please?"

"I'm in Scotland, outside Inverness, Mr. McCain. How can I help you?"

"You don't sound Scottish…"

"I'm actually an American, from Columbus, just up I-75 from you, Mr. McCain. I'm going to school here, and making some extra cash." He grinned, "Are you calling about our '_Call to duty_' software that just shipped?'

"Yes, I was looking at the notes on the disk, and both my kids would like to install it on their machines, but the licensing…"

"Not a problem, Mr. McCain. Install it from the command line according to the instructions; you can do up to ten. After you type in the case-sensitive license key on the green sticker; type in dash n and then the number of machines on your home network." Bill grinned, "That was a lot of fun to work on."

"Case sensitive?"

"Capitals matter, sir."

"Oh, yes, there it goes…" There was a brief silence, and then Walter said, "You worked on it? On the development?"

"Oh, yes, sir, as a voice actor. I'm one of the Marine pilots in the Black Demons squadron, and a helm officer on the freighter _Jacksonville_ in Greywolf's _Merchant Skipper_ game. I must say the tech is as accurate as we can show."

"So if we were to…"

"Out-migrate? What you see is what we got, so far at least, sir. I have that from Mattie herself. I go running with her every day, and a class every other Friday morning. That's why we have updates to the game, not only for playability, but to update the tech we show. Is there anything else, Mr. McCain?"

"No, thanks, Bill, and have a good day."


	7. 1 15 December 2002

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter VII: 1 ~ 15 December 2002  
Sunday, December 1, 2002: 05:46 (GMT)  
Deimos, Engineering studies base, transient quarters:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Edward Nigma sat back from the keyboard in his quarters, studying what he'd written. He wasn't entirely pleased with it; it still missed something; he wasn't sure what, though. Perhaps it was referring to his niece formally, as 'Her Imperial Highness'…

_To: HIH Martha I  
From: Edward Nigma  
Date: 1 December 2002  
Subject: Site examinations .09  
_

_Ma'am, _

_Deimos is the second-to-last stop before I return to Earth. I will proceed to Phobos after this; they are building a series of docks that can be pressurized in sections of up to one hundred meters. While this will be useful to us, I believe it is a bit premature. However, I shall retain an open mind._

_In regards to LSB engineering, I must give them an overall endorsement. While their engineering is solid, they are still inexperienced and missed a few tricks experience teaches. They have also, per your request, placed a local attorney on retainer, and purchased an accounting software package. I have recommended that they hire a local bookkeeper for a weekly examination and update of their books, as Ms. Rivers' only accounting experience is at school with her personal finances, and the two men show absolutely no interest. _

_Their innovation is one of those 'why didn't I think of that' occurrences. They are utilizing off-the-shelf parts and their plotted trial course is one that will angle below the plane of the ecliptic to avoid most of the asteroid belt. It will then pause to examine its position before proceeding to the next waypoint in its overall course track._

_LSB is the last firm I need to examine here, I will be discussing your concerns with the general administration here as I did with the administrations of Archimedes and Copernicus craters before my return to Earth. _

_Respectfully submitted, _

_Edward Nigma _

Edward read it over one last time before clicking 'Encrypt and Send' and pulling up another email from his 'Drafts' folder.

_To: Aurora (school)  
CC: Emma (school)  
From: Edward Nigma  
Date: 1 December 2002  
Subject: Travel plans_

_Hello, dearest ones,  
I am currently at Deimos, the smaller, outer moon of Mars (the fourth planet). I plan to make a brief stop at Phobos (the larger, inner moon), to examine some things before taking a flight back to the L-1 station before I reach Earth. I should be in London to greet you as you get off the school train, and then escort you back to the States and to Gotham City. _

_I look forward to seeing the both of you again, and being able to catch up on what has been happening. Emma, I understand your studies have been progressing well, I am very pleased. _

_Until we are re-united,  
Edward_

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 1, 2002: 05:51 (GMT)  
Terra, London, PRC embassy:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

("Comrade Dai is insane, it is a suicide mission,") she whispered to herself in horror as she studied the emailed orders on her screen. With a quick command, she printed the short (two page) email and folded it lengthwise, sliding it into her sleeve. She would sound out the Comrade General on her run.

Military forces the world over have certain customs and habits that they follow. One of these is the morning run. Comrade Corporal Chai formed up with the others, did her morning stretches and took off, running with them through London along with other guard forces for neighboring Embassies through London's large number of parks. Slowly, she dropped back until she was near the Comrade General, asking, ("May I run with you, Comrade General?") in Mandarin.

("Certainly, Comrade. It is a beautiful day for a run, is it not?")

("It is indeed, Comrade.") She ran with him, trying to keep an eye out for their usual escort of an MI-5 monitoring van to capture their conversations. She did see their usual escort runner of a burly, flag tattooed American; he always seemed to wear a different colored bandana on his head as a sweat rag. New today was a tall, athletic blonde with two dogs on leashes, however she didn't see the usual blue van. She decided to risk it, and asked, ("Comrade General, I have a confession to make. I am not whom I appear to be.")

He grunted, ("Who are you, then, Comrade?")

("MSS,") she replied, handing him a small brass disk. He examined this; then passed it back. ("I presume there is a reason for your telling me this, Comrade?")

("There is, Comrade. Have you received new orders from Beijing? I have.")

("No, I have not. Can you share these orders?")

("Not officially,") she replied, sliding the printout from her sleeve and passing it over. ("You have not seen these, General.")

("I have no idea what you're talking about, Corporal,") he said as he started to read. She tugged on his sleeve once; he looked up to avoid an obstacle as he ran and read at the same time. He read it through twice, and then handed them back to her. He thought for a moment; then asked, ("Your thoughts?")

("Officially? I serve the will of the People, Comrade General.")

("As do I. Unofficially?")

("Unofficially? Aside from being a suicide mission, it will destroy our intelligence networks here, hazard the lives of all Asians here, as they will all be grouped as 'Chinese' by lynch mobs, and yes, we must not forget the strong possibility of nuclear war.")

("Agreed,") he said. They ran for several minutes, both considering the possibilities, then he sighed, ("What I am about to suggest is state treason, Comrade.")

("Asking the British for assistance? Then I shall be next to you on the gallows, Comrade; and now that we have that out of the way, your thoughts?")

("I am not certain; I shall need to consider this carefully. However, being able to leave the Embassy would be useful.")

("Allow me, then, General. Shortly a few of your staffers will fall ill, and need long-term hospitalization. As a caring commanding officer…")

("The spies on my staff, I assume,") and she nodded. ("Their hospital rooms will need guarding, of course,") she added.

("Of course,") he replied. ("The embassy doctor?")

("I shall speak to him,") she replied. She extracted the email again, ("Have you a pen?")

("Of course,") he said as he slowed to stop next to a postbox to write on, turning to make eye contact with the burly American, who bent down to tie his shoes. She commented as she wrote, ("Properly, this should be in lipstick, according to the Bond movies.") There was a chuckle from the American as she wrote on the back of the printout, '_MI-5 Help Us_' in Pinyin, then crumpled it loosely and made a very poor shot at the nearby waste bin. "Oh, I am sorry!" she said in English.

"No problem, miss, I'll get it," the burly American said. "We have to keep our parks neat." He scooped it up and very obviously dropped it in. "There, all nice and tidy. Have a good day, miss."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, turning to resume her run.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 1, 2002: 08:59 (GMT)  
Terra, London, US Embassy:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Holy fucking crap," the CIA head of station said, looking up. Due to the warm relations with the British, the US Embassy and the attached FBI and CIA stations were for both agents starting and ending their careers. She looked at the now neatly uniformed US Navy SEAL that had brought her the printout. "How accurate do you think this is?"

"Well, they were both wearing track suits with a big red 'PLA' on the back, and they were conversing in Mandarin, they knew I was there, they took no steps to hide their conversation, and they made fuckin' eye contact with me. In addition, it's regarding Wayne and the troubles they've had with her, and the email's from a known high-ranking MSS type in Beijing. If it's disinformation, they've gone to a hell of a lot of trouble. I think it's a no-shit 'we need help' message from the Chinese embassy that they don't want Beijing knowing about."

"Concur," the head of station said. "Holy shit. These Chinese bastards are fucking insane."

"And they've got nukes," the senior chief said. "Orders?"

"Keep up on your runs, of course, and I'll see if any Chinese are admitted to area hospitals. I'm going to secure-fax this back to Langley, and if you don't mind seeing an MI-5 friend of mine for lunch?"

"Who's buying?"

* * *

"My word," James Evans, the MI-5 senior agent said as he read the photocopied email. "We knew of course that they had a certain … disconnect with reality, but this?" He glanced at the burly senior chief, then up at the waiter who had materialized to refill their water glasses.

Chief Gibbons waited until the waiter left; then asked, "Why wasn't the usual van there?"

"Their tyre had an unfortunate encounter with a nail," Mr. Evans replied. "By the time it was repaired, the run was over. I agree it would have been better to have their conversation on tape, but I do appreciate your transcript." He reached into his case, handing over a packaged cloth, "If you would be so kind as to wear this tomorrow, it should pass the appropriate message." The chief looked down at the large Union Jack bandanna and smiled.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 1, 2002: 19:18 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Weasley flat:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Percy Weasley looked at his wife in all but name, holding a glass of wine in his hands. "I still don't know why I was invited. It had moments of sheer boredom and … " he took a sip as he sat on their dilapidated couch. "Wayne would confer with her partners, then make a proposal, the other side would group together to consider it, and then make a counter-offer. They started at €15 a share, and it just kept going higher and higher, and then Wayne must have made a hand signal. I was sitting between Callista Vector and Morton, Arthur Morton that is, and they both pulled out those muggle mobile fellytones and started to talk while Wayne made a short speech." He took a deeper, longer swallow of wine, "That was at € 825 a share, up … "

Penelope said, "That's over fifty times the original share price." She tugged at his sleeve, "Come along, we're invited to Harry and Ginny's. Go shower and change into fresh robes. I've a sober-up potion for you."

* * *

"Percy! Come in old man, have a seat! I have a wine that I think you'll enjoy," Harry said as he welcomed them into their Hogwarts flat. He took their traveling cloaks, Dobby appeared with a 'pop' to receive them, nodded to Percy and Penelope, then popped out. Harry raised his own wineglass, "Apple juice, by the by. I think you know Arthur Morton and Charlie Adams, the ladies are in the kitchen." Hands were shaken as Penelope excused herself to the kitchen.

* * *

"Penny!" Ginny called; Sprink, Callista and Mattie turned as she came in. Welcoming hugs were given and received, and Penny accepted a glass of wine. "I really must thank you for the invitation, Ginny, although I don't know when we can reciprocate…"

"An invitation to the wedding should suffice," Ginny replied with a smile.

"As to that, Percy is hesitant, he wants to do it right…"

"Ooh, a traditional Bonding? You're so lucky…" Sprink said.

"As to that," Mattie said, "I believe our friend Dolores Jane Umbridge has come up."

"Oh, what a mood killer," Ginny said. "Why did you bring her up?"

"She came up at the last Slytherin house meeting," Callista said. "She continues to wear our house colours, despite being thrown out of the house. She was an item on the agenda, along with some legislation she's proposing. She's still on the 'blood purity' issue, but wants to restrict half-bloods and muggleborns."

"I hadn't heard of that," Ginny mused, sipping her wine.

"No reason you should, it's from the Slytherin network," Mattie said. "Her proposal would force a half-blood or muggle-born to marry a pureblood, and just incidentally transfer all property to that pureblood."

"With a very loose definition of 'half-blood' and 'muggle-born', and a very strict one of 'pureblood'," Sprink said. "'Cause my mum married a muggle-born, I'm a 'half-blood', even though I'm a Black."

Mattie took a sip from her glass, "If you look at her definitions, anyone that hasn't had English wizarding blood within the last three generations is a half-blood or worse. That means that my father, who goes through a Scottish wizarding bloodline, and my mother, through a French line, don't qualify. Since her bloc in the Wizangamot is from English wizarding stock, and it's financial in nature, I think this bill is aimed at me, although the spy wasn't able to get a list of Umbridge's targets." She took another sip, "If she thinks for one second that she's going to break up Arthur and I…"

"That would also affect Percy and I," Penelope said.

"And I," Callista said. "I'm still looking for a decent man, an open-minded muggle would do. Aurora snagged your uncle, but since they're not married yet, and she's a half blood and he's a muggle, with an off-world child, they would be broken up and she would be forced into a marriage with a proper pureblood."

"Harry and I," Ginny said. "Even though I'm a Weasley, Harry's mum was muggleborn. So who's backing this?"

"Some of the old-line pureblood houses that control key committees on the Wizengamot," Callista replied. "It's being sold as a 'Defense of wizard-kind' bill. You know there's no such thing as a wizarding divorce, and they see this as a way to reinforce the wizarding genome and gain economic and political power. Umbridge is driving this through the Ministry and the Wizengamot."

"Hmph," Mattie snorted. "Well, when Percy gets around to mentioning it, I'll be surprised, sign off his debt obligation when he gets me a copy, preferably with a list of her targets." She looked at the tall, blonde Ravenclaw, "Penny, I have some things in mind that you two could do for me. Percy's proven himself to me; the question is where you two want to go, to stay at the Ministry or something else."

"You mean … Minister?" she gasped.

"Why would you want that job?" Mattie snorted. "No, politicians come and go, but the permanent senior undersecretaries are the ones that actually run a Westminster-style government, and that's Umbridge's current job. I did a bit of studying, the Minister for Magic was originally 'The King's Wizard', and his staff simply mushroomed, like all government agencies do, into the current Ministry. I'm already seeing this in my own Empire, something I'll need to stomp on a bit." Penny blushed; she had forgotten for a moment that the young woman leaning against the kitchen counter was a multibillionaire and Queen of the Terran Empire. She continued, "No, if he wants to stretch a bit, there are a couple of star systems that I could use a capable administrator."

"Like Harry's Aunt Petunia," Ginny said.

"Somewhat. I got good vibes off her, and I doubt Harry would have recommended her just because they're related."

"You've mentioned Remus, now that he's finally gotten off his arse and proposed to 'Dora," Sprink said.

"He's a great guy and a great teacher, and I like them as a couple," Mattie agreed. "You didn't have a problem with lycanthropy when we were out-system, which leads me to believe he wouldn't. I think he just lacks self-confidence, which your sister has in spades."

"True," Sprink agreed with a small laugh as Dobby popped in with fresh glasses. "Dinner is served, Mister Harry's Miss Weezy."

* * *

"I would like to know what I'm doing here," Arthur said, taking a small sip of his wine.

"You're a couple," Harry replied. "Besides, this is an escape from homework. It's not so far in my past that I can forget doing it."

"Yes, but other than the last two years you relied a great deal on Miss Granger," Percy said, taking a sip of wine. He rolled it around his mouth; then swallowed. "My dear boy, I need to teach you about wines."

"That would be a good export for some of the planets in the Empire," Charlie said. "They're kind of a long-lead time thing, though. Not like beer or mead."

"My boy, you must think long-term," Percy said. "Yes, you must wait a few years for the vines to grow to the point where they can produce, but on the other hand, some vineyards are centuries old. The ones in France and the Malfoy vines are good examples of that. I should speak to Narcissa about those …"

"That would make a nice addition to Malfoy Gardens," Harry said. "I hadn't thought of that, next I see her I'll ask her to owl you; thank you." He took a sip of his apple juice, "Mattie is working a deal of some kind; I would not be surprised that she has another job in mind for the two of you. Pay attention to what Penny talks about tonight." He shifted in his 'papa-san' chair, "By the by, Arthur, in speaking of homework, I received, by accident I'm sure, a page of sketches stapled on the back of your essay on cutting curses. Why are you looking at signet rings and coats-of-arms?"

"We're working on the succession, given the Chinese keep trying to take Mattie out, we wanted to have something in hand and approved by the regency council," he replied. "For that reason she's banking her eggs and I've been banking my sperm," he continued. "If they get lucky, we've both told Mr. and Mrs. Kent, when they were here for the birth of their daughter, that Mattie or I can have the kids, I've written my parents and told Julie and Bill. Mattie's arranged for half a dozen artificial wombs to be picked up for us. Finally, Mattie's designated Ms. Black, Bellatrix that is, that she'd like her as the personal physician."

"I still have doubts about her," Percy said.

Harry nodded, "She knows that a lot of people do, she let me look at her mind. I believe her that she was _Imperio'd_ by Riddle, and while she believes in blood purity, she's also scientific enough to value a diverse gene stock. She just had that … over layer of bigotry, which she is trying to get around. Still, she's working here while she's finishing up her college and sitting her licensing, and the purebloods like to have her available. However, that doesn't explain the rings?"

"The rings are because I like designing jewelry and it's a doodle when my mind is blank. We're working out a mechanism for our sons and daughters; we figure each of them would have an equal shot," Arthur replied.

"Including any adoptive children?" Percy asked.

"Of course, they don't have any choice as to who their birth parents are. For genetic diversity we'd want the kids to marry outside the royal house, but the only reason I can think of to exclude one is for mental instability or damage. Weren't there some royals in history that were inbred and rather …"

"Mentally unfit?" Percy asked. "The Habsburgs were famous for inbreeding; and that would apply to our current Purebloods as well, one reason for the declining birthrate. I'm somewhat surprised Harry and Ginny have only had two."

"We've talked about a few more; you know the Weasley genes…"

"Indeed, we breed like rabbits," Percy agreed.

Arthur snorted, "Well, the Morton line has its share of fertility, I have six brothers and sisters and a nephew already. What about Fred and George, and what's happened to Ron?"

"Ron is currently keeping a low profile and working for Molly in the catering business," Harry replied. "Gred and Forge are, well, they're Fred and George. I think Katie and Angelina want some kids but are a bit intimidated. They're the ones that are running the back rooms and the shops while those two invent. You know Charlie is dating Jessie Tickes, the clocksmith in Diagon Alley, and Bill and Fleur are in France, the last I heard…"

* * *

"So did you boys have a good conversation?" Ginny asked later.

"Yes, I worked on Percy a little bit, I'm sure Penny will do so as well," Harry replied as he rocked his daughter Molly. "Question, though, just how much money was involved in Mattie's latest little scheme?"

"Enough that I don't want to cross her," Ginny replied. "She drove the EADS stock price up some eight hundred Euros, which the French government was forced by their own laws to cover, and made a lot of their employees very, very rich overnight. They made some of that eighty billion back when the Germans, Russians and Italians, along with the Americans and the British bought sections of the company, but they took a financial hit, even though the jobs are guaranteed for three years." She shook her head, "And Umbitch is foolish enough to _threaten_ her relationship with Morton?"

"Umbitch is going to be ground to a very, very fine powder. Hopefully she'll take that as a lesson, now that France no longer has an aerospace industry."

"Oh, they do, it's just not French-owned," Ginny said as her son Sirius came running into the room. She scooped him into her arms, "How's my little man? Are you ready for your bedtime story?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay," Ginny thought for a minute, "Once upon a time, there was an evil witch who wanted power…"

"Money _and_ power," Harry added. "There was never enough for her, she always wanted more. She was a very greedy witch, whose name was Dolores…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 2, 2002: 06:55 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Imperial building:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Toni Whitloe looked up from her paperwork when the Imperial Army clerk called "Staff Sergeant Whitloe? Down the hall, third right, please."

"Thank you, lance corporal," she replied, standing and tugging the (still unfamiliar) skirted uniform straight. She picked up the briefcase and put her purse on her left shoulder; and walked down the hall.

Tapping twice on the doorframe, she entered at the officer's wave, dropping her case and purse, and saluting, "Staff Sergeant Toni Whitloe, reporting as ordered, sir!"

The officer stood, returning the salute, "Captain Cartwright. You're looking good, Staff Sergeant, at ease. Have a seat; we'll go over your orders." They both sat, the Captain looking at her, "Feeling all right? No twinges or such? You were well shot up in Afghanistan, but it seems you've recovered. Any problems adjusting to female?"

"It's not instinctual, yet, sir, and I'm still … settling in, as it were. My mum and little sister were a great help in explaining some of the mysteries," Toni replied with a smile. "I'm ready to get back in the saddle, sir."

"Good." Cartwright pushed a folder of paperwork to her, "As you're prior service with the Fifth Paras, you go off on accelerated Basic to Corfu, but that's not until after the New Year starts. There's your paperwork for that, until then, we're looking to start up a new schools programme, the Imperial Cadet Corps. Similar to the British Army Cadet Force and the Yanks' J-ROTC, this is a programme for high school and on to college level. It is distinct in that it is entirely co-educational, and this is an Imperial Army programme."

"No Imperial Navy or Marines, sir?"

"No. The Imperial Army handles all 'shore-based' functions (he finger-quoted), which would include bases, messing, supply, and non-specialized training. That way all of our people start with the same training, so a ship's cook can pick up a rifle and know what his ship's Marines are doing if necessary. The Army handles planetary garrisons, including the attached Air Force and wet-navy functions, satellites, asteroid bases and such. The Imperial Navy and Marines get their personnel after they've passed through the Army's basic training for their own specialized training. That way we have the Imperial Army's Engineers build shipyards, docks, and so forth, the Navy and Marines take over on the dock side of the boarding tube." Captain Cartwright handed over another folder of paperwork, "Due to your injuries and prior service, you've been bumped a grade to Senior Sergeant, go down to Supply and get your uniforms straightened out."

'Yes, sir," Toni said. "I assume that I'm working with the Cadets?"

"Still a bit up in the air, but a strong possibility, which is why I want you to be familiar with them. A school would have a detachment of up to fifty cadets; then formed into companies, battalions, and so forth. There would be advances in promotion and placement, assuming the cadet decided to go off to Corfu for actual service. Even if they didn't, the program is viewed as beneficial. Any questions?"

Toni was looking through her orders, "Sir, I have a movement order to Corfu on the thirtieth. Is that through the new shuttle system to LEO?"

"I believe so, and then on to Athens. However, I think the Greeks still have only one puddle-jumper flight a day to Corfu, which is why the padding in the scheduling. When you get to Athens, give the 'Seven' office a ring so they know you're there. Anything else?"

"No, sir," she said as she stood and saluted. He stood, returning her salute; then offered his hand, "Good luck, Senior Sergeant, and Happy Christmas."

* * *

"Excuse me," and Toni looked up. A bloke was standing there, holding a take-away cup of coffee and a folder of paperwork. "Due to the rain, all the tables are taken. May I join you?"

"Please do," she replied, and thunder boomed. She gathered up her scattered file folders, putting them in her case as he took a seat. She saw a wedding ring on his finger as he offered his hand; "Donaldson; Gene Donaldson," with an American accent.

"Toni Whitloe," she replied, and saw out of the corner of her eye people running in the downpour. "Just reading up on a new programme for our schools, the Imperial Cadet Corps."

"I did something like that with the US Air Force, called ROTC. Most kids liked it enough to stay in it, and parents thought it provided a good moral framework, something we need these days, I think. It's co-ed, I presume?"

"Boys and girls? Yes, it is. If they decide to go into Imperial service, the participants can go into Accelerated Basic when they get to Corfu, primarily in physical fitness and basic knowledge training; essentially what prior service people like I get…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 2, 2002: 08:30 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Paris, (former) EADS design, coffee room:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

("Jean-Claude, I did not expect to see you today,") Henri Bussard said as he fixed his coffee. ("You are now a very rich man.")

("Eh,") Jean-Claude waved it away. ("I would grow bored sitting around the apartment, if Susannah did not keep me busy,") he said. ("For now, once she has the apartment clean, she can now afford to play with stocks and bonds and such.")

("_Men_,") one of the women said. ("You complain when the home is not clean, but you will not lift a finger to make it so. Therefore we must do so by default.") She snorted and moved out, back to her desk.

("She has a point,") Henri agreed quietly.

("Yes,") Jean-Claude also agreed, quietly. ("I do not mind doing the laundry, but Susannah has declared me incompetent to iron her skirts. Therefore she does the ironing; I believe she complains just to be doing so.") He finished fixing his coffee, leaving a spoon in the sink, and started a new pot of coffee. ("Let us see what our new German owners would have us do.")

* * *

("Well, two new projects, Henri,") Jean-Claude said. ("One is to rework the designs of our penis-ship to incorporate the gravity technologies. We must also work up a framework that will allow us to ship the modules by interstellar freighter to other systems in the Empire.")

("Using the standards established by our new colleagues in Warsaw,") Henri replied. ("This we can do. What else?")

("To revise the design of the work pods so they will fit in a cube 2.5 meters on a side, and a shipping framework for them,") Jean-Claude replied. ("They will have a shirtsleeve environment and modular tool bays, and be simple enough that they can be built by colony planets, who will only need to import the computers.") He gestured, ("Take some of the interns and newbies and turn them loose on that.") He tossed a thick file folder to his friend.

("Of course,") Henri agreed. ("That is not all, though. What else?")

("We have two space-fighter designs, cargo and utility shuttle designs with troop-carrier capability, my friend. This is what EADS was planning to propose before we became part of Messerschmitt Ab instead of French.")

Henri reached over to take the RfQ**(1)** that Jean-Claude handed him. He sat back, sipping his coffee as he glanced at them, and said, ("A great deal of this can be salvaged. The light atmospheric design we can use with either a small motor-generator or gal-tech batteries and capacitors to power the grav-plates. In fact, the generator can be used to recharge the batteries … Life support … the single pilot can connect to his cockpit, which we can use as a life-pod. As a matter of fact…")

Jean-Claude laughed, ("Draw me up some sketches, my old friend. Do not forget the Design Bureau's standards, including the launch tube!")

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 2, 2002: 09:16 (GMT -6)  
Terra, Mobile, Alabama, Earl's Auto Supply:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

'Junior' nodded to his fishing buddy 'Jake' and put the basket of parts on the counter, starting to ring it up as a phone order. Jake would then take the parts and sell them on eBay to fill his orders and give Junior a cut. He finished, unfolded a piece of grubby paper, and typed in the AMEX number. He had no idea whose card number it was, he had gotten it from a 'friend of a friend' and it had never failed him.

This time it did. He frowned; Jake belched and took a swig from his paper-bag covered bottle of beer, "What's wrong?"

"Card's not going through. I typed it in right… Let me try again." He cancelled the transaction, then carefully, squinting a bit (Earl needed to replace some fluorescent lights.), retyped the number. The terminal beeped again, "Declined. What the hell…" The phone rang, and he picked it up, "Earl's auto supply, this is Junior. What? Yeah, here he is," and he covered the mouthpiece with his palm. "American Express. They want to talk to the cardholder," and he gave the handset to Jake.

"Yes, ma'am. Yes, ma'am, it's my card. Jake Guilford, the card number is … just a minute, please, and he frantically motioned to Junior, who passed over the grubby paper. "The last seven, and the security code is where? On the front? I don't see it… Oh, there it is." He read off some numbers, neither of them noticed a county sheriff wandering over, who clapped a hand on Jake's shoulder as he listened in, then motioned for the phone. "Hello, ma'am. American Express?" He plucked the grubby note out of Jake's hand, "Yes, this is Sheriff Tony Brascombe of Mobile County, Alabama. My badge number's 62134. No, I've got a dirty piece of paper with a credit card number written on it, I'll ask them." He looked at the two, "I want to see, from either of you, either a statement or a physical credit card with this number." He waited, the handset cradled against his shoulder. "Well, ma'am, it doesn't look like a physical card is coming. Who's the account holder, by the way?" He blinked, "No shit, excuse my language. Will you be pressing charges? Yeah, that was a stupid question. No, I've got that information at the station. Thanks, ma'am, and have a nice day."

"EARL!" he called. The owner came over, "Hey, Tony."

"Earl, I'm arresting these two for felony wire fraud, and I'll need to confiscate these parts as evidence. You want to give me a copy of that invoice?"

"Sure." Earl double-checked the invoice and initialed it, before dropping a copy in the box and frog-marching Junior out. He waited while the two were cuffed; searched, and secured in the back seat. Earl then asked, "I heard you ask who the account owner was. Can you tell me?"

"It's the Queen, Wayne's Black Amex," Tony replied as he slammed the trunk shut. "Someone sold it on the Internet."

"Gaw … Damn …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 2, 2002: 13:02 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2****nd**** year DADA:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"… and Miss Whitloe," Professor Harry said, flipping the file folder with the attendance closed. As was his habit, he loosened his tie and boosted himself to sit on a table. "Good afternoon, everyone. Today we're going to talk about memory charms. Now, these can be tricky, and can backfire on you. An example is Gilderoy Lockhart. Who can tell me about him? Miss Bones?"

Ami put her hand down, "He was a fraud who published a line of books taking credit for various things, like banishing werewolves and fighting vampires. He ran afoul of a memory charm and is in St. Mungo's long-term ward."

"Excellent! Four points to Slytherin," and Ami looked pleased. "Now, the Ministry no longer sends people about the country wiping memories out of muggles' minds; so this is somewhat out-of-date now. However, there are still times when you might want to use memory charms to remove or block a memory. The other side of these is memory enhancement charms, where you want to remember every detail."

"Why are they out of date?" Bill Morton asked.

"Previously, the International Statute of Secrecy prohibited muggles from knowing about the Wizarding World," Harry replied. "Now that that's been well and truly broken, there's less need for the general Wizarding population to know how to do these charms. However, there might still be a need, so it is still on the curriculum, as is the incantation to detect and to repair or reverse them." He clapped his hands, "Of course, memory charms aren't allowed for examinations. Let's go over how to detect them … yes, Mr. Morton, want to volunteer?"

"Yes, I don't have any, so please go ahead."

"Very well; the incantation is '_Revelo oblivisci_' and if there are any, there will be a blue flash, a white if there aren't any. Ready?" He nodded, and there was a light blue flash. "That's interesting, mind if I take it off?" Bill shook his head, and Professor Harry cast '_Finite oblivisci_', and then cocked his head. "Anything?"

"Bit of a headache," he commented. He put his head in his hands; then shook it, "Branstone, May's elder sister. There's something about slaves and Windfall, the planet."

"Where her sister died," Professor Harry said.

Bill shook his head again, "Oww. Bit like an ice-cream headache, it's sharp. No, I don't think she's dead, I think that's the modified memory, it doesn't seem … real, it's like a half-remembered dream. Does that seem … well, not right, but correct?"

"For an implanted memory, that's correct," Professor Harry replied. He rolled his wheelie chair out from behind his desk, commenting, "It's best to sit down when this is done," and cast '_Revelo oblivisci_' on himself. "What colour was the flash?" he asked.

"Light blue," Ami Bones replied.

"Right-o, something's going on. Divide up, please, with your partner. Cast the revealing spell, but don't remove any alterations just yet. I want those with the altered memory over to my left, those without to the right. The wand movement is left two twists and then up and back." He demonstrated it, slowly, and the class got busy.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 2, 2002: 16:00 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 22 Primus, 163, 07:13 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, docks:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Isaac watched from an overhang on the top deck, sheltering from the early morning drizzle as the paddleboat _Wagner_ maneuvered toward the dock. A large carved and painted wooden sign proclaimed '_Welcome to Brazos_', he lifted his digital camera to snap a photo; then went below.

There were several travelers besides Isaac; so he waited patiently in line. He eventually reached the floating dock; and was waved under a shelter by a fellow in uniform. "Good morning, I'm Peter Morse, the dock master. Your ticket, please?" Isaac produced it; Mr. Morse read it over, then nodded, tearing off a section and returning it with a smile. "Welcome to Brazos, Mr. Levy." He glanced at Isaac's yarmulke, adding, "I don't know how much of the pub's menu is kosher, but John does have an excellent vegetarian menu, and we do have quite a few fish and chicken dishes. Nothing but military coffee, but there are some very strong teas, especially for breakfast." He held the gate open, and Isaac tilted his wheeled suitcase with a kick, "Up the ramp and along the boardwalk. Keep your sidearm available, just in case."

The young woman behind Isaac said, "I thought the wabbits were hibernating now."

"We don't know what their life cycles are yet, so better safe than sorry," Peter replied. "Remember, look over a half-door before opening the bottom, and if you need a sidearm, revolvers are available for rent at Jourdain Arms, as well as ammunition. Stop by the bank for transport tokens, we have public transport available. In any case, welcome to Brazos, miss. Your ticket, please?"

* * *

After checking in, Isaac went to the open-air part of the pub; a fellow came by wearing a white apron and with a towel over his shoulder. "Howdy, I'm John, the owner. Had a chance to look over the menu?"

Isaac stifled a yawn, "Excuse me. The rocking of the boat was hypnotic, and I need to wake up. A cup of your strongest tea, please, and where is the bank?"

"The bank is right down the boardwalk, it won't open for about another half hour, and the strongest tea I have will clean out your sinuses," John warned. "Are you the fellow from Yerida that Karen called about?"

"Isaac Levy, yes."

"Sorry I wasn't there when you checked in, Mr. Levy. We have a couple of new girls; I was showing them some of the ropes. I'll get you a mug of fireball, but you've been warned." He smiled briefly and made a note on an electronic pad, then walked off. After a minute, a dark-collared girl walked up with a tray, on it was a glass mug of reddish tea, a glass and pitcher of ice water, all in metal frames. She gave him a quick smile, and said, "Howdy. My name is Palli, and you're a brave man to start the morning with fireball. Have you had the chance to look at the menu?"

"You pick for me, something with eggs, no meat, please," and Palli smiled at him. "It will be just a few minutes, then. Enjoy star-rise." She made a note on her pad and walked off, and Isaac bounced the tea-ball a few times on its chain, then set it aside and took a sip. "YEARGGH!" he shouted, grabbing the glass of ice water and downing it.

"Well?" Palli asked, a smile on her face, sliding a plate in front of him and topping off his ice water.

"Okay, you told me so…" Isaac grumbled, and the girl smiled and touched one of the small ceramic pots. "Since you like spicy, you can try scorch. Just add a tiny drop on your eggs. Enjoy your meal." He watched her go, a waggle in her hips and her tiny skirt, and glanced at the small sign card. There were four different local spices in addition to pepper, salt, sugar and cream. They ranged from 'hot' through 'whoof' and 'oww' to 'scorch'. There were small metal spoons to add the spices, he separated out a bite of egg and put a tiny drop of 'hot' on.

"Jesus!" he swore, washing it down with gulps of ice water. He looked up as John came by with a larger tankard and pitcher of ice water, as the town past the wooden banister started to come alive. "People actually eat this stuff?"

"Oh, yeah. Which did you try, scorch?" He took one of the tiny spoons and dipped out a drop of it. Isaac thought he saw sweat, but that could have been the heat or the humidity. In any case, there wasn't any reaction beyond a frown. "It's going flat. Sorry about that; I'll change them out for fresh." He scooped them up, adding, "Morning tea rush; back in a few."

Isaac gulped some more ice water, finished his eggs and thick slices of toast with ice-cooled butter and honey; and set the dishes aside. Palli came by to collect them but didn't interrupt his thoughts as he watched a bus (white with green trim) go by. He could see the painted steel of its frame as it was pulled by two of the hexataurs, the wood and steel wheels covered by a wooden guard with flexible wicker skirts. The driver sat above the front steering wheels, he could see people with covered mugs hurrying toward the stop along the boardwalk. '_They drive on the left_,' he thought. It was a curious mix of movie-style western and 1970's _kibbutz_, with gravel roads and electric lights; splashing fountains, behind him he could hear an electric blender, above him ceiling fans turned, and there was a blue-lit bug zapper.

He opened his binder and tried to orient himself with an overhead photo of the town. John came by, and Isaac raised his hand, "Excuse me. I'm looking for Jourdain Metalworks…"

"Ah, it's been a while since I've seen one of those. We'll need to improve our visitor's maps. You're here (he tapped it with the point of a pencil), the bank is here (slightly further along the road), and Jourdain is up here (another tap), in the industrial section of town. You want the Route Two bus, which goes counter-clockwise (he waved his pencil). Let the driver know, she'll tell you when to get off for Jourdain." He put down a small folder with the tab, and Isaac pulled out a Gringotts/Lantern Bank card as he nodded in thanks.

* * *

Isaac watched as the driver got back on board after feeding and watering the pair of hexataurs. "Next stop is Jourdain Metals and Rice Woodworks," she called; then whistled to the animals, and they were off again. She wore a judicial collar with a light green slave smock, indicating she worked for the town; below her slave belt she wore a tied-on matching skirt with a slit on her left, showing her penalty brands. On her right she wore a holstered revolver as well as having a short pistol-grip shotgun in a sleeve ready to hand. People boarded and departed from her left, to her right was a small shelf with a radio in front of the fare box. He made certain his kit was together, watching the passing scenery.

They had passed through a residential section, and were approaching the western point of the main island. The driver pulled into another roofed transit stop, turning and calling "Jourdain Metals and Rice Woodworks. The next stop is Primary Greenhouses." Isaac waited for other people to pass; then got off, saying "Thank you," to the driver.

"You're welcome, master. Don't forget your transfers," she said with a smile.

A painted sign to the south said, 'Future site of Jourdain Metalworks expansion'. A pit had been dug and a concrete foundation poured, pallets of tarp-covered concrete blocks sat to the side. Across the road from it was another sign for 'Rice Coachworks' with a building in a similar state. With a clatter, the bus drove off, and Isaac crossed the road to where he saw a lanky man sitting on the porch steps, talking to a very large black man. He called, "Mr. Jourdain?"

"That's me," the tall fellow replied, "You Mr. Levy? Come on over." Isaac held out his hand, "Isaac Levy, gunsmith for Yerida colony."

"Chuck Rice, your woodworker, this is Bob Jourdain, your comrade-in-arms," the large black man said. "We just got some of the new American and Russian rifles in; come by later, Mr. Levy, we can talk some business." He moved off across the street to his shop.

"You're what the Army would call a 'Distinguished Visitor', so we go in the back entrance, also known as the loading dock," Bob said with a broad grin. "Customers are much more important, they get the front door," he added.

"The Imperial Army?" Isaac asked as he followed.

"I was actually thinking of the US Army, but Imperial applies," Bob said, dropping down and helping to manhandle cases onto the dock. "I want the ammo in the ammo bunker; stack it off to one side, please," and several girls said, "Yes, father." One short-haired girl with a judicial collar and red hard hat asked, "Why, father?"

Bob gestured at some of the ammo boxes, "Some of that ammo is over sixty years old, with corrosive primers, and I don't trust it. Better it go 'boom' in the bunker, we're going to salvage what we can, but I'd rather we start people with a rebuilt gun and new ammo." She pursed her lips, nodded, and said, "I'll see to it, father."

"That's my girl," and he gave her a one-shoulder hug, which she returned. "Nicole, this is Mr. Levy, he's the new Yerida colony's gunsmith."

"Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Levy," Nicole said, offering her hand. He shook it, and Bob said, "Nicole is my right-hand girl, she's taken to machining like a duck to water." She blushed, "Thank you, father."

"Nothing but the truth. Come on, Isaac, let's go inside."

* * *

"Ammo bunker?" Isaac asked as he took a green hard hat and safety gear. There were several yellow hard hats on a shelf, which had a thin film of dust on them; he recalled the girls outside had worn white hard hats of different designs.

"It's a twenty-foot steel cargo container I 'acquired', one with an environmental and fire-suppression system; we've stacked several meters of sand bags around it. All the ammo back stock, the powder and primer, except for what's on the retail shelf, as well as the colony's construction explosives like TNT and Primacord. Nicole and I have keys, as well as Sgt. Ross, our law enforcement, who also has our only key machine, and copies of all the keys. I'd suggest you do the same thing for your colony." He offered Isaac a cup of tea, which he accepted warily. Bob continued, "It's a nice planet, but as you may have noticed, there are two glaring deficiencies. One is any sort of petrochemical, which includes plastics. The second is rubber, and we don't have any sort of chemists to synthesize it." He put in a bit of sugar, commenting, "Personally, I can't wait for coffee bushes to start producing. This is local sugar, from our sugar beets."

"It's a virgin planet," Isaac said, taking a tentative sip.

"True, and we may find a moon or something with petroleum stocks, or a hunter might trip over oil bubbling out of the ground. Same thing with rubber, and I know the Canadian colony has maple trees planted. Still going to be a few years for maple syrup, though," Bob took a gulp of tea; then used a pry bar on a wooden rifle case. "Well, we've got 250 old Garands, and 500 old Soviet Mosin-Nagants. While these Mosins have a reputation of reliability, I'm not selling any rifle that hasn't been slugged**(2)**; rebuilt, and bore-sighted**(3)**. As a case in point, three of these ten rifles have seen service with a line company – look at the dings and scratches."

Isaac lifted one out, running a fingertip over a scratched inscription on the stock. "'Vlad loves …' someone. Irina, maybe, but that was in 1952. Korean War?" He tapped the barrel markings, "Stalingrad Arsenal carbine, 1944."

"I hope Vlad and Irina had a long, happy life together," Bob replied. "We need to do a depot rebuild job on these, clean them, slug the barrels, tap and drill them for the scopes, then boresight the iron sights and zero the scopes for a hundred meters. I'm fortunate that I've got a girl with the best eyes, she doesn't do MoA**(4)**, she does seconds."

"I may want to borrow her," Isaac said. "I don't think you're going to get 750 perfectly functional rifles, you'll probably use some of these for parts." He started to field-strip the Mosin, "I think you should be able to just go to subassemblies, like the trigger group. Clean and lube them, and there's no reason you can't adapt these to current conditions, different length stocks, add in space for an emergency kit, a few spare rounds of ammo…" He looked through the barrel, "Oy, veh, the fouling…"

"I've got an electrical gizmo, takes an hour to clean five barrels. However, some of the local girls have asked about going out hunting, but we want them to go out partnered with experienced hunters, and we've got a Wookie colony to the north. That's who I was thinking of for the Mosins, they already use a crossbow, and with freshly loaded ammo…"

"Photos I've seen of them are larger, you might want to do either a slab trigger and grip safety or a larger trigger guard and lever action for them," Isaac suggested. "I admit, I've always liked a lever action, it lets you keep a sight picture. With a bolt action, you spend valuable seconds re-acquiring the target through your scope." He worked the trigger assembly as Bob said, "I've liked levers too, and for a lot of people it reminds them of the old Winchester rifles and the Old West." He tilted back his sombrero, "We are originally Texans, you know." He accepted a trigger assembly that Isaac handed him, who said, "Nothing wrong with that a bit of cleaning and lubrication can't fix. On the bus ride up I saw the driver had a pistol-grip shotgun close to hand."

"Yes, a .410 bore, pump action with birdshot for the wabbits. Let me see, we can cast a different trigger easily enough, and rework the trigger guard and bolt for their larger fingers …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 2, 2002: 17:13 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 22 Primus, 163, 05:00 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The first girl, slave 11642 woke when her collar triggered, at the same time the device securing her hands behind her in her cuffs clicked, releasing them. She whimpered into her gag, her collar had fortunately interrupted an unpleasant dream about her being a free female named Marie… '_I'm a slave, like the rest of my homeworld. Thank the Source for that; slaves aren't supposed to release themselves_…' she thought; then tried to shake off the unpleasant thoughts. Fumbling her hands free, she released her neck ring, then leaned back and released her ankles and stood, making her way to the suction area. She only had a minute from the wake-up shock to start the suction, connecting herself and pushing the button while the warning tingle was starting. As her waste was being removed, she fumbled with the laces for the over-hood and the under-blindfold. Her gag had been locked on by her owner's First Girl; therefore she didn't even consider removing it.

She stood; her legs still separate as the suction ended and her sonic shower began. As it ended, she took a folded slave tunic and skirt from the stack, pulling it on. She stretched, then went to pull the other five slaves from their confinement tubes as the work-day began.

The slave 11641 lay in her tube and waited for the first girl to release her. She heard another slave being released; then a few minutes later the clank of the locks, and her tray was slid out of the tube. She waited patiently as she was released and suctioned, her hood and blindfold removed as she was given a sonic shower and a fresh tunic and skirt for the day. She looked at the assignment board and went off to her station.

* * *

Ms. Yuki Fukuda rolled out of bed at 5:30, stretching and then started in to her morning routine. As she took her sonic shower, she gazed at the reflection in her mirror. Raising her arms, she fixed her hair, fluffing it over her slave collar.

She cracked an egg for her breakfast as a cool breeze blew through the open window of her apartment. Her fingers reached up to touch her collar as she thought back on how she had gone from Yoshi, everyday salaryman and attorney to Yuki, attorney and collared slave girl to her masters.

'_It wasn't supposed to be like this_,' she reflected as she sat down at her small apartment's table. '_Yes, I was small enough to make a convincing girl. Enough so I could earn extra money as a club bunny, the extra yen certainly helped_.' She paused to eat, adding to herself, '_Until I was in the wrong place at the wrong time as Yuki, the bunny_.' She mopped up the last of the egg juice with her toast, then taking her plate and tea-mug to the sink, she scrubbed them clean; then sighed, "I have to be seen in public as a slave girl by my watchers. That means public transport, which means going wand less. At least I can telecommute in, which means I can be Yuki the slave pretty much full time, performing tasks for her owner, instead of burning one of my precious collar unlock chips for a day as Yuki, the free female. I burned so many of those on Tosul..." She walked to her small bedroom, locking on wrist and ankle slave bells and tying on sandals before she knelt, choking down a feeding gag; pulling it as tight as she could before locking it. Last, she pulled on a white slave tunic and skirt. Checking her appearance in the bathroom mirror, she apparated from the apartment.

* * *

With a small 'pop' she materialized where she had been directed by her master's email; at the southern point of the peninsula, in the enclosed area under the public gallows. Above her she could hear the creak of the rope as the body of the male slave swung in the breeze, underneath it was pleasantly cool, although the stench from the rotting body had pretty much dissipated. She looked around and saw what she was to put on: a small waist pouch and a net-style 'backpack' with a mid-size wicker container, the container and the pack's opening both tied shut and sealed with wax. She straightened her slave smock, pulled the pack and pouch on, adjusting them; then pushed through the small access door, adjusting the pack straps once more, then her smock and leaned forward to snap her wrists behind her in her belt's cuffs, then walked north, toward the public transport stop

* * *

"Move, slave," a native said as his friend pulled another slave from the seat in front of her. He sprawled, taking up the entire seat as Yuki whimpered once and scooted over. Apparently she didn't move quickly enough, as she was picked up and thrown against the other row of seats, she then fell to the floor of the bus. He sprawled on the seat, resuming his conversation and ignoring the two slaves as unimportant, as the other girl helped Yuki up, pulling and tugging her smock and skirt straight. "This slave begs your forgiveness, my masters," she said, then pulled Yuki to kneel next to her at the back of the bus. "This slave inquires if the slave is injured? This slave did not see any injuries on the slave." Yuki shook her head, whimpering twice, and the other slave continued, just as quietly, "This slave requests the slave lean forward," and as Yuki did, she could feel the other slave adjusting her wrists in the cuffs, ratcheting them tight. "This slave has adjusted the slave's cuffs to be more comfortable, but also secure. The slave is a new slave? This slave did not see penalty brands, and the slave is wearing a private slave's smock, unlike this slave." Yuki glanced at the girl's judicial collar and light blue slave smock, then leaned back to look at her back.

"Yes, this slave is Enhanced. This slave has heard all slaves will be Enhanced, although as a privately owned slave, this slave does not know what the slave's owners will do." She shrugged, telling Yuki, "Do not be concerned, slave. The procedure does not hurt, and the slave will be a better slave for the procedure; you will sell for more."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 3, 2002: 07:07 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, Politburo meeting:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"And the situation in London with Wayne, comrade? How does that go?" the Chairman asked.

"Comrade Dai in my office suggested a revision to the plan," the MSS Director replied. "I approved it, as it will generate more fear and terror. This attack will take place at Kings Cross railway station in London, when the school train arrives with the children. There are two parts to it, the first is a wizarding attack party will wear black cloaks and white face masks, appearing to be a resurgent terrorist group known as 'Death Eaters'. They will seize the arrival platform and kill, in a most gruesome manner, Wayne, Morton and his siblings, including small children and any who resist. At the same time, a detachment from the embassy's guard force will provide external security for the attack and repel any non-magical relief force that may try to render assistance. Once the attack has been carried through successfully, the attack force will depart to a rendezvous point, and the guard force will return to the embassy."

"We will not be blamed for this attack?" the Defense Minister asked.

"The external guard force is ostensibly there to protect the people, comrades," the MSS director replied. "That is what they shall tell any who ask. The British government proved truly inept in fighting the actual Death Eaters several years ago when they were lead by an insane wizard, it is believable that they have resurfaced. Comrade Dai believes this will provide both the maximum terror, survivability to our intelligence assets, as well as to produce the end result of Wayne and Morton's deaths. The only downside is that several men in Comrade General Wang's detachment have become ill. As they are senior noncoms and junior officers, that will require Comrade General Wang to personally lead the troops."

"The troops – what illness is it?"

"The embassy doctor is not certain, but they have been hospitalized as a precaution, along with a suitable guard force to prevent the British from taking advantage of the situation. The doctor has taken personal charge of their care, as he should. Truly, this is a minor matter, comrades. I mention it only to be complete," the director said. "The only variable is the actual date and time for the attack. The school, Hogwarts, has only recently added non-magical courses to its curriculum, which will extend the mid-term examination schedule. As this is the first occurrence of this extended examination period, they are using a tentative schedule of Sunday, the fifteenth, with arrival in mid-afternoon for the school train in London, with examinations concluding the previous day. Comrade Major Chai is working to confirm this."

"Good," the Chairman said. "Confirm this with Comrade Major Chai and Comrade General Wang."

The Foreign Minister raised a finger, "One moment. The Comrade General's troops will be in uniform?" he asked.

"Of course, to prevent them being considered spies," the Defense Minister replied. "They will have light arms, assault rifles and sidearms only. There is no need to issue heavier weapons."

Sighing, the Foreign Minister commented, "Comrades, I once again must mention that having armed, uniformed troops on the soil of another country have been cause for war."

"They are there to 'assist' the British (the MSS Director finger-quoted) in securing the situation," he replied. "May we proceed?"

"Yes, comrades," the Chairman said. "Comrade, what is the status of our currency holdings?"

"Comrades," the Finance Minister started, "Our exchange rate and gold reserves …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 3, 2002: 10:02 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2****nd**** year Mathematics:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Arthur looked up from checking the roll, flipping the folder shut. "Miss Canby is in the Infirmary from a potions incident yesterday, I believe Miss Whitloe will be taking her assignments to her?" The blonde nodded, and he continued, "I will hand back the quiz results in a moment, we're doing well with geometry, after the holiday break we'll start to edge into basic algebra, and no, it has nothing to do with the female undergarment." There were some snickers, and he flashed a quick smile. "Now then, we know that next week is the mid-term exams, so we're going to go over the quiz results and address the weaknesses." He picked up the stack of papers, walking back and forth as the papers went back. "Mr. Applebee … Miss Bones … Miss Whitloe, with Miss Canby's …"

* * *

Arthur paused as he locked the door to the classroom. He saw Ami Bones and his brother Bill talking as they walked together toward the Great Hall and lunch. "Yes, Sara, what can I do for you?"

She looked at him suspiciously, "You're not calling me 'Miss Whitloe'," she said.

"We're not in the classroom," he pointed out as he cast a ward. "Out here, we're just two students, a second and a fifth-year. So, what can I do for you, Sara?" He gestured toward the Great Hall, and she started to walk with him.

"I … um, I just wanted to pass on thanks from my brother, err, sister, Toni. She said that 'female's still not automatic', but apparently the coaching did help. She also got her bonus, and she'll be going to Corfu for accelerated basic into the Army after the New Year, as well as getting a promotion."

"Good. Mattie will be glad to hear that. So where is she now?"

"In London, staying at our house. From what Mum says she's still something of a tomboy, but then again, I guess I am too. It takes me a while to get used to wearing the school skirts instead of pants."

"My sister Julie said that also." She nodded and he gestured ahead where Ami and his brother bill had tentatively, pinky fingers only, held hands. "Now then, anything you've heard from the rumor mill about those two? I like Ami, and I think they're a cute couple, myself…"

"No, I haven't heard anything," Sara replied, smirking a bit. "Maybe we should … help them a bit…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 3, 2002: 12:27 (GMT)  
Windfall departure, **_Taalah_**, Owner's cabin:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Settle down, dad," Elena said as her father sat moodily on his bunk. "A few days to Tosul, we switch over to the _McCoy_ and go home for Christmas. I even got some shopping done…"

"I couldn't care less about shopping, I just want everyone home safe," he sighed and sat back. "I just … well, this is a _slave ship_, and I'm the goddamn _owner_…"

"No, _Taalah_ is a cargo ship that happens to have carried slaves in the past."

"And will be again," he snapped. "Damn it…"

"Okay, let's look at this latest email from Arthur, the _true_ owner," Elena said, crossing to a chair, turning and straddling it. "You and I both know that he can't have been happy with this, he was, from what we know, happy, or at least less displeased that the _Taalah_ was going to be a system supply ship. It paid the bills, and it wasn't hauling slaves." She crossed her arms on the chair back and gazed at her father. "Now, we have found out that one of the 'disposable' (she finger-quoted) lines of slaves seems to have some magical ability, enough to be accepted to Hogwarts. The question arose if she was a one-off, flash in the pan, or it happened to be something missed by WorkForce when they designed and bred that line of slaves. Even if there's no wizarding gene in those slaves we'll be buying, we're at least saving their lives; which is a good thing."

"I would rather not deal with the scum at all, unless it was to pull the lever when we hang them."

Elena sighed, "Dad, you've passed on your rather absolutist moral code to Arthur," and she raised a hand. "I'm not saying that's good or bad, I'm just saying there's little grey area there."

"There shouldn't be ANY grey area," he snapped. "It's not right, it's not moral …"

"DAD!" she almost shouted. "Dad, calm down. Now, I was saying that we needed to find out if these girls had that gene or not, and there's only two ways to get them, buy them, or steal them."

"I would almost prefer to steal them then to give that scum any money for them…"

"And if we did?" she demanded. "You know that's considered theft, it would have us arrested and convicted, the ship confiscated, and all the crew sold off. It wouldn't accomplish anything but create problems. No, it's better to have a nice, legal title to them, and then free them and adopt them."

"I still don't like it …"

"That seems to be Arthur's pet phrase as well," his second daughter replied. "Unfortunately life isn't black and white, dad; it's a range of grey…"

"It should be!"

"Dad …" Elena sighed. "Now, rescuing those girls is a good thing, right? I mean, our ultimate aim is going to be ending the slave trade. If these girls happen to be witches, that's all the better, but even if they're not, they're still _alive_, right?" He grumbled, and she said, "Look, I'll deal with S'ana and S'rat regarding the slaves, you get the other equipment, set up the licensing and certification, all that stuff. The faster we get that started, the faster we can get to Earth for Christmas." He grumbled, and she wagged a finger, "Now, I want you to lie down for a nap, and if I have to, I'll clonk you with my rolling pin." She stood, smoothing down her uniform dress, "I'm still your aide, and taking care of my boss includes watching out for his health. Do you want that sleep aid Doc gave me?"

Bill Morton sighed, "No, I'll take a nap." He leaned forward, and Elena knelt, pulling off his boots; then covering him with a blanket. "Computer, lights at five percent," she ordered, leaning forward to kiss her father's forehead; then leaving the room.

* * *

"How is Master Bill?" S'ana asked in the passage.

Elena looked at the dark-haired slave, the ship's combination First Girl and First Officer, who was dressed in a light green slave tunic and skirt, her collar lights bright in the dim passage. "He's stressed, he hasn't gotten much rest. I talked some things over with him, and I'll keep an eye on him. The sooner we can get him home and with family, the better," Elena admitted. "He really doesn't like dealing with slaves, so you and I will deal with those, while we're going to get S'rat to help him with the other cargo. She's got a dark collar, and the faster we can get that done …"

"Yes, mistress, I agree," the older woman said. She gestured, "Mistress, why don't we set that up now, over a cup of tea with Mistress S'rat and our new Captain?"

* * *

"Captain Shenberg, do you think there will be any major problems?" Elena asked.

"There are two points of concern for me, the convoy and entry into Tosul space," the dark haired former Israeli said. "We have the contract with the planet as a system supply ship, as well as their license to possess our 'illegal' equipment. The convoy command ship might want to lock out that equipment or board us as a precaution; I know I would. My concern is that they might try to take the ship in some way, so S'ana, I'm going to specifically authorize you and the other slaves to wear and use sidearms on my authority."

The first girl blinked. "We're slaves …"

"You're crew," Mischa replied. "I don't want you to start something, but if I order you to … decouple the flux capacitor, that means I think any boarding party is going to try something, and we need to take the ship back. Bloodlessly, if possible."

"Yes, Captain," S'ana replied. "Tosul?"

"There, I think it's more that the crew is Enhanced slaves, and they need to be cleared with the Portmaster's office, as well as the licenses for our new equipment." The Captain turned to Elena, "What's the deal with buying slaves?"

"Sorry, but that's classified. I'll discuss what I can with you later, but we're supposed to get what we can of the 'disposable' models, those that aren't already privately owned." Elena cleared her throat, looking at S'rat. "This comes under the 'buying slaves to save their lives', although I understand we're using the 'biological research' excuse?"

"Yes mistress and I can already feel my hand cramping from signing the licenses," the tall, dark haired beauty said. Like the First Girl, she wore a simple smock and short skirt, although as a free female with a dark collar, it was without the 'slave yellow' S'ana wore, and in white, not S'ana's green. The Captain, like Elena, wore white leggings with a black over-tunic and a gold command bodysuit under, with gold rank pips on the tunic's lapels, while Elena wore a single gold chevron on her lapels, along with the aiguillette of an officer's aide on her right shoulder.

"Just remember to call him 'sir' not 'master'," Elena reminded the two collared women. "Captain, if you and S'rat try to keep him occupied with the hardware we need and the licenses, S'ana and I will deal with the slaves, and getting them all up to date, and buying the '70' series of slaves. I understand we have a guild now, so we may also use some of those girls for staffing the new building, lower level personnel," she continued. "What about … " (she motioned) "… what's her name, tried to take the ship…"

"J'lal, mistress," S'ana replied. "We will transfer the slave to the Tosul office, although she would be most useful with Master Bill in buying or licensing the necessary technology. She is an experienced spacer; however she wishes to use the forced-speech options as part of her self-punishment."

"Talk to your father, Ensign, and S'ana will explain the situation to J'lal. We can disable her speech options and re-enable it later if necessary, but J'lal as a resource for him is too useful to waste moving cargo." Elena nodded and the Captain continued, "How long to get everything licensed and up to date?"

"The slaves … I estimate about two days," S'ana replied. "The ship's equipment will take longer, and the Portmaster will wish to install some lockout devices. We would only be able to use the equipment once a convoy command ship sent an unlock code or we broke seals. While the ship's slaves are in the slave house, being updated, Master Bill can start inquiring into equipment and supplies required for the planet – he has a list?"

Captain Shenberg nodded, "Yes, it contains …"

* * *

"Ensign, a minute," the Captain said, holding open the cabin door. Elena entered as the Captain sealed the door, and waited until the Captain was seated. "What's so classified, Ensign?"

"There are two things, Captain. First, with the slaves, apparently one of the 'disposable' slaves someone picked up has the wizarding gene, and is attending classes at Hogwarts. They don't know if the girl's a one-off witch, or it's something that's in the entire line of slaves that WorkForce missed in their design. In any case, we'll be saving their lives, so that's good."

"And if they turn out to be zarroji … Mischa Shenberg nodded slowly. "While we can accommodate them aboard, we can also quarter them and use them on-planet as a part of the new building's staff. I believe some Terran crew is due to arrive after the New Year, and these slaves would be young enough for a boarding school. However, those don't usually start until September. What else?"

"Cap'n, I know they're planning on installing some of the FTL comm equipment, along with a witch or wizard to maintain it. They're usually covered as the comm officer, but I don't know how it works or whom they're sending. Just that you'll probably get that when you get to Eunomia."

"That matches what I've heard. Why, did you want the position?"

Elena smiled, "While I've got two brothers and a sister at Hogwarts, the gene seems to have skipped me. I think you've got a good crew, I like them, but I'd rather get back on a shuttle's flight deck. I miss my friends from the _Bucky_."

"Alcoholism isn't something that goes well with flying," Captain Shenberg said. "Still, I understand what you're saying, I'd like to get back aboard my little ketch, feel the salt spray in my face again. While it's still early, I could use another helm officer. Interested?"

"For now, yes, Cap'n. At least until Tosul, but my current assignment is aide-de-camp."

"Well, think it over, and let me know after New Years. You do know that this is something of a special-operations command?"

"Yes, and I was thinking about going through Corfu after the holidays, if I couldn't get back on the _Bucky_. Still, an Intel assignment would be interesting…"

"You'd need to lose a couple kilos, then again, I could lose them too," the Captain said. "That's all I had, anything for me?"

"No, Captain."

"Good. Tell S'ana I want you put on the duty rotation for the helm, and take care of your father. Dismissed, Ensign."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Elena said, bracing to attention before leaving.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 4, 2002: 06:02 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty meeting:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Good morning, everyone," Harry said as he entered with his wife, Ginny. She moved off to talk with Aurora, while Harry found his usual seat. Arthur entered with Mattie, who turned, seeing Hagrid and filling his oversize mug. He accepted it with a nod of thanks, while Arthur sat down with Callista Vector.

"Hagrid, I wanted to bounce an idea off you," Mattie said. "If witches and wizards are going off-planet to colony worlds, shouldn't they have an idea about common farm animals like cows and horses? How to slaughter and dress pigs and chickens?"

The half-giant nodded, "'C'n see that, wh' 'bout getting' s' o' those off-planet beasties?"

"I'll ask about it, but they'd have to go through British Customs quarantine. That's why I was thinking about our muggle animals. I know I wouldn't have a clue how to milk a cow, but then I don't need to. Those witches and wizards, future colonists do."

"Not to mention accelerated growth and medical potions for their feed," Severus said, taking his usual careful, evaluating sip of his tea. He nodded briefly in approval; then took his usual seat at the table as Minerva appeared. She dropped her files at the head of the table, accepting a mug of tea Harry floated to her. "Miss Wayne, do you have a plan for dealing with Umbridge?" Severus asked. "If not, I do."

"As she's a threat to everyone, including purebloods, I'm interested as well," Ginny said. "We could simply kill her…"

"I'd like to hear it, sir. I was thinking of removing her support in the Wizengamot," Mattie replied. "Let her proceed with her plans, then have her supporters turn on her when the final vote comes up." She took a gulp of coffee, "Her self-identity is the Head of house Selwyn, one of the last heirs of Slytherin," she continued. "I'm having the goblins research Selwyn, if they can disprove it, I can have my mother claim their proxy votes for Wayne, an old Scottish house." She sat back, "With the cooperation of the houses of Potter and Black, we should have a solid majority bloc of votes." She looked over at Ginny, "That would include house Weasley, if I remember correctly your house proxy and your Wizengamot seat went to Selwyn in the 1600's. Once that's researched, we can discuss the release of your proxy vote; I'd need to study the original conditions relating to the original proxy surrender. I know I don't have time to handle the Wizengamot like I should, and politically, it would be best to keep it with a pureblood line." She looked down the table, "Narcissa, would you be willing to claim the Malfoy proxy, or stay as a Black?"

"That is something I hadn't considered," she replied after a moment. "What about Bella and house LeStrange? As we are both women, that would mean Lord Black (she motioned to Harry) would need to certify our positions as Heads of our respective houses. As he is Lord Black, which is subordinate to Lord Potter, and we married the previous heads, we would need his permission." Narcissa sat back, sipping her tea, "You've been doing well with your classes on politics, but on what basis do you challenge house Selwyn?"

"I believe house Wayne was an earlier cadet house to Slytherin and associated with house Ravenclaw through marriage than house Selwyn," Mattie replied. "That, and Umbridge's exact pedigree is what the goblins are researching."

Filius nodded, "Complex, I agree. My own line goes through house Hufflepuff and house Gryffindor, and linked with house Malfoy, although I don't have as good a claim as Narcissa does."

Minerva rapped on the table, "While this is interesting, we have a problem with memory charms on some students and faculty. Harry?"

"Yes, apparently a Japanese fellow came up from London and planted false memories," he replied. "With the cooperation of Imperial Research, DMLE, MI-5 and the Yard, we've found the bloke. Apparently some multinationals and criminal syndicates are looking to not simply profit, but _own_ entire planets and star systems. Mattie, or should I say 'Your Highness'?"

"I've sent out test emails to several system governors, apparently they're moving slowly with the plan to test the waters, I only had one suspicious reply email. That was the Benecee system, the one where Eleanor Branstone went and supposedly died. Now, we have Eleanor and her partner Marie supposedly killed by animal attack, as well as several other witches placed there in disguise by the Outworld Affairs office." Mattie looked at Arthur, "For that reason as well as electoral shenanigans, I think I'm going to have to visit them over the holidays."

"You're not going alone," he said firmly.

"Indeed, Eleanor was one of mine, I'm going to insist on going," Pomona said. Severus nodded, "Count Bella and I in as well, as well as the Branstones."

"And Madame Laval," Arthur said. "What to do with Outworld Affairs?"

"Leave them be for now," Severus said. "They're not going anywhere."

Mattie nodded, "One other thing, next week I'll offer any staff that is taking my class the chance to take my midterm exam here." She waved a finger, "You signed up for the course, you take the exam."

"True, but this year exams will go through Saturday the fourteenth, with the train back on Sunday," Minerva said.

"I'm going to be a day late getting to Gotham; I have to stop over in New York for some business. I'll be staying with Connie Koslowski and her mom overnight." Arthur mentioned.

Minerva rapped her knuckles again, "Very well. Callista, how are the school's finances with the EADS proceeds?"

"Very nice," the Deputy Headmistress replied. "In fact …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 4, 2002: 10:05 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Intro to Business class:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Good morning, everyone," Mattie said as she closed the attendance folder. "I see Ms. Trelawney hasn't graced us with her presence, which is too bad. She's the weekly winner, so Ms. Vector, if you'd pass the weekly cup on to Ms. McGonagall? Thank you. We've got a lot to go over today before next week's midterm exam. As I mentioned in the syllabus, the running market totals through the close of business on next Tuesday the tenth is forty percent of your grade. I know I've helped out several people with that, so if you're not up at least fifteen percent since the start of term, you ain't trying very hard."

She took a sip of water; then pointed, "Mr. Adams, what's a value stock?"

"A stock that has a high earnings, but the p/e ratio doesn't match. It's a profitable company, but it's not reflected in the stock price. It's a buy," Charlie said.

"Excellent, a good answer. Six points to Hufflepuff. Ms. Dumbledore, Felicia that is, what's an example of a growth stock?"

"McDonalds and Coca-Cola," the recently-bitten werewolf replied.

"Good, four points to Gryffindor. Ms. Potter, what are the features of a LLC?"

Ginny smiled, "A limited liability corporation is …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, December 5, 2002: 07:48 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 5****th**** year DADA:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Professor Harry put the file folder with the class roll away, and wheeled the table with the lectern to the side. "Please put your books and kit against the far wall, and shove the chairs aside. We're going to have the midterm practical, and yes, there's no warning. An attack might come on you suddenly, you need to be prepared." He set five rune-stones out, adding, "The fight is to first blood or unconsciousness, Miss Wayne, I would appreciate your disabling your Ring."

"In a real fight, I wouldn't," she said, before tossing it to him.

"No, but we want to give your classmates at least a chance," he said with a grin. "I'll give you the option of dueling me with it."

"Hmm, tough choice," she said false-seriously. "I'll roll the dice with this lot. Sprink, you wanna dance with me?"

"Why her?" Felicia asked.

"She's a Black, and I've been training with her and her aunts Bella and Narcissa," Mattie replied. Felicia paled as she added, "We're using books out of the Slytherin library."

"Which are not fluffy bunny books like the textbook," Sprink added, throwing her robes over her chair; and with a flick had a wand in each hand as Mattie tossed her robes aside as well, a fighting knife appearing in her left hand. Professor Harry knelt, touching one of the rune-stones and a dome appeared. "No Unforgivables or killing blows or curses," he called as a reminder as both fighters went into a crouch.

* * *

"You're relying on that bloody Ring too much," Sprink panted as she held a wand at Mattie's throat.

"You're right," her best mate agreed. "You gonna call 'Uncle'?"

"Mate, in case you've not noticed, you're flat on your back with a wand at your throat. You call 'Uncle', not me."

"Nope, not gonna happen," Mattie said, reaching up with her legs to grab Sprink and flip her into the rune-wall as she bounced to her feet. With a wrist-twitch, knives were once again in her hands as Sprink transformed into her wolf-form and leaped at her.

* * *

"First Blood!" someone called. Sprink was still in her wolf-form, Mattie had a ripped uniform and bite and claw marks, Sprink with a knife slash in one flank. Both had wands and other weapons stuck to the rune-wall, both were panting, Sprink with Mattie's throat in her jaws, Mattie with a knife against Sprink's throat.

"Yes, I think that's a tie. Relax, both of you," Professor Harry said, touching the rune-stone to deactivate the wall. They both sat up, Mattie leaning forward to give Sprink a hug. "Good fight, mate."

With a 'pop', Sprink transferred back to her human form, just as battered as Mattie. Her white school tights had a bloody gash on one thigh, and Mattie reached down to help her to her feet. "Miss Wayne, your Ring," Professor Harry said as he tossed it to her. "Go see Poppy for your cuts, and next, we'll have Miss Dumbledore and …" They missed the rest as they collected their bags and went out the classroom door.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, December 6, 2002: 21:40 (GMT)  
Terran system, L-1 station, 1 g Holiday Inn™:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Edward Nigma sighed as he dropped his pressurized tote, helmet, and other luggage just inside the door. With a small sucking sound, it pressure-sealed, and he moved to the chairs, picking up the remote along the way. Studying it for a second, he keyed it, the curtains moved aside and he could seat himself, able to watch Earth. He saw a front moving across the North American continent, while the white cobwebs of cities defined Europe and northern Africa. He sat back, stretching in his skinsuit, hearing the joints pop, then stood and went into the small fresher, rubbing his chin and deciding to shave again.

* * *

"May I join you?" Edward looked up from his notes at the redheaded girl, then around the restaurant. He closed the binder, gesturing with his pen, "No offense, miss, but why? There are empty tables available."

"I'm looking for some companionship tonight," she said, leaning forward to expose more of her cleavage.

"I see," he said, then held up his left hand. "I am engaged; miss, so you need to seek your companionship elsewhere. Good evening;" and he re-opened his binder of notes. She didn't take the hint, taking a seat across from him. He looked over his reading glasses, and said, "Miss, I do not wish to be rude, but I am not interested. Please leave, I have a great deal of work to do."

"Don't you think I'm attractive?"

"Miss, for the third time, I am not interested. I came here for a peaceful meal, which I wish to consume. Alone. Please leave, if not voluntarily, I shall summon the manager, who shall then call station security."

"We could have a lot of fun, though." She reached out to him, and he turned, raising his hand. A waitress came over, and he asked, "Please summon the manager and station security. This young woman refuses to leave me alone." She nodded and hurried off, and the redhead looked stunned. "You're actually … "

"Miss, I have asked you three times to leave me alone. You have not done so, therefore I have no choice." He turned as the manager came up, along with a security guard. "Good evening. This young woman seems to feel that I am in need of 'fun' and 'companionship'. I have informed her that I am engaged and not interested, but she refuses to depart."

"You again," the guard replied with a growl. "I thought you were heading back to Earth. C'mon, you…"

"_Fine_!" she spat. She stood and walked out, trailed by the guard. The manager cleared his throat nervously. "I must apologize, sir…"

Edward waved it off, "Not your fault. However, I am getting rather hungry…"

"Not a problem, sir. I believe you ordered the Chicken Marsala? I'll just see how that is doing." He nodded politely, took a few steps and motioned to the waitress, "Bring me his bill, I'm comping it," he told her quietly.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 7, 2002: 06:27 (GMT)  
Terra, London, PRC embassy:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Comrade Chai smiled to herself as she settled into her run alongside Comrade General Wang. He nodded to her, ("Good morning, Comrade Corporal,") as he maneuvered to avoid a lamp post.

("Good morning, Comrade General. It seems we have a few extra comrades this morning,") she replied. Indeed, their company of troops were preceded and followed by detachments from other embassies, all of who seemed to try to 'irritate' the Chinese by singing offensive 'Jodie' (cadence) songs. They were also trying to outdo each other, the Russians would stop and do prisyadka kazatskis (squat kicks) as part of their exercises.

("Yes, it is most amusing. However, the Comrade Sergeant has things in hand,") he replied as the Chinese replied with their own offensive jodies. ("Have you heard back from Comrade Dai?")

("I have, Comrade,") she said, handing him another folded printout as the US Marines finished up one about guarding heaven's streets. ("Does heaven have streets?") she wondered.

("Does it exist?") he asked. ("We shall no doubt find out in due time,") slipping the email back to her. ("Your shoe, comrade.")

("Ah, thank you, comrade,") she replied, laying the printout next to her as she tied her shoe. She got up as one of the German dogs fetched the printout, returning it to his mistress.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 7, 2002: 09:48 (GMT)  
Terra, London, US Embassy:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"It seems our BND colleagues wish to offer lunch," the SEAL said to the commercial attaché, the cover for the CIA's Chief of Station. "12:30 at a particularly fine German restaurant," he added.

"It is always useful to experience other cultures," she replied, looking over her glasses. "Bring me back something tasty, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

"I presume our British hosts have a copy of this," she asked, looking over the copied email.

"It was a very ethnically diverse lunch, ma'am," he replied as he set a paper bag on her desk. She raised an eyebrow, and he smiled, "A few kilos of some very fine German sausage, ma'am. I think your family will enjoy it."

* * *

(_Warning, slave abuse_.)

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 7, 2002: 21:00 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 26 Primus, 163, 15:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, coastal road, north livestock area:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Yuki was exhausted. She didn't know where she was, she was just happy the long march had finally stopped as she sank to her knees with the other hooded slaves. She could feel the slave leashed behind her, as she was leashed to the slave in front of her. For now, she just spread her knees a bit and leaned forward in the dusty road as she panted, her hands still cuffed behind her.

She had been met by her theoretical master, or at least the representative of her blackmailers, some forty kilometers north of Riverside. He had inspected her, strapped a tight blindfold on her after brutally tightening her gag; and then added a hood and leash. She felt him remove her smock and skirt, and write something on her chest before she was chained in line, the long march starting with the command, "Slaves, left foot, and march!"

* * *

Dr. BJ Tannenbaum was irritated. Sure, she had a vaguely-worded research grant for livestock that she had gotten from the Department of Outworld Affairs and a rental contract with the local Slave Control Agency, but there weren't as many male animals as she needed! There were only three intact males and half a dozen mules, former males that had been bio-sculpted to look female, but they were pretty much useless. She really didn't want to study the damn farm animals that had already been done by the previous bunch of colonists. Yes, her research assistants were reviewing and updating that for genetic engineering, but if she was going to get her Nobel Prize for medicine, she needed to be able to modify the human genome for different environments, and she sure as hell couldn't do that on Earth! Here she could, nobody had ever heard of Josef Mengele!

* * *

George Brenner was concerned. Here he stood in a small paddock on a foreign planet with a pissed-off Dr. Tannenbaum, surrounded by hooded and bound slaves. Yes, she always seemed to be pissed, but this wasn't the way to conduct bio-science, in his opinion. Unfortunately, he didn't have a lot of options. He was a grad student of Dr. Tannenbaum, who retained his travel and financial documents, along with those of her other grad students and assistants. Her prospectus was for 'genetic study of farm animals toward increasing colony usability factors', and he thought it would be chickens, pigs, and horses; not _slaves_! No, he hadn't thought about bio-engineering slaves, several dozen knelt in the mud behind him, hooded and chained; while half-a-dozen others had been tied back over sawhorses, their wrists tied to the corral's fence, forming improvised benches or tables. She called them 'mules', bio-sculpted from male to female, and truthfully they did look like slave girls in their late teens or early twenties. Not that you could tell much with the tight hoods they had locked on, but he wished there was something he could do; although it seemed to have the support of both the Empire and the local planetary authorities. He looked up as Dr. Tannenbaum shouted something…

* * *

Yuki came to when her collar ignited in pain, and she arched her back, screaming into her gag. After a few seconds it stopped, and while she panted, she found herself tied to a wooden frame by her waist, her knees widely separated and tied, her ankle shackles tied to the wooden frame, and her wrist shackles to a rough wooden beam, supporting her as she lay in midair. Hanging her head back, she could feel the ring of her leash through her hood against the bottom of her chin. She moaned slightly, and felt the end of metal probe touch her bare breasts, "Silence, mule." She moaned again, and the probe moved to her right nipple. There was a shock, and she screamed again into her gag.

"Not even useful as furniture, are you, mule?" the woman asked, distracted, using a supple, thorned switch on her breasts. Yuki gave a small scream, but her new mistress had walked away, calling, "Get the slave over here and strap her down."

George maneuvered the first slave girl into position, bent backward over the 'platform' provided by the mule-slave's body, running her leash down and around the other girl and clipping it to the ring on her hood. She whimpered in fear, he nudged her legs apart and leaned forward, his fingers brushing against the penalty brands on her left thigh as he unlocked her slave belt. Another graduate student brought one of the three intact male slaves forward; he had already been dosed with the local drug 'Maat'. While he was wearing only a gag, his eyes were wild and he remained cuffed, as he had been convicted of killing slaves. The other fellow unlocked his slave belt and said, "Take the slave."

With a growl, he almost leaped on the bound slave, who screamed in terror through her gag. George stepped back, saying quietly, "This ain't right, Pete. This ain't right."

Pete grunted, "Yeah, but what the hell are we gonna do? Tannenbaum has our paperwork, man, she's got her eyes firmly fixed on the Nobel in Oslo, and we're just one step up from these slaves, man. She's got the local government and the Empire behind her, and she's said that when we're finished we can play with the mules. I don't know about you, man, but I don't get enough nookie to turn it down, even if they ain't real women." He raised an eyebrow, "Damn, that guy's fast. You pull him back while I finish her off and record the collar numbers."

"Why me?"

"Man, you played in the NFL before your knee went south. You're a big fucker, and he's aggressive. If he tried to fight, you could take him, no sweat."

"Yeah," George replied. "It's still rape, man, and we're accessories."

"They're mules and animals we're renting, Mr. Brenner. It's not rape." Dr. Tannenbaum said as she walked over. "He is fast, isn't he? I'll have to look into that Maat root. Carry on," she said as she walked away, while Pete, the skinny nerd, brought over another slave.

* * *

'_Think, Yuki, think_,' she told herself. '_What can I do_?' She grunted as another slave was shoved on top of her, the girl's chain leash running around her armpits, she heard the squeals of fear and the grunts of the drugged male slave as he raped the other girl. Her steel cuffs scraped and abraded her belly, but she was still luckier … at least so far. She had overheard the two men talk, heard the woman call her 'mule' and the one man, Pete was willing to rape her, although he seemed somewhat reluctant. The other man, George, didn't like the situation he was in, and was looking for an out. She didn't know if he could or would help her, she was tied pretty tightly…

'_Can I apperate_?' she wondered. Normally, you had to know two things (assuming you had the power to cover the distance required), the starting and ending points for safe apparition. Blind apparition risked her materializing somewhere dangerous, like midair or the middle of a river or the ocean, but also splinching, the appearance of different body parts in different locations – a foot here, an arm there. While on Earth splinching was repairable by specialists, here those specialists weren't available. Also complicating the matter was the amount of steel she was wearing, which inhibited her magic somewhat, and the fact that she didn't know where on the planet she was. She thought she was still somewhere near Riverside, but she thought she remembered a boat ride, which could put her just about anywhere.

'_Second problem – I have no wand, and third, I'm a collared slave girl_,' she thought. '_I don't even know who my registered owner is_,' she added to herself. '_Fourth problem, even if I do escape, my collar has a tracking circuit, so my owner, whoever he or she is, can find me easily. Fifth, I'm kept bound, so I couldn't swim if I needed to. Being a slave girl sucks_…' she thought with a snort.

"That's the idea, keep your spirits up, girl," George said softly. She whimpered, and he patted her knee as another slave was put on to be raped.

* * *

"You coming, George?" Pete asked as they were loading the wagon.

"Yeah, give me a minute," he replied. He bent down, tying his boot and saying quietly to the two mule slaves still hanging by their wrists from the fence. "I don't know what I can do, if anything, but several of us don't like this research." The two girls whimpered softly, "If it comes to buying you versus slitting your throats, I'll try to buy you girls. I'll work on the other guys tonight. You've got a few more days of this. Okay?" Yuki whimpered softly once, followed by the other girl. She heard the rustle of his clothing as he left.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 8, 2002: 22:00 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 27 Primus, 163, 09:40 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, High Town, Cam's quarters:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Coming!" Cam called to the knock on the door, and she looked through the peephole. Two women stood there, and she opened the door. "Hello, mistresses …" she started.

"Quick, inside, before someone sees us," the elder woman said. "I'm Larisa, this is Nadia."

"Oh, yes, please come in, mistresses," Cam said as she stepped away from the door. "Why are you concerned about people seeing you, mistresses?"

"This is the slave section of town," Nadia said. "Free women aren't supposed to go here, we had to sneak around."

"I see…" Cam replied; closing and locking the door and turning. "May I offer mistresses refreshment?"

"Tea, please, and you don't have to use the 'mistresses' title with us. In public, we'll use the 'mistress' and 'slave' speech, but here in private we don't have to. My Piotr gave us a quick briefing," Larisa said, settling herself in a chair while Nadia took another. "We are Russian, and he said you were an undercover American."

"What else?" Cam asked, arranging the tea service on a platter. She brought it out from the kitchen and set it on a low table, pouring cups.

"Not nearly as much as he knows, of course," Nadia replied, passing a cup to her mother. "I am to be your aide, your go-and-fetch girl, and as a free female, I will have more authority than a slave girl in that position. Larisa will be your assistant; with signing authority and your tutor in politics, as you are not Russian you will need those lessons." She smiled slightly, "Piotr also mentioned that some other undercover slaves were to be present, you would know who they were, but I was to try to determine them, and also to develop my own network."

("You know, I've heard it said, but I never really believed it. Russians really are born to conspiracy,") Cam said in Russian. ("That's a compliment, by the way.")

("And taken as such,") Larisa replied. ("You have an excellent St. Petersburg accent. Very high class. Where did you learn it?")

("Monterey language school, with the US Marines,") Cam replied. ("Force Recon. Sneak 'n' peek, hunt 'n' shoot.")

("You're Spetsnaz!") Nadia said excitedly. ("I always wanted to do that!")

("I think they're starting up Special Forces and Intelligence training on Corfu, but first you'd need to get through Imperial Army training, then the Imperial Marines before going into those specialties. My own training was brutal; they had a high washout rate.") Cam said, taking a sip of tea.

("Oh, my child…") Larisa said softly.

("Who is almost of age, here at least,") Nadia replied. ("Piotr mentioned that you would need to do some housecleaning at the Ministry, which is why he gave us an organizational chart, and we've done some thinking on that. Tomorrow is the first of Secundus, and Firsday, so what we were thinking…")

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 10, 2002: 04:00 (GMT)  
Firsday, 1 Secundus, 163, 08:54 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, High Town, Commerce Ministry:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Cam waited to go through the slave entrance in the deep tunnels below High Town. The line crept forward, as two guards were more interested in discussing the news (the Lieutenant Governor had been killed along with two other Terrans, a dark haired slave girl had been recorded there at the time and was wanted for questioning), while one of the four slept and the last read the local paper while drinking tea. Finally, she bent at the waist and stepped forward into the low entrance, a wooden beam swung into place under her neck, confining her, while she waited for one of the guards to pay attention to her. Finally the reader put his paper down and eyed her, "I don't know you."

"I am to start in the Minister's office today, master," she replied as she semi-crouched in the low tunnel entrance. "My number is 81845, master," she added as the beam under her chin forced her to look up at him. "I should be on your list."

He idly reached for a sheet, examined it; then grunted. "So you are. What's in your bag, and do you know where the office is?"

"Yes, master, and it is information for the Minister."

He kicked the release, "Well, go on with you, then. Next?"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 10, 2002: 07:45 (GMT)  
Hogwarts, 5****th**** year Potions:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The bell rang and Professor Snape automatically said "Settle down," to the already silent, attentive class. "Today is your midterm examination, you have done this before. If you have not already, place your mobile in the box, you will have one hour to complete the written examination with ink and quill I supply. At eight forty-five you will turn in your papers, complete or not, and draw a potion from the bowl, which you will then brew, correctly, using only your notes, in the remaining hour." He turned over an hourglass. "Begin."

* * *

"Good luck in math exam, guys," Arthur said as he headed off to his second-year students after the potions exam.

"Prat," Charlie called.

"Hey, we have to grade them, y'know," Mattie replied.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 10, 2002: 08:00 (GMT)  
Firsday, 1 Secundus, 163, 14:54 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, High Town, Commerce Ministry:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Saas'n strolled into his outer office on the top floor of his ministry, tossing his binder to one of his slaves and ignoring the others. Already thinking of what he needed to do, he pulled up short as a blonde slave asked, "May I help you, master?"

"What are you doing behind my desk, girl? Get out, and report for punishment!"

"I can't do that, master," she replied. "You must be previous Minister Saas'n. If I did so, I would be disobedient to my mistress, Governor Sullivan. She directed me to take over this ministry and clean it up; I have already had the Security Ministry arrest several senior subordinates for corruption." She paused, "Looking over the books, I think we can add you to that list. Do you have a speaker-at-law?"

"But … but … I am Minister! I am of House Baasht!"

"Then perhaps House Baasht will assist in covering your legal expenses, master," she said, closing a binder. "The Finance Ministry will be forwarding an independent audit, I will ask them to send a copy to your speaker-at-law, so you may properly prepare your legal defense." She looked to the side, "Ah, please go with these two masters. Your personal property will be sent to your home. Good day, master."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 11, 2002: 07:45 (GMT)  
Terran system, L-1 station, 1 g Holiday Inn™:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Edward filled his plate from the breakfast buffet and returned to his table, smiling and giving a courteous nod to the waitress who had refilled his water glass in his brief absence. He sat, polishing his silverware before cutting and savoring his first bite of melon. He did enjoy this station, even if it were on the nominal reason of 'reacclimating' to one gee, one reason was the absolutely fresh food, picked only minutes before. He had taken a tour and seen the gardens here, and had been impressed with them and their animal husbandry.

'_I certainly hope the Martian farms turn out as well_,' he thought. Indeed, there were separate pressure domes built just for the gardens, optimized for agriculture with a higher CO2 and moisture content in their atmospheres. That had produced the requirement for greater automation and for those workers to wear breath masks for supplemental oxygen; however those had been fairly easy to accomplish. He opened his mostly-complete report, turning to the Mars planetary section, and noting, yes, he had mentioned their plans for building specialized greenhouses for particular crops.

He munched a bit more, finding the report on LSB Engineering, and preparing to annotate it. They had emailed him their report on their drone and a copy of its various logs, which he found most interesting. Their target had been Tau Ceti, a G8v star 11.9 light years away. Their drone had dropped five AU 'south' and ten 'out' of the Sol system's ecliptic. This had been done for navigational checks; also to avoid the asteroid belt and the system warp limit. It had then engaged its FTL drive and arrived without incident in a comparative point in the target system in a little under fifteen minutes, giving a net speed of .793 light years a minute, or 47.6 light years an hour, much faster than any ship he knew of. Taking the time for additional navigational checks and passive sensor scans, it had then reversed its course, arriving back in Mars' orbit within three hours.

"Most interesting indeed," he murmured, checking their math. "Perhaps a trip to another star for verification would prove educational. An unoccupied system such as a red dwarf, perhaps. I am concerned with the acceleration figures, although as it stands it could provide a useful drive system for a missile. It does need more testing, especially with a live crew on board. I would also like to know what the emission signature is."

Turning the page, he considered the yards in Archimedes and Copernicus craters…

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 11, 2002: 08:45 (GMT)  
Luna, Copernicus shipyard, bay 37:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Here we are, bay 37," Don said to the two young women as he ushered them into his office. "I'll introduce you to your floor bosses in a minute, but before I do, there are a couple things I want to say." He sat behind his desk, pointing at the two chairs before it. "I've been working in shipyards, man and boy, since before I was legal. At Bath Iron Works, I've built destroyers and cruisers, at Newport News, I built submarines and carriers, and let me tell you, riding the flight deck of a carrier that's surfing the waves of a Force Eight blow is something else."

He shook himself; then said, "I ain't no feel-good, politically correct HR type. You're both young women, company policy is that you get knocked up; you get shipped home, no ifs-ands-or buts about it. The bay outside that door is tunneled under two hundred meters of lunar rock, but we ain't taking chances. You saw the docs about that?"

"Yes, sir, that's handled," Tara said.

"Good. I'm Don, not 'sir'. I get my hands dirty, even if it's on a keyboard instead of a welding torch nowadays. Second point is this: Safety. My shops got a triple-A safety rating and zero accident rate because I'm an asshole about it, and so are my guys. You got the equipment, you wear it, you got questions, there ain't no stupid questions. Lurch or Knife can't answer them, you come to me. Every one of us qualifies for safety bonuses, and that ain't chicken feed. You two ain't gonna blow that for us. Capish?"

"Yes, Don," Mara said, adding, "Knife?"

"Full blooded Sioux warrior, 'cording to the old traditions of his tribe. You last long enough, you'll get a name, gotta pay your dues first. Every single one of us started where you are, cuttin' steel. Any other questions?" He waited, then said, "Come on, I'll introduce ya."

* * *

"'Kay, this here's the bay floor. You see that yellow 'n' black stripe line? That's the safety line. You step over that line, you are actively wearin' your safety gear. That's hard hat, safety glasses, an' hearin' protection at a minimum. Take a look at the guys, you'll see."

The two girls looked out, on the left were railroad stake cars with steel plates waiting to be worked, recessed in the concrete floor, as were two large skips, one labeled 'Al only' and the other 'Fe only'. One stake car was empty, its steel distributed to various workstations, at which steel plates were being cut, shaped and welded. Two of the workstations had slabs of steel on end, with silvery aluminum templates attached, but no workers assigned.

"Don…" a very deep voice resonated behind them, and Mara and Tara turned; then looked up. And up. A very tall man with a graveyard pallor and emaciated frame regarded them in silence.

"Lurch isn't usually this talkative," another man said, and the two girls snapped around. They hadn't heard either man approach; this one was trimming his nails with an absurdly long knife. "I'm Knife. You (he pointed at Tara) are with me. For now, your name is Grass. You (he pointed at Mara) are with Lurch, your name is … "

"Meadow," Lurch rumbled. "Gear. Come."

* * *

"These are personnel modules," Knife said. "Eventually they'll be installed on either warships or civilian ships, but we build to mil-spec." He picked up a stapled diagram, "We're going to be building hundreds, if not thousands of these, which get lifted to the orbital yards. These are one of the first steps in the assembly of those ships. Here's what it's going to look like, you can see a completed one on that railroad car. Go take a look later. For now, looking from the interior passageway outboard, we've got two twin cabins on two decks. There is a life pod on the right side, this entire module will be docked into the ship's frame and connected by other crews."

'Grass' and 'Meadow' nodded, 'Meadow' asking, "Why is there that aluminum cover on them?"

"Protection," 'Lurch' said. 'Knife' expanded "You've seen modular homes and trailers on the roads, we use aluminum, which we can recycle easily as opposed to stretch film or plastics, which we can't. This way, we can simply park them on the surface or in orbit and they can temperature – stabilize there. Also serves as protection against micro-meteorites. Same as that gold foil NASA uses." He clapped his hands, "Okay, you're both checked out on arc machines?"

'Grass' raised her hand, "I prefer oxy, please."

'Knife' grunted. "'Kay. We'll get your sister set up on station 'B' and you on 'D'."

* * *

"Oh, my knots have knots," Mara said in the shower. "I never thought I could get this dirty, either."

"Bring a bandana as a sweat rag and a couple four-liter bottles of cold water tomorrow," another girl said. "You'll sweat it off, but you're now officially a member of the union." Tara made a questioning sound, "Orbital shipfitter's union. I have to say that Wayne may be filthy rich and the Queen, but she keeps an eye out for her people. You follow her safety rules and the union's, you'll work hard but you'll also make good money and good bennies." The shower shut off, "Another thing. Tomorrow bring a second duffle bag with another complete change of clothes, including underwear. You'll leave that in your locker." She moved to the door of the locker room, toweling off. "Personally, I'm just as glad there are so many guys here. They don't give a damn about makeup."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 11, 2002: 13:06 (GMT)  
Hogwarts, 2****nd**** year History class:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Very well," Professor Lupin said, closing the folder with the attendance. "We've done these examinations before, you know how it goes. Place your mobile in the box going about, I'm supplying the quills and parchment, and the subject is what we've been covering, the fifteenth century. 1401 through 1500." There was the expected groan, and he smiled and picked up some photocopied sheets. "Pass these back, please."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, December 12, 2002: 08:57 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Holiday Inn:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"'Ere y' go, guv, the Holiday Inn," the driver of the 'black cab' said. "Be twelve and thirty."

"Keep it," Edward said, handing over a twenty pound note, and the driver tipped his head as he helped get his kit out of the boot. He had wondered, now he could ask. "'Par'me, guv, but what is that you're wearin'?"

"It's a skinsuit, a space suit," Edward replied. "I started out at the L-1 station, transferring to GEO, then to LEO and down to the airport. There are various … plumbing … connections I'll need to remove once I'm in the hotel room."

"Ah."

"Besides, I _really_ want a shower."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, December 13, 2002: 06:47 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 4 Secundus, 163, 25:00 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, coastal road, north livestock area:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Dr. Tannenbaum, where are the mule slaves?" George asked, looking up from the slave he was working on as she walked through the lab.

"I had them sent off for Enhancement," she replied. "That should improve their low value, and then I'll sell them off. I put in a claim for title with Slave Control for them, as their recorded owner was Yuki Fukuda, who's vanished. She's a suspect in the Castellano murder; apparently she owned the slaves, maybe she's hiding among them." She looked at her assistant, "You interested in a mule slave, Brenner?"

George carefully controlled himself, "Yes, I could use one or two around the apartment. Other guys were thinking the same thing."

The doctor thought about it, "Enhancement will cost two hundred grams per. I'll sell each one for four hundred grams, plus the usual taxes and so forth."

George did the simple math, '_Forty eight bucks per girl_?' then said, "Done."

"I'll have her chained outside your apartment, Brenner. For now, get the fertilized eggs out and into the sequencer. Once all the slaves have been done, we're going to return them to their rightful owner while we play with their DNA."

"Hear that, girl?" he asked the slave that was strapped down to his table, her slave belt unlocked. She whimpered and pulled at her leather straps.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, December 13, 2002: 12:10 (GMT)  
Hogwarts, Slytherin table:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Oh, man, I am glad those are over with," Connie Koslowski said. "Only exam left is my sculpture class, and I've got that nailed."

"Lucky you," Mattie said. "We have to have the graded exams turned in by noon Sunday, which means we work on them while you lot are on the Express going back to London." She took a gulp of coffee, "Damn, I wish we had a scanning machine, but no, the Ministry called it 'muggle foolishness'.

"Idiots."

"The Ministry? No arguments here," Professor Sinestra said as she walked by. "Miss Bones, Miss Tonks, I would ask a favor. Emma will be riding the train with her mates; could you keep an eye out for her?"

"Sure," Sprink replied, and Ami nodded.

"Good," Aurora said with a relieved smile. "I don't want to be the hovering, overprotective type of mum, but I just can't get all the grading done in time to ride with her, and Edward will meet her at the station."

"No worries," Ami said. "We'll get our favorite Huffies to keep an eye out too."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, December 13, 2002: 18:47 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 5 Secundus, 163, 08:00 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, north livestock area, 'free' quarters:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," George called to the knocks on his apartment's door. He undid the locks, and saw two delivery slaves standing there, a kneeling, hooded slave between them. Their faces were masks as one offered a clipboard, "The slave you've purchased, master. Please sign for her."

"I did it to keep her throat from being slit," he said as he scanned the form and signed it.

"Yes, master," the other girl said as she offered a small bag. "The slave's control and programming chips, and the keys to your slave, master. Enjoy your new slave." She gently kicked the kneeling slave's ankle, "Head to the ground and submit to your new owner, slave." The slave whimpered and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the tiled floor as the two left.

George Brenner looked down at his new slave. She was a small girl with somewhat oversize breasts for her frame, with straight black hair that showed around her hood and the lights of her collar. The black ring of a leash circled her neck, slanting forward from her collarbone as the chain pooled between her spread legs. On her back between and below her cuffed arms, he could see the bloody tracks of a recent whipping, and on her left thigh, fresh penalty brands. The bells and rings attached to her wrist and ankle shackles moved and rang as she panted, waiting for his command.

"Stand up, girl, I'm not going to bite," he said, reaching down and pulling her up by the shoulder. "Let's get you in and clean off that blood. God knows your sweating isn't helping, it must sting like hell." He shook his head, "I never thought I'd own a slave when I left Alabama," and saw the girl stumble in surprise. "Inside girl. We need to do some quick talking before I leave for another day of perverted science."

* * *

She was, or looked Asian, he decided as he tossed the hood and blindfold pads aside. "Girl, I'm going to leave that gag on for now, because this is going to be painful. However, I have to clean and put antibiotics on those whip marks, front and back." She whimpered once, regarding him, her new owner, then stood, her sandaled feet making a slapping sound on the tile floor, and moved to a piece of equipment George hadn't figured out. She leaned down, attaching the outer rings of her ankle shackles to snaps, then reaching up to do the same to her wrists. She then motioned 'up' with her right index finger, and George said "Ah. I wondered about that thing." He moved to the wall and examined it, then used a small crank to take up most of the slack in the steel rope. She regarded him from between her arms, then whimpered once and pointed up again. "Pull you up?" and she whimpered once and nodded.

"That would make treatment easier," he agreed, and gave the crank another couple turns, so she was hanging, her toes barely off the floor. "You okay?" and she whimpered once, nodding. He arranged her hair, awkwardly tucking it through the head-straps of her gag. "Sorry, but this is going to hurt," he said as he started to clean her injuries and she squealed in pain.

* * *

George looked at the clock, "I have got to get to work. I'll let you down and …" she whimpered twice, shaking her head. "It's going to be late tonight when I get back; I work past twenty-five most nights," he said. "You sure you don't want me to…" She shook her head, double-whimpered again, and waved her fingers at the door. "Okay. I'll at least try to keep you cool. Let me arrange a fan for you."

* * *

At work, George nodded at Paul, taking the mug of tea his friend handed him, and wishing for the millionth time it was coffee. They looked around, and Paul said, "I got my slave earlier this morning," he said quietly. "Someone beat her bloody."

"Your slave girl?" John Rogers asked quietly. "Yeah, mine too. Same with Ralph and the other two guys. We're at least saving their lives, guys; although I don't know what we're gonna do with them when we go back to Earth."

"I was thinking about that," Paul said. "I was thinking they could use us here, either in one of the sub-colonies, or in the hospital at Riverside. Let's face it, the only thing keeping us from having 'MD' behind our names is sitting the boards, this qualifies as our internship. We can free our girls here and …"

"And we wouldn't have to deal with Tannenbaum and her perverted science," John said. "Finish out our contract here and cash out our return tickets."

"Sounds like a plan," George agreed. "For now, we got DNA to hack."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 14, 2002: 06:24 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Gryffindor table:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Hey, you're up early," Arthur told his sister Julie as he leaned over her seat at her house table.

"Well, I just have the elective exams today, and I'm finished." She scooted aside, then looked at her older brother as she cast a privacy charm, "You need to rest; you look tired."

"Lucky you," he replied. "I've got to grade the exams and turn them in to the Headmistress before I can leave." He changed the subject, "I got an email from Elena; she went up to the _Nevis_ to send it. They're running a few days behind on Tosul, so they probably won't make it back to meet us in London; she's guesstimating the nineteenth or twentieth. On the other hand, we'll have ownership of a small shipbuilder and all the equipment necessary to build what we need."

"So we'll meet them in Gotham, then. What else?"

"Dad really, really needs to decompress. Elena's doing what she can; she's his aide, which is good. They bought some extra equipment, which the _Nevis_ will bring home and we can install somewhere like Copernicus or Archimedes. She's also got some shopping done, and they've picked up a bunch of those 'disposable' slaves, forty or so. The witch on the _Nevis_ tested them with her wand …"

"Blindfolded of course."

"Of course, and she wrote down the collar numbers. Anyway, five of those forty got sparks, which is twelve and a half percent."

Julie blinked, "That's … high."

"You're right, and for now, they've been transferred into our staffing guild there, so they can work in our offices there while we decide what to do with them. Anyway, that and getting that manufacturing equipment, missile designs, that kind of thing is what's eating up time." He sipped a glass of orange juice. "Elena also said she'd like to go off to Corfu after the first, she wants to go through Basic and get formally commissioned as an officer. She mentioned Special Ops, which Mom is going to freak over."

"Oh, yeah. Other than that, how is she?"

"She seemed okay in her email, I guess she's worked her way through her problem."

"Good. You said you're going to be a day late."

"Yeah, I need to pick up some stuff in New York. There's a jeweler from London that's meeting me in New York, they've worked up some samples of the Imperial Crown Jewels. Paste, so not the real thing, but I'll bring them with me to Gotham. By the way, we're being met by one of the Gotham people's 'boys' at the airport, a favor to Mattie." He expanded on that with a frown at his sister's raised eyebrow, "The Penguin, Cobblepot. Major underworld boss, he's sending his 'boys' for our security. He's apparently got a 'deal' with Mattie. I'm not happy about it, but with the family security and all …" He shrugged. "Anyway, slight change of plans. I'm meeting Connie Koslowski and her mom at LaGuardia and staying with Steve at a midtown hotel the night of the fifteenth. I meet the jeweler Monday the sixteenth; then we go on to Gotham and Mattie's house."

"Okay, but how do you know London jewelers?"

"Two reasons, Steve picked up a ring for Crystal, and Professor Snape went there to get one for Bella." His sister's eyes were wide, and she was trying to stifle a squeal. "Keep it quiet, all right? Neither of them know." Julie nodded rapidly and bit her knuckle.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 14, 2002: 07:47 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 5 Secundus, 163, 22:00 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, north livestock area, 'free' quarters:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Yuki looked up as the door lock rattled, and her new owner entered. He latched the door, coming over to her and asking, "How are you, girl?"

She whimpered once, pointing with her chin to the suction station and twisting her pelvis as she hung from her wrists. He grunted, "Let me take a look at you before I let you down." He carefully did a professional examination, adding, "I brought a legal pad with me, I want you to tell me what hurts and what doesn't." She whimpered again as he said, "You're looking better, the cuts are starting to heal over, but you're still going to have scarring. You get any rest?"

She whimpered once, spreading her fingers, and he moved to the crank, releasing her so she dropped down to kneel. He released her wrists, "Go suction, I've got some food for you, and I'm going to put more antibiotics and an analgesic on you. Why did they whip you, girl?"

She shrugged, tapping her collar; then pointing at him. "Go on, suction," he replied.

* * *

He regarded the girl, his slave girl, as she knelt and finished writing, then handed him the legal pad. He sat back, reading it over, then looked at her over his glasses, "Girl, I get the definite sense that you're a Terran. Are you?" She reluctantly whimpered once, and he passed the pad back. "Name and hometown, please."

_Yuki Fukuda, Tokyo_, she wrote.

He passed the pad back, "You know they're looking for you about Castellano's murder. They want to question you."

_Master, I was with you for the last several days, before that chained in coffle. Where are we, master? _

"As far as I can determine, about three hundred miles north of Riverside. When were you sold?"

_22 Primus, I think, master. You know 'questioning' means torture to a slave. What day is it? _

"And Castellano was murdered the twenty-seventh of Primus. Today's the fifth of Secundus, so you've been chained as a slave for two weeks. There's no way you shot Castellano and those two other guys, unless you can be in two places at once."

_Except that I'm a slave, master. They have a suspect, all they need to do is arrest her and close the case, and she'll be publicly tortured to death for the killing of three free persons. It doesn't matter that she's innocent; she's a slave_. She paused; then wrote, _Master, I am a slave. I have no rights. I am an animal that dared to attack and kill free persons_.

"Except you didn't do it." She whimpered twice and regarded her new owner. "Well, that changes things. I was thinking about staying here as a colonist, and freeing you, but if I do that, I can't protect you, and you'll be …" She drew a finger across her throat, and he nodded. "If I keep you as my slave, they'll at least have to get my permission to do anything." She nodded; then shifted, extending and crossing her wrists to him. He thought for a moment, then reached forward and clasped her wrists in one of his hands, "I accept you as my slave." She whimpered once and sagged in relief.

"Okay, you're not doing anything but resting until that whipping is healed up," he said. "That includes wearing clothing, cleaning, anything like that. Did you have any problems today?"

_Boredom, master_, she wrote.

"Well, nobody's died of that yet. Keeping you like that means there's no contamination of the wounds, but that also means there's no snuggling, and I'm not raping you. I still don't like the way that was done. No, any sex you're going to initiate."

_You're going to make your girl work at it, aren't you_? She drew a little smiley face. _I want you now, master, but I agree that would be painful. If you can wait, so can I_. She stood, leaned forward to kiss him; and then walked over to shackle herself for the night.

* * *

George regarded his girl. He had stopped by the library on the way home and picked up a copy of _Slave Ownership for Beginners_. Like any good researcher, he had made extensive notes before stopping by the local supply and picking up several things. He had changed her bindings to make things more comfortable for her, including support for her shoulders so she could breathe more easily. He had restored the blindfold and hood, and the feeding gag allowed him to slide various antibiotics and rapid healing drugs down her feeding tube. In addition, he had given her a tranquilizer and a sleeping aid, only half of the recommended dose because she was such a small girl. Now, she slept deeply. She had chained herself with her arms and legs stretched wide, all he had done was add a couple hooks that went under her armpits and supported her shoulders on the bar, relieving pressure on her diaphragm. He anticipated no more than a week for her to heal; he was getting close to his contract end, and needed to decide how to handle their future.

'_Be realistic, George_,' he told himself. '_Pete may have put it more crudely, but Mama, God rest her soul, wanted you to find yourself a nice girl and settle down. Well, Yuki IS a nice girl, except you've bought her, damn it_.'

'_Yes, you've bought her, a slave. What would have happened to her if you hadn't_?' His other side argued back. '_There's a good likelihood she'd be dead now. So what if she's sterile? Didn't cousin what's-her-name have her tubes tied? You're doing the right thing, even if she's forced into crossing her wrists to you. Once we have that threat eliminated, you can offer her freedom_.'

'_Except she's not in a common collar_,' the first side argued. '_You'll need to look up what the yellow-green-red lights mean, but it's not going to be an easy thing. Furthermore, she's Enhanced, so she's going to be wearing a collar for the rest of her life_.'

'_One step at a time, one step at a time. First we get away from Tannenbaum, free and clear, with all our paperwork and equipment she's holding. We can stop by Riverside, see if we can get in to see the Governor and brief her in on what Tannenbaum is doing, and prove that Yuki couldn't have killed Castellano_.'

'_And then, George_?' he asked himself.

'_We play things by ear_,' he replied. '_If we can free Yuki with the Governor's assistance, or even Wayne's, great. If not_ …' he paused. '_If not, we see what Yuki wants to do_.'

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 15, 2002: 06:32 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogsmeade station:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Aurora Sinestra watched anxiously as the Express pulled out of the station; then dialed her mobile. "Edward? The train just left, you'll be there?" She nodded, then exhaled, "Yes, love you too. See you tonight or tomorrow." With a little sigh, she flipped the mobile closed, as Hagrid put a hand on her shoulder. "Y' done wh' y' can, 'rora. 'Y g' people tae watch oot f' her on th' train, an' Ed'rd w' be meetin' her train." He gently squeezed her shoulder, "Nae, c' inside 'oot 'o th' snow an' hae a nice hot cuppa."

"I just never thought being a parent could be so HARD," she replied as she reached up to give one of his massive fingers a squeeze. She looked down the track; then sighed. "Yes, let's go have a cuppa with the rest. Maybe the elves still have some sticky buns left."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 15, 2002: 13:44 (GMT)  
Terra, London, PRC embassy:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The comrade general looked at his reliable sergeants, ("Comrades, we have received orders from Beijing regarding the school train from Hogwarts. Our MSS comrades will be inside performing a special operation, we are to prevent outside interference. However, I feel you must know the political situation behind the unofficial modifications to those orders…")

* * *

("Comrades,") Comrade Major Chai said to the team she would lead, ("We have special orders from the Politburo, and I have a … modification of those orders.")

("Comrade,") Won gestured at the small private room of one of London's innumerable Chinese restaurants. ("We have received those orders from Comrade Dai. What modification do you speak of?")

Chai took a breath; then said, ("Comrades, have you considered the political results of Comrade Dai's orders? We serve the people, yes, but perhaps it would be most beneficial to the people, not only of the People's Republic, but of the world, to be … not entirely successful.")

There was a ringing silence as they looked at each other, then Won said, ("Comrades, perhaps it would be best if we spoke plainly. Comrade Dai's orders require us to act as terrorists, killing innocent civilians, and to do so in a most gruesome and horrifying way. Furthermore … ")

("Furthermore, comrade, we are to do so disguised as failed terrorists,") Mai put in. She sighed, scrubbed her face, ("Comrades, this plan of Comrade Dai's is … suboptimal. If I am to die for the People's Republic, it will be in the uniform of the People's Republic, not disguised. Make no mistake, comrades, the British will fight back, they are not sheep going willingly to the slaughter. They fight for their families, their children, as we would. This is a stain on our honor and that of the People's Republic.")

("Then perhaps, comrades, we can modify the orders to satisfy the letter of Comrade Dai's orders by wearing the black cloaks specified, underneath which we wear the uniform of the People's Republic,") Won said. ("Comrades, I have no particular desire to murder innocents. I propose that if we meet stiff resistance, we …")

("Perform a 'tactical withdrawal'?" (Chai finger-quoted.) "After all, comrades, if we are outnumbered and outgunned, our orders say nothing about fighting to the death.")

("And if we are captured, comrades?")

("We are carrying out the orders of our lawful superiors,") Chai replied. ("Each of us will have a copy on us. Still, speaking personally, I wish to be able to retain my honor, and will be carefully choosing the spells and curses I use,") she added, looking each of her people in the eye. Each of them returned her gaze before nodding. ("Excellent. Comrades, I will meet you at Kings Cross station.")

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 15, 2002: 17:53 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"There! Done! Finished!" Arthur said, throwing down his red quill and marking the final grade on the cover sheet. He looked over at the other instructors, asking, "How do you do them so quickly?"

"You do not correct them as homework, you simply mark them correct or not," Pomona replied. "That allows you to double-check the marks. In the time you've taken to do one class, I've done four. Cho did the same thing when she first started teaching."

"I have done three, however I require fortification from the absurdity with strong tea," Severus added. "Especially in the younger years' essays."

"I knew I shouldn't have required essay questions," Mattie said. "I've got … three more to do; then we can be off. Arthur, you want to call Crystal and Steve? Cindy's gone ahead with our presents; I just want to change out of the school uniform. Other than that, I'm packed and ready for Gatwick. We can meet them there, then floo to LaGuardia ."

"How are we getting to Windfall?" Pomona asked.

"I'm borrowing a passenger module from Uncle Kal; we can meet on … when? Friday? Saturday?" she replied. "I'd prefer Friday, gives an extra day to sort things out."

"Hopefully Dad and Elena will be back by then, we can get a quick briefing before we go," Arthur said. "I hate to miss Christmas, but …"

"Duty calls," Mattie agreed. "If Friday is good with everyone, we can pick up Madame Laval in New Orleans and then meet everyone here … where? Gatwick?"

"Why not meet at Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park; if Superman is going to be flying us?" Pomona proposed.

"Showoff," Severus replied. "You just want to be seen with him."

"And I'm done," Mattie said, completing her cover sheet with grades. She bundled them together with a sticking charm, then walked up to the head of the table, where Minerva sat.

Accepting them, Minerva leafed through them; then set them in a pile. "Happy Christmas, and to you also, Mr. Morton. Have a safe journey."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 15, 2002: 19:24 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Kings Cross station:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Comrade Major Chai nodded as she did a quick head count of her people outside the station. Every one of them wore their formal uniform, bracing to attention as she inspected them. A few meters away, Comrade General Won also inspected his troops while the civilians watched curiously. She pulled her black robes on, her white mask in an outer pocket (and visible), and then as a last step pulled on her white uniform gloves, addressing them. ("Come, comrades, the train will arrive shortly. Let us go be terrorists.")

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 15, 2002: 19:30 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Kings Cross station, platform 9 ¾ :  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Comrade Major Chai and her team of false Death Eaters apparated into the concealed train platform, however it did not go as planned. Instead of being in separate locations, they were forced into one location by anti-apparition wards, watched over by magenta-cloaked aurors and a number of others, all with wands out and ready. Chai smiled to herself, even as she felt additional wards go up, powerful ones. Yes, they were well and truly trapped, and she shouted a command in Mandarin: ("Discard black cloaks! We fight as soldiers of the People's Republic!")

An old man with a peg leg and missing a chunk from his nose stumped forward. "I'm Moody, Alastair Moody. State yer business."

Chai had heard of this one, indeed a fearsome warrior. She bowed in respect, and he nodded. "I am Comrade Major Chai, of the Ministry of State Security of the People's Republic of China. With respect, Comrade Moody, our orders from Beijing are to capture or kill Wayne, Morton and his siblings, and any others, adult or child, that resist." She waited out the murmurs before adding, "Please step aside, Comrade Moody."

"Thank ye for yer honesty, Chai, but I don't think so."

Chai bowed again, assuming a formal dueling stance, while Moody shook his arms out. "Well, let's get to it, girl."

* * *

Comrade General Won marched his troops into position, turning them to face out, backs to the concealing partition. Holding their rifles at the ready, he turned to face a British Army colonel, who saluted. Returning the salute, the Brit asked, "With respect, sir, what are your orders?"

Won eyed him up and down; then said, "My orders, colonel, are to secure this area. We have information that there will be a terrorist incident."

"Yes, sir, we also have that information. We have the situation in hand, and would ask you to dismiss your men." As the colonel spoke, troops of the British Army appeared, holding their rifles at the ready. The colonel added, "I must insist, sir."

"I am afraid, colonel, that…" The general didn't finish, as there was a scream and a curse went through the plaster partition, which puffed into dust. Won spun and shouted, "Shoulder arms!" as curses and hexes started to punch through the partition.

That partition had stood since the building of Kings Cross station over a century ago. It had been designed to conceal the comings and goings of wizarding trains from muggles. It had _not_ been designed to block bludgeoning hexes and the like. As such, it was rapidly coming apart, as were the Chinese troops, who stoically took curses in the back.

"General! If I may suggest, sir, that some of your troops deploy these shields, it should protect them," the colonel suggested. The General nodded, motioning some of his non-coms to do so. "I must admire your troops' discipline," the colonel added.

"We are PLA," the General replied.

* * *

"Cease fire! Cease fire! Chai called, conjuring a white towel. She waved that, and Moody bellowed, "Off with it, you bloody lot! Cease fire!" He turned to the trapped Chinese troops, "Out with your hands up, wands pointed up!" Chai and her troops did so, turning over their wands as they were searched and cuffed.

* * *

Both General Won and the Colonel turned as the shattered door opened, the Chinese MSS troops marching out. Chai stopped for a moment, asking, "Where is the train?"

"We stopped it in York," Moody said.

"Ah, most prudent," Chai said. "Thank you, Comrade Moody." She bowed, "Comrade General Won."

"Comrade Major Chai," he replied. She moved off, and the Colonel said, "Well, General. What are we to do with you?"

"We cannot request status of Prisoner of War, as we are not at war, nor are we Enemy Combatants," Won started. "Indeed it would be best if we simply returned to the Embassy."

"Except that you are in uniform under arms, General. I appreciate your assistance, and will report the same. Your troops will receive proper medical attention; I think it best that you accept, as guests, Her Majesty's hospitality. Please order your troops to disarm; we shall let the diplomats sort this out."

"I think that best," General Won replied. He turned, "Sergeant!"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 15, 2002: 14:53 (GMT -5)  
Terra, LaGuardia, International floo arrivals:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Thank you," Arthur told the TSA agent. "The time zones bother me; I'm still on London time. It's almost eight pm there." He looked around, "There's my friends now." He waved, and his brother and sister waved back at him, while Connie Koslowski and her mother Beth were talking to Mattie; all three drinking coffee. "Ready?" he asked Steve, who was talking with the detail sergeants from the Port Authority and the NYPD.

"Minute," he said, while the various cops stood around, drinking coffee. Arthur took the opportunity to visit the loo and grab a cup of tea for himself, buying one for Crystal. "I owed you one," he said.

"So you do, or did," she replied with a smile.

"Okay, we're ready," Steve said, coming over to them. "Crystal, you and Mattie will be going on to Gotham with Julie and Bill, while Arthur and I go to Manhattan. See you tomorrow."

"Right," she agreed, then walked over to Mattie, Julie and Bill, heading for the domestic floo as the group broke up.

* * *

(1) RfQ: Request for Quotation invites suppliers to enter into a bidding process for a set of specifications. In this case it is for a small vehicle, the bidders will enter a design for that vehicle that will match or exceed those specifications. Once several have been received, sample units can be produced and tested in a competitive environment.

(2) 'Slugging' a barrel: Making a metal mold of the exact dimensions of the chamber and barrel opening of an older weapon allows the correct sizing, especially with older military firearms.

(3) Bore sighting: Making certain the barrel is correctly aligned with the sights.

(4) MoA: (Minute of Angle) This refers to the accuracy of the rifle. All test shots (usually five or ten) falling within a three centimeter circle at a hundred meters distance, or one inch at one hundred yards. It's a range measurement; obviously not every hunter is going to get that in the field.


	8. 16 31 December 2002

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter VIII: 16 ~ 31 December 2002  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 16, 2002: 07:30 (GMT -5)  
Terra, New York, Holiday Inn Central Park:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

There was a knock on the connecting door, and Steve called, "You awake, bucko?"

"Yeah, just catching up on email; come on in," Arthur replied, and Steve entered through the unlocked door. He grunted, seeing Arthur bent over his laptop. "I'm already showered, pretty much ready to hit the breakfast buffet," the younger man said.

"The store doesn't officially open until ten; Mr. Morley is arranging an earlier opening for us." Steve said, taking a seat on the made bed. "The New York coppers will be meeting us downstairs at 9:15, giving us an escort to Fifth Avenue and the shop, where we'll meet Miss Koslowski and her mum, with a photographer. We then proceed back here, whereupon we pack up and check out, going to LaGuardia and the domestic floo to Gotham. We will be met by Crystal and the local mob …"

"Don't say that word, because they'll be there," Arthur advised. "I'm pretty much packed, just the last minute bathroom stuff and the suit I'm wearing to Harry Winston's."

"Good, same for me. Who's the email?"

"Two, the first was a quick one from Bill, letting me know they arrived in Gotham safely. He talked to a couple of Cobblepot's guys yesterday; they might be doing some voice acting. The one guy apparently did a heck of an impression of a DI**(1)**; he had people down and 'doing twenty.'" (He finger-quoted.)

"Complete with foul language, I presume," Steve commented with a chuckle. He got up, waving his wand to straighten out the mussed bed linens, "Who's the other, your sister?"

"Elena?" Arthur asked, warding his laptop and propping his foot on the dresser to retie his trainer. "Yeah, they got all their stuff, the various slaves are upgraded and certified as needed (he grimaced), and the _Nevis_ will be breaking orbit to head our way later today. Looks like a Friday or Saturday arrival." He put his foot down, "Let's go hit the buffet."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 16, 2002: 07:35 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham City, Wayne Manor, kitchen:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Sorry, I don't DO exercise. I am an _artiste_," Teela said, sipping her coffee.

"And I am a chemist," Misty said, sipping her own cup. "We're not asking you to run marathons, just get the blood pumping. The Waynes have a hell …" (Mama Morton cleared her throat.) "… a HECK of a gym. Take advantage of it."

"We tried," Little Bill said. "C'mon, Miss Imperial Exercise Nut, I am going to crack your record. Six laps, forty eight klicks."

"You wish," Mattie replied. "This is home turf. Loser buys a coffee?"

"You're on," but Crystal cleared her throat, "That's several hours, and you've got that meeting with Mr. Cobblepot this morning."

"Blast. You're right. Sorry, Bill, duty calls. One lap?"

"Only if you wear something other than green," he teased, gesturing with his coffee cup at her green sleeveless leotard and white sweat pants.

"And just what is wrong with this?" Mattie demanded. "Gawd, it's like you want me to be a Gryff or something…" (Julie and Crystal both demanding 'What's wrong with Gryffindor?')

"I'll tell you if you've got a spare day or two. Anyway, Bill, if you tell me about some interesting calls you've taken on the game while I change," and they left. Tomas leaned against a counter, sipping his own coffee. "It would not be a bad idea for you to join us," he remarked to Julie. "Twice around?" She winced and followed them out.

"I must do the breakfast," Mama started, when Cindy popped in, "Cindy does breakfast, Mistress. Youse does not have to." Selina chuckled, "Come on, Maggie. Walk on a treadmill, at least." She eyed Teela, who groaned and said, "All right, all right. Let me go upstairs and change."

* * *

"We have several problems we need to figure out," Teela said, walking on the treadmill next to her mother.

Above her, Selina hung by her ankles, doing sit-ups. "That's a rather vague statement," she commented. "It could apply to a lot of people."

"I was thinking of Mattie," Teela replied. "She has to be seen as an effective head of state, consolidate power, and eventually solve the slavery issue."

"The slavery issue has several different components, depending on whose point of view you're looking at," Babs said, keeping an eye on her daughter. Mary Elizabeth was determined to walk (she was a very determined young lady), and was seated in a small wheeled trainer, which she grimly pushed along. Barbara continued, "One part is the social structure that has been going on for millions, billions of years. There are two classes, slave and free, and while there is some movement between the two, they are essentially static, and primarily gender based."

"Because that is 'how things are' (Teela finger-quoted), and 'how things have always been,' she added. "We need to promote a third alternative."

"Using slaves instead of machinery doesn't make economic sense, but as you said, we're blocked there by social inertia," Selina said. She reached up, grabbing a ring and flipping herself up to the ceiling and another set of rings and bars that hung there.

"If it was good enough for my ancestors, it is good enough for me," Tomas agreed. "The males, in general, see themselves as the masters of the females, even the free females in their houses."

Tomas settled himself on the weight bench, and Hank added, "What we need is to promote another identity for women, females in general, and slaves in particular, other than 'worker' and 'sex toy'. Anyone know how many people, how many slaves we've adopted, and what percentage of them are Enhanced?"

"I think about ten percent are Enhanced," Julie said, where she was spotting for Misty. "As far as how many? Depend on the planet, I guess. Arthur or Mattie could give a better answer, but on Earth, several thousand, I guess." She traded places with Misty, "Why?"

"Bear with me a moment," Hank said. "I know the Enhancement thing controls the slave, any reason why she can't control something else, like a machine?"

"Should be just software and drivers," Misty replied. "I've heard they can 'see' a control panel. What are you thinking?"

"I have an idea of where he's going," Teela said from her treadmill. "Military?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking the Enhancement for things like pilots, need split-second reflexes and decision trees," he replied.

"I hate to poke a hole, but wouldn't space combat be done on a slow basis, because of the distances?" Teela asked. "However I'd suggest making the Imperial military a desirable goal for collared girls. There are two basic categories of slaves, bred and captured, but they're all psychologically beaten down. They are slave, they are worthless, they are animals that are bought and sold." She smirked, "Those advertising and marketing courses are doing some good. The Empire needs a good PR machine behind it."

"Interesting," Selina said, dropping down to land next to Teela. "Please continue." She took a few swallows of ice water, regarding the teenager.

Teela swallowed, facing the older woman. "Okay, here's what I'm thinking. Most of those slave girls, they need to rebuild their self-confidence. It's not enough to simply buy them and free them, that's good on an individual basis, but they need to have both individual self-worth and feel they're part of a team that's doing an important, necessary job." She stepped off the treadmill, getting her own bottle of cold water. "We also need to build up the Imperial military to defend the different systems in the Empire."

"Go on," Maggie said, regarding her daughter. She took a towel and wrapped it around her neck, accepting a bottle of water Selina handed her.

"What I'm thinking is to make military service a viable option. Yes, they may be wearing a collar that never comes off, but that simply marks them as part of the team. You get these girls to go through Basic, through a tough but doable course that builds them up and makes them part of a team, give them a uniform and a code of conduct that reinforces that. Let them know that they've got partners that aren't going to leave them, and even if they're killed, we retrieve the bodies." She took a few gulps of water, "The Israeli military has a code of conduct that requires their troops to respect civilians, they have an incredibly high morale; because they know that value system and that they're some of the toughest troops on the planet. Look at how many wars the Israelis have fought and won."

"And those collars?" Julie asked.

"Make them part of the uniform, change the lights, maybe to the Imperial colors, green, blue, black. That way a slave girl will see one of our troops, especially a bred slave girl, that's now armed, maybe standing guard duty, and wearing a collar like hers, and think 'She did that, maybe I can. Maybe I don't have to be a slave and kneel and say 'Yes Master' all day long.'"

"It would make those masters really nervous to see armed military girls wearing collars," Julie said. "How do we get those slaves to come over?"

Teela shrugged, "That, I don't know. We've planted the seeds; we can offer to buy them to get potentially troublesome slaves away. Hopefully our economy will make people want to do business with us. It's not a problem that's going to be solved quickly; the slave trade's been going on for millions, billions of years."

"And consolidate power?"

"I have A Plan to deal with the Chinese," Mattie said, coming in with Bill. She wore a darker green exercise bra and grey shorts, and claimed a weight bench. "I'm not particularly happy with it, they've declared war on me, and they've tried to kill all of us several times. You saw the coverage of their attack on Kings Cross?"

"We didn't know at the time why we were being taken off the train early," Bill said, moving to spot her. "At least Arthur and Steve will be here later today or tomorrow," he added.

"Elena and Dad by the end of the week," Maggie said. "At least we will have a few days together before you must fly off to attend to business elsewhere."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 16, 2002: 09:00 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham City, Iceberg lounge, office:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

*Kwak* *kwak* Come in, come in, Miss Wayne!" Oswald Cobblepot said, waving his 'boys' outside the office. "Crystal?" Mattie asked, nodding at the door, and she joined them in the hall. "Now then, Miss Wayne …" she heard as the door closed.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 16, 2002: 09:45 (GMT -5)  
Terra, New York, 718 5****th**** Avenue:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Steve pressed the buzzer on the rear entrance of Harry Winston Jewelers while the two New York cops stood around, and the _Times_ photographer shifted his bag of equipment. It opened, a young blonde smiled at them, "Mr. Morton? Mr. Morley is expecting you in Salon Five." She glanced at the photographer and Beth Koslowski, both of who wore 'PRESS' badges, frowned and said, "I don't think our media relations person is in yet."

"We're here about the Imperial Crown Jewels," Beth said, and the two cops looked nervously at each other. "If we can photograph them in a separate location?"

"I'll check with Mr. Morley," and she glanced at Connie. "A friend of mine," Arthur said.

* * *

"Those do look nice," Arthur agreed, as Connie modeled the mockups of the Crown Jewels for the photographer. "Can you use some really large gems?" he asked Mr. Morley.

"I've seen that diamond on display in London, something like that would be wonderful," he agreed. "In that case, we have a glass replica of that size diamond." The blonde assistant got it out, setting it on the display table, and Connie put one of the crowns on it. Photos were taken, and (reluctantly) the blonde assistant started to pack things away with Connie's help.

* * *

"You've got the Crown Jewels," one New York cop said as they emerged. "We called for backup," and they walked down the alleyway, emerging in the snowy morning. On the sidewalk, another six cops stood around. "We're gonna escort ya to the hotel, you can check out, then to La Guardia," the cop continued.

* * *

Wen was frustrated. One of his spies had reported Morton's position, and here he was, but he was about to slip through his fingers. He had taken the precaution of casting glamour spells to make himself appear Caucasian, as the police were certain to be suspicious of Asians. Furthermore, his orders from Comrade Dai required killing them with the poison he had in his pocket, instead of simply shooting Morton and the werewolf.

"I have cast a spell to make you appear pregnant," he told his muggle tool. She was a useless female, perhaps this she could accomplish, although he had needed to control her with _Imperio_. "Approach Morton, distract him. Seek his autograph, loudly claim he has made you pregnant, cause a noisy distraction and sustain it for as long as possible." He cocked the small automatic weapon, placing it in the perambulator he had found and repaired, covering it with a small blanket. "A pregnant woman with a baby carriage will appear harmless. This will allow you closer access, and these Western fools will hesitate to harm you. Go, and hurry!"

He paused, watching her as she approached the group, which was delayed by the photographer and the early lunchtime traffic on the street. His tool was one of several with baby accessories such as carrycots and strollers, and did not stand out. There was also a delivery truck that had parked, blocking access for the limousine to quickly depart. He watched in approval as she called out, approaching Morton. Now was his time to act!

Hurrying over, he loudly accused, "You have cheated on me, Morton, you dog! I demand satisfaction!" This would be useful as a distraction as he palmed his injector, raising his hand to strike.

"_**GUN**_ !" One of the female police officers shouted after looking in the baby carriage, dropping back and drawing her weapon. Wen cursed loudly in Mandarin, shoving toward Morton as screams, shouts and weapons were drawn. He jabbed with the injector, only to be knocked as the useless female kicked the carriage, pulling the weapon out and holding the trigger down…

Connie Koslowski grinned. Not only had she been able to model some of the jewelry, her photos would appear in the _Times_ as part of a larger feature her mom was working on. '_Wayne and Morton: the new Empire_' was her working title. She hoped to score an actual sit-down interview with them later. For now, she left the alleyway behind the jewelry store, with the metal carrying cases of both Morton's gifts (and really nice ones, too!) and the false Imperial Crown Jewels on a luggage cart. The Crown Jewels may have been fake, but they were really, really good fakes, only to be expected from such a top-notch and expensive place. The NYPD looked really nervous, probably thinking she had a couple billion or so in gemstones. One of the cops walked near her as the luggage cart rattled and bumped a bit, leaned forward to catch one of the cases as it started to slide. Really, the thing couldn't stay in place a couple hundred feet, until they got to the limo?

She ignored the passers-by on the sidewalk as her mom's photog caught shots of them and her mom walked ahead. She saw a pregnant girl pushing an old fashioned baby carriage, and she thought something was off. She stopped, adjusting the stack as she leaned the cart against a pole. Her head whipped up when someone shouted "GUN!" and her mom turned, starting to run toward her when she suddenly tripped, and Connie saw the blood…

The crowds made Steve nervous, the local coppers didn't seem disturbed by it, but the density … He scanned the crowd, and saw one wizard's aura, aside from Connie, who was a housemate of Mattie's. He turned, he smelled something, as a young woman pushing an old fashioned pram approached them, shouting for Arthur. He turned to greet the young woman, as the unknown wizard turned, shouting something about Arthur cheating on him with his wife. Steve snorted; it was ridiculous on the face of it, even if Arthur had the time…

He turned, his wand popping out as one of the local coppers dropped back from the baby carriage, shouting "GUN!" The young woman lurched forward, grabbing it and kicking the carriage into the path of the wizard as she raised it, he saw…

Beth Koslowski walked ahead of her daughter, already hoping to be able to squeeze a bit of time from Arthur Morton for some background information. Connie had helped with her emails and the conversation they had had yesterday on the way back from LaGuardia, and this morning. Still, there were things she had held back on; Beth wanted her piece to give a real picture of the young couple. Now if Connie could hook up with someone…

She saw a very pregnant young woman pushing an old fashioned baby carriage, and something didn't click with her. When she had carried Connie, she had _waddled_, as most pregnant women did, but this girl moved … differently. Lightly, a dancer, and she saw one of the female cops approach the girl, peeking in the carriage, then stepping back and shouting "GUN!"

Beth turned; her back toward them as she started to run toward Connie, she had to…

Arthur quietly said to Steve, "Eleven thirty, I'll be glad to get out of here," as he put away his pocket watch in what he considered his 'armor' vest. Unfortunately, a three-piece suit didn't go with the long duster he would have preferred to wear. Connie and her mom would ride with them back to the hotel, where he planned to treat them to lunch, then on to LaGuardia and Gotham. He turned as he was recognized, smiling and waving, then resuming the journey to the limo, while Connie followed with the cases of jewels. He turned as a young woman pushing a baby carriage approached him, asking for his autograph. He reached into a pocket, drawing a fine point Sharpie™ marker for the autograph, then turned, frowning, as a man ran toward him, shouting about how his wife had been fooling around with him. Steve snorted, the man raised his arm as one of the cops suddenly shouted "GUN!" The man's arm came down, Arthur turned to block the blow, he felt a surge of nausea; and then he fell to the ground…

"Oh, god, Mom…" Connie said as she saw her mother lying face down and still in a pool of blood, and she huddled behind the stack of crates. The young woman was robotically holding down the trigger and moving in an arc, she recognized the signs of _Imperio_. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled out her cell, telling it, "Martha Wayne".

* * *

"Excuse me," Mattie said as he cell phone went off, "Hi, Connie! How's …" her face paled, and Crystal turned, as well as her Uncle Clark, who had arrived with Aunt Lois for lunch. "Arthur? Steve?" she asked. "Oh, God…" Turning, she said, "Uncle Clark, we need stasis tanks or something, a couple of them, there's a terrorist attack going on now in New York…"

"Two minutes, I'll get them from the Fortress," he said, and she told the phone, "You heard? Crystal and I will be there in thirty seconds, tops, Superman in two minutes. Hang in there, Connie." She flipped the phone closed; "Fifth Avenue, Manhattan," and they were gone.

* * *

"Mattie's thirty seconds out, Superman in two minutes, max," she told the young cop who crouched near her. "The girl's controlled by a spell, she's an innocent, and she's not pregnant."

"Wonderful," he said. "You stay here, under cover, and…" the rest she didn't hear, there was an earthshaking sonic boom…

* * *

Pamela Stillwater was horrified, but she had no control of her body. She completed the turn, the horrible gun in her hands, and started to turn back as she saw a New York cop aiming at her, there was a fla…

With a tail of superheated air, two figures arrived, dropping down next to the crumpling young woman with an automatic weapon. Connie saw Crystal crouch next to Steve, transform; then howl her grief. The howl spread out, dogs all over Manhattan echoing it as it spread out in ripples.

Mattie crouched next to Arthur, hands on his head as he convulsed, screaming in agony. "Stay with me, Arthur," she prayed as she tried to pull images from his mind. "Superman is coming with a portable med-tank, hang on, please, hold on to my mind." Turning, she shouted, "Crystal, I need Legilimency on the male terrorist!"

"Holy crap, I didn't know Wayne could fly," the young cop said to Connie.

"She's from Gotham; any wonder the Knights beat the crap out of the Mets every year?"

"Yeah, but they're the _Mets_, y'know? Not like they'd play a decent team like the Yankees," he replied. They could hear sirens from emergency vehicles as they tried to fight their way through Manhattan traffic. "It's true that Wayne's a werewolf?"

"Nah, she's not, but one of my other roomies is. It's just a disease that they don't have a cure for yet, like diabetes," Connie said as she tried not to look at her Mom's still body. She looked up as another thunderous sonic boom shook Manhattan, Superman arriving with two large med-tanks on his shoulders. She tried to get up from behind the cases of jewels; the cop pushed her down again. "Not until I say."

'_Arthur, you've been poisoned_,' he heard Mattie's voice in his head, felt her love and concern, and gave his permission to do what she had to do. He felt her mental caress, then she lanced into his recent memories. '_Superman's here, we're going to put you in one of his med-tanks until we figure out a counter-agent for the poison. You'll be in stasis until then, sorry about the pain, love_.' He could feel her suppressed rage on his behalf, and reached out to her. '_We're going to close the lid now. See you shortly, dear. Love you_.'

'_Love you too, give my best to the family_,' he managed to send before she vanished and the pain returned.

* * *

Leo Togletti, NYPD, crouched next to the young Koslowski girl and tried to keep her distracted from the sight of her mom's still, bloody body twenty feet away. He watched as Wayne kept contact with Morton's body up until the last second; then turned as the coffin-like med-tank was closed. Wayne's face was frozen in such elemental fury that he whispered, "Oh my God," as she took a few steps, sank to her knees, and screamed to the heavens.

The sky seemed to ripple as that rage and pain exploded out of her in a crown of white fire that fountained up three or four stories before falling in a dome around the scene, burning the very air, forcing people back as shop windows and parked cars exploded. The snow on the ground vanished in puffs of steam, but surprisingly, he could still breathe, although it felt that the hottest heat wave had descended in the middle of December. He turned, some damn fool newsy was approaching her, calling, "Miss Wayne, _New York Weekly News_, how do you feel about your husband's death?"

"She's gonna kill him," Koslowski said, and took off running toward the fool. Before she could get five feet, she was held in midair as the idiot newsy was thrown back against a blue mailbox by an unseen force with enough power to embed him in the steel. He screamed as the mailbox knocked a fire hydrant off its base, the spray of pressurized water flashing to steam as soon as it left the ground. Wayne saw the _Times_ photographer, still taking photos, gazed at him for an eternal second or two, before her gaze moved on. Leo saw the guy cross himself, and didn't blame him one bit.

"Mattie, let me down, we need to talk," Koslowski called, and Leo could see the concrete ripple and run like thin oatmeal as it started to bubble. He had no idea what temperature concrete boiled at, but was pretty sure it was hotter than he'd like. Still, he was reasonably comfortable, it felt like the mid-80's to him, and he could see the other cops were as he was, somewhat trapped on a small islands of concrete with bubbles of cool air, his was about ten feet across next to the jewelry cases. The only one that seemed to have any movement was the photographer, who floated in a bubble like Koslowski. Unlike her, he seemed to be able to direct it. He watched, horrified as the body of Koslowski's mother flashed to steam with the other bodies, leaving only some jewelry and other effects. Surprisingly, her watch was still running.

"They want a war, they have invited one, they shall receive one," Wayne intoned as she floated cross-legged above the boiling concrete, palms up on her knees. "I call the Apocalypse. I open Four Seals with the blood of these Four Innocents. Fire, Ice, and Iron shall fall from the heavens, the sea and blood shall wash away the fields, the cities and towns of the People's Republic will fall until no stone; no brick shall rest upon another. Death, and Famine, and Disease and War shall ride the ancient lands, until the people once again rule their own lives. I call the Apocalypse …" It wasn't a loud voice, but it carried like the ringing of an ancient bell. Leo started to pray as he had never prayed in church as he saw four skeletal horses and riders in black, white, green and red appear, then gallop off.

"You okay, Officer Togletti?" Superman asked. "Let me get you out of here. Hold tight, that's a fusion plasma fire, burning the hydrogen in the air. Outside those bubbles, it's about eight thousand degrees in the dome. You're lucky she doesn't see you as an enemy."

"No f**n' s*t," Leo agreed. "Even that idiot newsy got off lucky, and so much for a crime scene," Leo said. "After I change my shorts, I'm going straight to church after what she said."

"You're not the only one," Superman said as Leo felt a tiny flicker of _intense_ heat before he landed with the other survivors. "I'm going to try to talk her down, but she just lost Arthur…"

"Yeah. Give her my sympathies."

* * *

"Oh, my God," Selina said as they watched on TV. "This won't be good." She jerked up as she heard her daughter's voice, looking around; the others nodded. The voice intoned, slowly, with the impression of bells, '_They want a war, they have invited one, they shall receive one. I call the Apocalypse_…'"

After the voice faded, they had seen the skeletal horses and their riders appear and pass into the white fire of the dome, then ride off, little Bill asked, "Everyone heard that? It wasn't the TV?"

"TV's on 'mute'," Teela said, pointing at the green letters on the screen, as Superman was seen ferrying people out of the dome. "What the HELL do they teach you in Hogwarts?"

Her sister Julie replied, "Nothing like _that_."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 17, 2002: 08:13 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, Politburo meeting:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Well, comrades, it appears we have finally had some success with Wayne and Morton," the MSS director declared. "Morton was successfully killed in Manhattan yesterday morning."

"With the minor difficulty that Wayne has declared war upon us," the Foreign Minister said sourly.

"We are the People's Republic," the Defense Minister dismissed the comment with a wave of his beefy hand. "What can she do to us? Nothing! You are an old woman if you are concerned about Wayne somehow attacking us. Remember, comrades, historically the one who first declares war _loses_ that war."

The Finance Minister didn't mention that _they_ had first declared war upon Wayne; he saw the same thought on several faces. "She has also called upon creatures of myth and legend, the Four Horsemen, comrades;" he said. "Until they appeared yesterday, we were confident they were exactly that, a myth. Now she has said there will be a rain of Fire, Ice and Iron, and I remind my comrades that Wayne controls the orbitals. What can she do?"

"We can easily shoot down any rock she decides to drop," Defense said confidently. "I have ordered Second Artillery** (2)** to watch carefully for this, and we have put our missile submarine to sea. I say again, she can do nothing, comrades."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 17, 2002: 06:44 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham City, Wayne Manor, kitchen:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Oh, man, do I have a headache," Mattie said as she stumbled into the kitchen. "Cindy wouldn't give me anything for it, either. I know we've got an aspirin here… we're out upstairs…"

"Helena Martha Wayne," her mother said frostily. "You do NOT go off declaring war or raising the dead …"

"Summoning the Immortals, my dear, as I am," a tall blond fellow said, folding the _Daily Planet_'s comics and tossing them on the stack. "_Dilbert_ always gives me a good chuckle." He picked up a cup of steaming coffee and passed it to Mattie. "Get your brain working, my dear; your temporary minions as well as the rest of your family are in the breakfast room."

"Minions?"

Selina fished out a copy of the _Daily Planet_'s front section and held it out. Above the fold it said:

_**WAR !**_

Below the fold in smaller type it said:

_**Wayne loses Morton to Chinese assassin.  
Melts down Central Manhattan, calls  
Four Horsemen against Red China**_

Banging her head against the table, Mattie said, "I thought it was a really bad nightmare…" She raised her head, regarding the blond man, "Where do I know you from?"

"You played poker with me," he replied. "Lucifer, at your service."

* * *

"G'morning, everyone," Mattie said as she semi-stumbled into the breakfast room, an armful of newspapers under one arm, a mug of coffee in the other. She yawned, mumbled, 'Sorry', and took a place near Connie, dropping the papers on the stack with the others. "What's going on?"

"I … my Mom …" and she burst out crying. Mama Morton folded her into a hug, as Julie came over, lead her to a seat and asked, "What do you remember?"

"Um … Uncle … Superman coming, we put Arthur in the med-tank, he was in a lot of pain from that drug the Chinese guy hit him with, I used Legilimency to find out what he knew … he asked me to pass on his love to everyone, we closed the lid, and then." She shrugged. "It's all kind of a blank."

"Matches up with what I got from the Chinese guy, orders from someone in Beijing called Comrade Dai," Crystal said. "Endorsed by the Politburo and Steve … oh, Steve, I was going to tell him I'm carrying his baby…"

"He had a ring for you," Connie said, using a napkin to dry her eyes. "He was planning on popping the question over the holidays. He told Arthur and I while we were showing the jewelry." She started up, "Oh, where is it?"

"It's secure, even that huge diamond. That case took a bullet, though," Teela said. "Who designed them, it's all beautiful stuff," she asked. "It reminds me of some of Arthur's work…"

"Who is not, I will remind everyone, dead," a pale young woman with black hair said from the side. "I am Death, and I know, despite what people (she shook her copy of the _New York Times_) seem to think. That includes Mr. Arthur Morton."

"Why don't you take Miss Kowalski and Ms. Evans to see their relatives?" Lucifer said. "We need to decide how extensively you wish to damage the so-called 'People's Republic', Miss Wayne. We also need to determine the fee." Death nodded and popped out with the two women.

"Fee? To avenge my Arthur?" Momma Morton exclaimed. "I will pay it, and gladly!"

"Very kind of you, Maggie," Lucifer drawled. "However, you did not call the Horsemen, Miss Wayne did." He turned; Mattie was coming back on track. "If you are willing to align your goals with mine, there should be a minimal, if any fee."

"I really have nothing against the ordinary citizens," she said slowly. "I would prefer to see them suffer as little as possible, the same as the ordinary soldiers and sailors. I was thinking about contracting a hit on the Politburo with some off-world types, but their security is pretty good, which means a lot of collateral deaths." She took a gulp of coffee, "By that I mean the mistresses and the secretaries and the various Ministry workers. It would be nice if we could grind the government to a halt, and I'd rather break up the country into independent, province sized governments. I'd also like to see some form of democracy, maybe some local federations, but the ordinary citizen has been without a real voice for too long."

"Democracy is not the best, nor the only form of government," Lucifer drawled. "Your own Terran Empire would best be served, I believe, by a strong constitutional monarch, with appropriate checks and balances through a parliament of some type. I do have some suggestions in that regard, as well as unifying the planet under one government." He took a sip of coffee, Cindy the house-elf popped in to refill his cup. She worked her way around the table, Lucifer said, "Excellent as always, Cindy. Please let the Big Pappy know we need to talk." She bobbed her head and popped out, and Lucifer continued, "For instance, the Terran contingent should contain other sentient species such as the elves, goblins and centaurs as full delegates. I don't believe you would purposely exclude them, but they should have the right of refusal."

"The centaurs don't seem to be a 'joining' type," Julie said, then blanched, covered her mouth, and said 'Sorry!'

Lucifer waved that away, "Niccolò Machiavelli would like a visit. In any case, Miss Wayne, I have a proposal for you. I would suggest making a seat on the Politburo a death notice. Any Ministry bureaucrat who aspires to power will instead do all he can to avoid it, as it will provide him a horrible, terrifying death. Instead of the usual political scramble and backstabbing for power, they will do all they can to _avoid_ gaining that seat, thus disrupting the central government, while allowing the local, provincial governments the ability to provide the usual services to their citizens."

"Hmm. How many levels of bureaucrat, and how do we avoid those collateral deaths?"

"Anyone ambitious enough, and with a loose enough sense of morals and ethics should have percolated up to the top three or four levels. I make the distinction between your own ambition, Miss Wayne, which has always been to provide the best possible life for your people, and these Party bureaucrats, who are only looking out for themselves, not even their wives or children." He tented his fingers, "What I am considering will cause some general terror on the part of ordinary office workers, but a great deal more personal terror on the part of the Party bosses. As far as collateral deaths, I have in mind a young demon who will simply assume the form of that secretary or mistress, the classic 'locked room' mystery. The actual secretary will be off, witnessed someplace else at the time, while my demon takes her place and does the deed."

"Seems reasonable," she replied. "What about those guys?" She nodded toward where three figures sat.

"War (an absolutely huge bare-chested warrior with flaming red hair, wearing a sword across his back), Famine (a skeletally thin man who was involved in continual eating), and Disease (a thin man who was various shades of green and yellow) are four of the Horsemen that you have called. By the way, Mrs. Wayne," Lucifer turned to address Selina, "Disease hasn't let anything loose in your home."

"It wouldn't be polite," the rail-thin man said, and sighed. "Still, I understand if you want to clean, people always seem to." He addressed Mattie, "Any preferences? There are some very nasty old-world plagues that don't have any current cures, and old favorites like the Black Death."

"Can you and your … colleagues simply plant illusions in their minds, without actually doing anything?" Julie asked.

"A run on the bank, so to speak?" Disease asked. "Oh, yes, much less work. Ride in, shout a bit, Death waves her scythe about, that type of thing?"

"Especially in communist countries with food rationing," Famine said, chewing and swallowing. "Upsets the quota system, but there is some rioting…"

"Not enough violence to suit me, but I can concentrate on the various military bases," War put in, folding his copy of the _New York Times_. "I especially don't like those nuclear missiles, there's too much wholesale death; it should properly be administered one at a time."

"Much more work for me," Death agreed, reappearing with Connie and Crystal.

"So, Miss Wayne, are we in agreement?" Lucifer asked. "As it stands, you gain the downfall of the so-called People's Republic with minimal collateral damage, these four ride about; create chaos and fear, and all within a few months, instead of immediately."

"And the fee?"

"As you would be agreeing with my plan, which also provides me with benefits, there would be no fee. If you are willing to accept my advice and that of Mr. Machiavelli regarding unification of the planetary government, I would count it a bonus."

Sheila Hawking leaned forward, "Mr. Goodfellow, on behalf of my client, I think we can be a bit more specific on this contract. I propose…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 17, 2002: 08:10 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Washington DC, White House, Oval Office:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Mr. President, there's been a change at Gotham," the aide said, putting his head in the door. President Peter Ross found his remote on his cluttered desk and un-muted the sound, but the talking head wasn't saying anything new. On the screen, shot from a helicopter, several figures had come out; the spectral horses that had been grazing on the lawn were now trotting over. He re-muted the sound, he recognized Wayne; the two white patches in her hair were distinctive. A black horse had wandered over to her; she was patting its muzzle and feeding it a carrot while she talked to his rider.

"Who are they, any ID?" he asked.

The aide swallowed nervously, supernatural phenomena had NOT been covered at the Kennedy School. "We believe the Black is Death, Red is War, look at the size of the sword he's carrying, Green is Plague or Disease, and the White is Famine." He swallowed again, "The burning carriage belongs to, we believe, the Prince of Darkness, Satan."

"And the big glowing fellow in white? The skinny fellow in jeans and a white polo shirt? He's barefoot, I can't go by appearances, hell, look at Wayne! She's wearing a housecoat and fuzzy slippers!"

"Sir, Mr. President, the NRO believes, well, there's quite a bit of disagreement about this whole thing. The big glowing white fellow may be some form of angel, but we don't see any wings or halo. We have no clue who the other fellow in jeans is, although there is a minority that, well, with extreme resolution of the imagery," he tapped his earpiece, "that he's well …"

The President watched the four riders mount their horses, then ride hard into the air and in formation, head west and vanish. "Spit it out!"

"Mr. President, they think he's … Jesus."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 17, 2002: 18:31 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, Defense Minister's apartment:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"She's a young one," one guard said to another as he lit a cigarette. "She check out?"

"Clean as a virgin," he replied, accepting the cheap butane lighter to start his own cigarette.

"Not one long, though," and both laughed as a feminine scream sounded.

Zax smiled. Really this was too much fun for such a minor demon to allow herself. She had orders from the big boss to take these mortals out in a horrifying way; while maximizing confusion and horror and minimizing collateral deaths. She had falsified memories, and had silenced the room; the Minister was now gibbering and soiling himself in terror. In a few hours, she'd kill him, tidy up, and vanish. Now, she needed to pop over to the head of the MSS, she had left him in a most precarious position.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 17, 2002: 21:10 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, Ministry for State Security:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Comrade Lin, it appears the Minister has forgotten his request for my presence this evening in his apartment," Mai said. "He has not left by this door, perhaps by another?"

The young MSS guard picked up the telephone, and dialed in. "Yes, comrade, he was seen leaving at eighteen hours in the company of another young female comrade. May I escort you home?" '_Please say yes_,' he said to himself.

"That would be most appreciated, comrade. Let me get my coat."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 18, 2002: 07:25 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, Defense Ministry staff entrance:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Comrade Sergeant Cho got off the bus, wondering what the hold up was – could the metal scanner be acting up again? He saw a crowd of his fellow Ministry comrades standing away from the entrance, and politely worked his way through the crowd, saying, "Please excuse me, comrade, I am late."

"You're going to be even later, Cho," a head mounted on a short staff said from next to the entrance doors. "Say, did you know that Cho here, when he was six…" and the head started to relate a deeply humiliating episode from his childhood. He was frozen in shock, but he couldn't seem to leave. Someone else made their way to the front, and the head cried out, "Tsien! My girl, my girl, what would your mother say about your fetish for…" The girl blushed to her roots as Cho was forced along with the crowd to say nasty things, as they had said about him.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 18, 2002: 08:45 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, Foreign Minister's outer office:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

William Randolph, Ambassador of the United States to the People's Republic of China, arrived at the Minister's office early, as expected for his nine o'clock. He nodded politely to the receptionist, who looked terrified for some reason, and refused her robotically offered tea. Once again, he mentally reviewed his orders from Foggy Bottom, which boiled down to 'Find out what's going on in Beijing.'

So far, his people had reported that the citizens seemed tense. Well, that was somewhat understandable, everyone on the planet seemed to have heard Wayne's acceptance of the Politburo's war, and the people of Beijing fully expected to be at ground zero. He hadn't missed that reference to 'Fire, Ice, and Iron', and his Defense Attaché had confirmed that even a small meteoroid kicked out of orbit and accelerated would be in the high megaton range. The dinosaur-killer had been a little over ten kilometers and Wayne's orbital refineries and smelters routinely dealt with those, and larger.

He also had the video from GNN and other western news, and had watched the Four Horsemen ride off from Wayne's home. However, the Horsemen and other events hadn't been shown on domestic Chinese television, which had simply ignored the events on Fifth Avenue, only to trumpet the death of a teenage boy and others as 'justice for the People'.

He looked at his watch, three after nine, and then again at the receptionist, and the other office girls. Not only did she look terrified, but also exhausted. The Minister was a fanatic about punctuality and efficiency, and he asked in Mandarin, ("Are you all right? All of you look both exhausted and frightened out of your skin.")

("Thank you,") she replied. ("Our comrades from the overnight shift did not arrive; we have been on duty since yesterday and have not been relieved.") Her control was definitely slipping, she added, ("We also expect Wayne to kill us with a rock from space at any moment.")

("Ah. Have you called the guard force to see what happened to your comrades?") he asked.

("They say they have also not been relieved, but they can see our comrades standing outside the staff entrance on the cameras. They do not leave and they do not enter.") She took a deep breath; then stood. ("I shall see what is keeping the Minister. Please excuse me.") Walking to the inner office door, she knocked, and did not hear a reply. She called, ("Minister? Please forgive the interruption, but the American Ambassador is here for his nine o'clock appointment.")

("Send him in!") a voice called, and William stood, shot his cuffs and walked to the open door the girl stood behind. The executive chair swiveled, a secretary screamed, and William Randolph filled his shorts as he stumbled away from the door. A headless body stood, holding out his hand, saying, ("Comrade Randolph! Come in! Did you know that when William here was in his first year of high school, he …")

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 18, 2002: 07:40 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham, Wayne Manor:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Vito was sweating this fare. Normally, he would have enjoyed a trip out to Wayne Manor from the airport, but now it was different. Not only was the guy a local, he was the _Riddler_, with his wife and daughter, and little Mattie Wayne had lost her husband and her cool, melting down Manhattan's business district. Nobody blamed her for her grief, but still... Damned Chinese.

He pulled up to the squad car blocking one side of the long driveway, the gates with their big golden 'W' in the wrought iron. Outside, a bunch of protesters with nothing better to do held signs, and the TV news trucks could see these weird creatures on the lawn. They looked like normal horses, except he could see wings out of their shoulders, and the red one seemed to be on fire. Huge three-headed dogs romped and played on the lawn, chasing the horses, which chased right back.

"Got a fare here, got a passcode for the gate," he told the cop. The cop set his take-out coffee on the roof of his cab as Vito remote-controlled the rear window. "Good morning," the Riddler said with a tight smile. "I am here for Christmas with my niece Martha and the family."

"We got a call expectin' you," the cop said, retrieving his coffee. He waved at his partner in the cruiser, who started the engine and backed away. "When you see her, thank her for the port-o-let. Those protesters may not appreciate it, but the cops and the newsies do."

Edward nodded, and Vito started to drive through the gates, as one of the massive dogs came out, and Aurora whispered "Hellhounds," as the dog stuck his nose against the still-open window, tilting the cab. "Hey, none o' that," the cop said, whacking the dog's leg with his nightstick. The dog 'growfed' with one of his heads, but released the cab, wandering over to one of the TV trucks and raising his leg on it. Turning, Edward noted that the stream seemed to be extremely acidic (and smelly) and that the particular truck belonged to a network he had never liked due to their bias, and wasn't displeased they seemed to be a favorite target of the hellhounds.

"Um, Mr. Nigma, sir, when you see th' Queen, Wayne that is, could you ask her, well, we're really nervous about her goin' ta war with th' Chinese. Not that we blame her a bit, and pass on our sympathies an' all…"

"You're worried they're going to start firing nuclear weapons," Edward asked the nervous cabbie, who looked in the mirror and nodded as he pulled under an overhang. "Ask her yourself."

"Ask me what?" and Vito turned as he put the car in park. There, on the other side of his door, not three feet away, was the Queen, Wayne herself, wearing jeans and a pale green polo shirt. Other people came out, he recognized Selina Wayne, and a skinny guy wearing jeans and flip-flops knocked on the trunk. He popped it, then opened the door, "Um, ma'am, Miss Wayne, um, yer Queen-ness, um …"

His passenger hugged Mrs. Wayne with the familiarity of long friendship, introducing his wife and daughter as the Queen asked, "Will fifty cover the fare? We've got another one for you if you're willing." She offered a bill, and he shook himself. "Yeah, that's fine. Um, ma'am, like ta express my sympathies an' all, but people, well, we're kinda nervous about the Chinese shootin' back."

"Do not be concerned, young Vito," an absolutely huge fellow said, clapping his shoulder hard enough to knock him to his knees. "I have taken care of that."

"Vito, meet War, one of the Four Horsemen," the Queen said dryly. Vito stood, shakily, and offered his hand, only to have it pulverized in a grip. Truly, the War guy didn't know his own strength. With another clap on the back, War strode off, and the Queen said quietly, "They've been interesting house guests. Let me have your hand," and she displayed a wand. "Healing charm."

"Oh, yeah, thanks," he said, leaning against his cab for support. "Interesting?"

Quietly, she said, "Famine is doing his level best to eat us out of house and home, we don't _think_ Disease has let anything loose yet, he says he hasn't, War you've met, and Death is …"

"Behind you?" and Vito spun. A young, black haired woman with pale skin and a heavy silver necklace smiled at him, offering her hand. "Vito, isn't it? I'm Death. This has been the most interesting Summoning for the last few thousand years. At least since Jesu did it, and that was overly theatrical, I thought."

"Well, this one has had its share of drama," the skinny fellow said. "Hello, Vito, my name is Jesu. Jesu of Nazareth," and he shook Vito's hand too. Vito blinked, "Jesu … Jesus?" He looked at the skinny guy closely, and there were _holes_ in his wrists… "Oh, my God…" and he fainted.

* * *

"Hey, you okay there?" Vito looked up, and there was a teenage girl with dirty-blonde hair changing a cool cloth on his forehead. He blinked, and she smiled, "I'm Teela, we thought you might appreciate someone a bit more … normal. I go to art school and take classes at Ohio State. That's where Mom works, so I get a discount."

"Oh, yeah, thanks. Normal?"

"As much as anything connected with the Waynes is normal. Mattie tries really hard to keep what she calls a 'common focus', a connection to everyday people like you and me, but it's difficult." She made a face, "Especially when you've got people trying to kill you. You heard about what happened in England?" She glanced up, "Hey. Tell Vito here about the train."

A somewhat younger girl came in, "How is he? Should we call paramedics?"

"Na, thanks," and he sat up, "What about a train?"

"On the way back from Hogwarts, our school train was diverted, because a bunch of Chinese wizards were planning an ambush. We apparently had really good intelligence, which surprises me about the British Ministry…"

"Julia…" a matronly older woman came in, as Teela said, "Mom…" exactly like his own daughter did. "How is he? Should we call an ambulance?

"I'll be fine, thank you," Vito said, although he remained seated, with a couple of cold cloths on his head. "Just a bit of a headache."

"Ah," the younger one, Julia said, and rooted through a pocket. She held out a tiny vial, "Here. Pain potion; it's the wizarding equivalent to an aspirin. Works really well, I've been keeping a couple on hand for Mattie."

"I can drive with this?" Julia nodded, and her mother asked, "Mr. Vito, do you feel good enough to drive to the airport and pick up my husband and daughter Elena? The Gotham people, they have jobs, and we hesitate to ask Mr. Nigma, he just arrived himself…"

"Oh, that feels good," and he passed the tiny vial back. "No problem, ma'am, but how will I recognize them?"

"Elena is wearing an Imperial Navy uniform, and Dad … I don't know," Julia said. "Elena didn't say. They'll be at the shuttle gates, near the private planes. I'll go with you, Mr. Vito. You got room for three people and a bunch of luggage?"

"It's a minivan," he replied. "I can carry six if they're friendly." He ran a cold cloth over his face one last time; then stood. "Let's go."

* * *

"So things have been a little bit weird," Julia said as Vito tried not to eavesdrop. "We'll fill you in later, but you know how things are when Mattie's involved."

"And she tries so hard not to be," Elena replied. "At least we're back on Earth now."

"You're feeling better? Both of you?"

"Dad made me his aide-de-camp, and I've got lots of photos of the different colonies on Windfall," Elena said. "I've been working on my official report, but, oh, God, we heard about Arthur and how Mattie went ballistic and melted down all of Manhattan by herself…"

"It wasn't all of Manhattan, and Superman said it was a fusion plasma fire." Vito saw Miss Julia nod toward him, and changed the subject, "Anyway, Connie Koslowski is here, she's a fourth-year at Hogwarts, she saw her mom shot down by the terrorists; so she's an orphan now. Mom's talking about adopting her. She's fifteen, so only a couple years until her majority."

"Another girl," Miss Elena smirked. "Bill and Hank will be so upset."

"Bill's been making some money as a voice actor for the games; he's even got one of Cobblepot's boys interested in doing it. He does a heck of a drill sergeant."

"Ask if he'd be interested in the role of Bos'n, or the COB," Mr. Morton put in. "Both senior enlisted rates." He sat back, "Oh, for once I'm glad I'm not driving; I'm so tired."

"Dad used to drive for FedEx," Miss Julia explained to Vito. "They've both been off-planet."

"Well, Mr. Morton, we're here. This place ain't normally like this." He rolled down his window again, the same cop leaned forward, recognized him, asking, "You gonna take Miss Wayne downtown tomorrow morning? We'll let the morning guys and Cobblepot's boys know."

"Off tomorrow, gotta take my daughter ta the dentist," he replied. The cop nodded, and a couple of the hellhounds waited at the gate, tongues lolling from all six heads. Elena leaned forward as Vito rolled up his window, "Hellhounds. They've been using one of the news trucks as their fire hydrant." Mr. Morton twisted around to look as one of the huge dogs raised his leg in a hissing stream on the truck's radiator, while the (slightly) smaller female crouched and relieved herself in front of the truck's door. He chuckled, "Fair? Balanced? I guess they watch the news."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 18, 2002: 14:24 (GMT)  
Terra, London, HM offices:****  
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"Stewart! Please come in," Her Majesty called as he appeared in her office doorway. He took a seat, and the Prime Minister took a deep breath as the Queen asked, "What's happening in China?"

"Scattered information so far, Your Majesty," he replied. "We've gotten together with other governments, our officers met with the other countries at the Japanese embassy. There are several consistent points. First, the entire Politburo, with the exception of the Chairman, has been killed in rather gruesome ways, but primarily involving decapitation." The Queen shuddered, and he took a deep breath and went on, "There's more. Each of those heads has been mounted on a pole outside the staff entrance to the relevant Ministries, where they are animate, and if that were not horrifying enough, seem to capture arriving staff in a thrall, where they tell deeply embarrassing stories from the individual's past." He took another breath, "The bodies of the Ministers have been traveling about, headless, in their Ministries, doing the same type of thing. The staffs from Monday are still on duty, exhausted and paralyzed with fear, the entire city of Beijing fully expect Wayne to start raining meteorites down on their heads."

"Why are they exhausted?" the Queen asked.

"They haven't been relieved," her Prime Minister replied. "The American Ambassador went to the Foreign Ministry again, a brave man, as he had barely escaped the headless clutches of the Minister himself. Apparently the spell, or whatever, can be broken by a suitable authority figure, so he ordered the Chinese Foreign Ministry to lock up, close down, and go home."

"Indeed. That does leave Beijing rather paralyzed."

"It leaves the Chinese civilian government paralyzed, Your Majesty, at least until they can replace the heads. However, the Defense Ministry tried that, and went through four layers of replacement commanding officers until the fifth layer decided to rule by committee." He took a deep breath, "Aside from that, the city and provincial governments seem to be going on with business, aside from shutting down the national level offices. As far as the Four Horsemen," (he took another deep breath), "Death has been seen stalking the halls of the Central Committee and the National People's Congress, War has disabled the Chinese nuclear missiles AND their one-and-only ballistic submarine. He sank that at sea, in deep water. He allowed the crew to abandon ship; an American carrier picked them up. He's also been seen destroying their gravity bombs with that bloody great sword of his."

"Famine and Disease?"

"They've been working on the grain stockpiles, accompanied by hordes of rats." The Queen shuddered, and for some reason he added, "Rats the size of large dogs, Your Majesty."

"Oh, my God." It was her turn to take a deep breath, "The risk to the United Kingdom, or anyone else?"

"We believe there is no risk to us, Your Majesty. The Four Horsemen are a precisely aimed weapon, and the only way your government foresees them becoming a risk is if we were to be seen as a threat by Miss Wayne, or we were to aid the Politburo or the Chinese Communists. Miss Wayne has said on multiple occasions that she has no complaint with the citizens themselves, this seems to be bearing out. Where it will leave mainland China, we do not as yet know."

"I see. What of Miss Wayne herself, and Mr. Morton's family, and that girl in New York?"

"To the best of our knowledge, they are living in Mrs. Wayne's home in Gotham. Satan appears to have left, as well as the large glowing bloke. The Americans have tentatively identified him as an archangel, presumably Gabriel. There are two other houseguests who have been seen, and have been tentatively identified as Niccolò Machiavelli, of 14th century Italy, and …" He swallowed, hard.

"Who?" the Queen asked.

"Your Majesty, he is believed to be Jesus of Nazareth."

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****Wednesday, December 18, 2002: 15:12 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham, Wayne manor, south sunroom:****  
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"So how are you feeling?" Maggie asked her husband as they snuggled in the warm sunlight. He gave a great sigh, "Better. I'm still not happy about Arthur, and I don't really know Connie yet, but …

"But you have heard it from Death herself that he is _not_ dead, and she would know," his wife replied. She sighed in her turn, "Connie seems to have been accepted by the children, and while she is still upset about seeing her mother gunned down twenty feet in front of her, that same Death took her and Ms. Evans to see their loved ones." She turned her husband's face to hers, "It was their scheduled times, Death said, as we all have them."

"Yes, but I still think Miss Wayne is somehow to blame."

"Don't be silly, she wasn't even in the same state! If she hadn't been called in, Arthur WOULD be dead, and we would be planning his funeral right now, instead of helping Connie take care of her mother's. They are working on solving the poison, and when they do, they wake him up, cure him, and life goes on." He started to say something, and she put a finger over his lips. "I know. How long? We don't know. He is safe, and that is enough for me at the moment."

He took a deep breath, then another. "Yes." He put his head back, "I wouldn't have gone if it wasn't for Elena, but she needed me."

"We all need you," his wife replied. "Now, are you willing to talk about it with the family? All the family?"

"Even Miss Wayne?"

"Call her Mattie, and yes, especially her. Losing Arthur, even for a brief time, tore her up inside. They may fight a bit, but she loves him, and he loves her. She needs to handle it, just like we do, and she's been throwing herself into her duties." Maggie settled herself, "You know I sit on her Regency Council, as does her mother, and she's been attacking her duties as Queen. I seriously doubt if she'll return to Hogwarts, but she needs an education. She's a very smart girl, our Arthur could have done a lot worse for himself." She turned, "I know you, William. Next you'll complain about the danger, and yes, there is danger to the family, but worse so for Mattie. She's had powerful governments trying to kill her; we have been secondary targets. Now, I know you're going to complain, but instead of just complaining about something, have a plan on how to resolve it; at least the parts of your complaint. That was what irritates me, you and Arthur simply say 'I don't like it,' without those specifics." She raised a hand, "And don't retreat into that stock reply, 'It's wrong.'. Tell us what's 'wrong' about it."

"It should be obvious, but … you're right." He sighed, "Let's let them in."

* * *

"I don't think we've met," Mattie told the middle-aged couple. Misty said, "Oh, that's right. Mom, Dad, this is Mattie Wayne. Mattie, please meet my parents, the Trumbells." As greetings were exchanged, places were found and drinks were fetched in the sunroom. After a few minutes, Selina tapped on her glass, and said, "Let's get this going, we've got several things to consider before dinner. Mattie's got that appearance at the talk show tomorrow morning. Let's lead off, Bill, Elena, Mr. and Mrs. Trumbell, you're the latest to arrive, what's your take on public reaction?"

"I'm going to say 'Call me Bill', but that would mean I'm the third 'Bill' in the room," Mr. Trumbell started. "Call me 'Spade', it comes from my Army nickname, and it looks like Mr. Morton and I are contemporaries, both Vietnam-era veterans. Bill, we'll have to get together for the Army-Navy game."

'Big Bill' Morton nodded, and Mrs. Trumbell said, "I'd be the second 'Connie', but I usually go by 'Cee' around the neighborhood." She leaned over to hug her daughter, "Spade's a PR guy, which it looks like we'll need. From what I've seen, most people understand about what's happened in New York, but they're nervous about a Chinese response."

"War has taken out the Chinese nuclear weapons, he dislikes them," Mattie replied. "The Chinese boomer, their missile sub, he surfaced, allowed the crew to abandon, then sank it. That boomer is at the bottom of the South China Sea. The US Navy picked the crew up and took them to a naval base." She took a gulp of coffee, "The Chinese still have a navy, a military, but its conventional now, and I talked to the Russian President, he doesn't have any interest in invading them. He did increase his alert levels, in case the local Chinese commander went a bit squirrely on everyone."

"Okay," 'Spade' replied. "The various hell-beasties are not a good image."

"Well, not much I can do about those," Mattie confessed. "Lucifer left them for me, and they're like really big puppies." She looked over her coffee mug at 'Spade'; then asked, "Want a contract?"

"For you, or the Empire?"

"Both, for now. Terra is the only modern, industrialized world in the Empire that doesn't have a single planetary government." She cracked her knuckles, "The UN doesn't have any teeth, so it looks like I'm going to be doing a bit of 'nation building'."

"Okay, there are bets on this in Slytherin," Connie said. "We've worked up half a dozen different models of planetary government; let's see which one gets put in place." She cracked her own knuckles, "Slytherin Solidarity, Mattie."

"Um, excuse me, but what is 'Slytherin'?" 'Cee' asked.

"There are eight wizards in this room, ma'am, representing all four houses at Hogwarts," little Bill said. "Gryffindor (Julie and Crystal raised their hands), Hufflepuff (he raised his hand, as did Emma), Ravenclaw (Tomas raised his coffee cup), and Slytherin (Mattie, Connie and Aurora raised their hands). In general, ma'am, the Gryffs are the 'white knights', Huffies are the loyal, steadfast ones, Ravenclaw are the obsessive boffins, and the Slythies are, um…"

"We're the 'grey eminence', the manipulators, the string pullers, the movers and shakers," Aurora filled in. She sat back, regarding her housemates, as they returned her gaze in silence. The silence stretched out as the three seemed to commune silently; then she nodded. "I think we can pull off the 'flash and sizzle' plan, but it's going to take the entire House."

"That's okay, I'd rather have a nice, reliable Slythie in those posts," Mattie replied. "We can trust a few Huffies like Bill and the Queen, she's a known quantity."

"The Red Chinese?" Connie asked.

"Essentially neutralized," Aurora said. "I'm a bit more concerned about the French."

"I've got some people to put into power there," Mattie said. "I had a plan to deal with them; I'll just blow the dust off and update it." Connie cackled, dancing in her seat. "I win some money! I bet on the 'flash' plan, I win some money!"

'Cee' looked very nervous, "Um, could someone explain?"

Aurora left, "I'll start making calls, Selina, may I use your fire?" Connie smiled, but there was no humor in her eyes as Mattie moved off to make her own calls. "Mrs. Trumbell, what you've just seen is the start of a worldwide, gentle, invisible coup. Within three months, Earth will have a unified planetary government, funding for a military, and all without a drop of blood being shed."

"If the French don't screw things up," Mattie said. "The only things you'll see are an extra deduction in your paycheck and someone else to vote for in elections; but we'll have a worldwide government and adequate funding." She picked up her cell phone, "Which is good, because I expect another invasion within a few years, thanks to those damned French politicians." She switched to Spanish, ("Hello! Uncle Fidel! How are things in Havana? Listen, I'd like to let you know about a new plan, it will require you to move up elections…")

* * *

"You just talked to the Pope," 'Cee' said flatly.

"To his office," Mattie corrected. "The Holy Father is in with his physician at the moment. He's an old man, and I'm not going to interrupt that. However, Monsignor Tulles did say he would ask the Holy Father to return my call as soon as possible, so 'Spade', what should we talk about with him? Do you speak Italian?"

"Not much," he replied. "Enough to ask 'Where's the bathroom?' but that's it."

"Not a problem, most Jesuits are multilingual. We'll just ask the Monsignor to translate."

"I think that's about all we can do tonight," Aurora said as she returned to the sunroom. "It's going to be a hectic next few days." She took her seat back, collecting her daughter into her arms, "Now, what do we do about these slave girls?"

Mattie sighed, "The major reason we've gone along with the resettlement the way we have is that we know that those rescued girls need help." She glanced around the sunroom, "It's a major change of life for them, and some of them are going to get through it easier than others."

"More easily," Edward Nigma corrected. He sighed, "Speaking as one of those who has, reluctantly, owned slaves, I can agree with that, especially with the bred girls. However, they are individuals, and we must respect that." He turned and looked at his daughter, "Emma? You've been a slave; please feel free to speak. We do value your opinions."

"Thank you, father," she said shyly. Hesitantly, she said, "It is not so much the collar itself as a device, but what it stands for. Mine has been removed, along with my belt, and yet I can still feel it on my neck. If Mum had simply bought me and said, 'You are free now,' I would not have known what to do. I know that in the pens, the girls knew what was to happen to them, they would die soon, and they were angry, but they were slaves, they had no options, including killing themselves." She put her face down in her hands for a minute; then raised it. "I know that you cannot buy every slave in the galaxy. I know we would have been willing to die if we could know that a sister would be able to live without a master, to be able to strike back, in even the smallest way, would be a dream. Such as we dreamed of life without masters, and then our collars would awaken us, and we would kneel once again, smile without meaning, and say 'Yes, Master' again."

"So what you're saying is that it's not the collar itself …" little Bill said. "It's what it represents."

"Yes, in a way, my … the collar is the only thing a girl owns. It is her individual identity, only hers in the galaxy." Emma turned and regarded her father, "I would have been content with a dark collar, father, but it meant so much to you, I did not want to disappoint you."

"So how do we help the slave girls?" Aurora asked.

"I have followed most of this conversation, mother, and most girls are not as … uniform as masters think. There is variation, but most would accept the help to stand." She crossed her wrists behind her, "When one is cuffed, and knocked off her feet, one can kneel fairly easily, but it is far more difficult to stand. One appreciates the help, even from another cuffed girl, because what one can do with difficulty, two can do more easily. If one can show that even bred girls, ones who have spent their entire lives in a collar, can be helped to stand, that will make a difference. If it is also a way to impress upon _owners_ that there is a different path it will help."

"You said 'owners' in a particular way, one that I interpret differently than 'masters', more negatively," 'Spade' said.

"Yes, an 'owner' is one that knows he is superior, he is the chosen of the Source. A 'master' or 'mistress' is an ordinary being that has bought you, and knows that we are all steps on the Spiral of the Source. An 'owner' will demand that you extinguish a star with your breath, and punish you when you cannot. The most frightening time for a slave is when she is newly-sold, she does not know if her new owner is an owner or a master. She must learn her new owner, and if he or she is an owner or a much more reasonable master." Emma leaned back into Aurora's arms, "I have been sold three times, and I did not know what to expect, but if there is another slave already there, one may be informed."

"It is not the sale itself, it is the uncertainty," Edward said. "I did not know that about your collar. I should have asked, I am sorry."

"Father, you link the collar to the slavery, and in a way, it is true, but for a girl, she is a slave, she knows she is a slave. If I understand correctly, what you must present is an alternative to the slave, one she will find attractive and may seek of her owner." Emma walked to her father, "Even if given the choice, some slaves will seek to remain with their masters. That is their choice, you must gently persuade, one cannot shout and order a slave about that one does not own. If they are not happy with their current owner or master, you may offer a slave an alternative she may offer. One way would be to offer above the slave's insured value to the owner, the slave …"

"Wait, you're saying we should offer to buy the slave?" Big Bill Morton said. "I don't like that, it's immoral!"

"Dad," Elena said from her seat on the couch. "We went over this several times. Grey area; remember? If the girl's initiating the transaction, it's her choice, right? She would know pretty much what she's valued at, and how to maneuver her owner into getting that. What she would need would be a source of funding. If she's happy where she is, we're not going to force her."

"Master," Emma said to Big Bill, "Not all slaves and owners are compatible. I may not be a good slave for you, even if you are a master, not an owner. In that case, I would seek out a new, more acceptable master; this is no different from doing so between one house and another or how free persons seek to resolve differences in potential mates."

"When you're dating, you're trying out different people," Hank said. "When you find someone you click with, that's the one you plan on marrying." He looked at Emma, "Then what?"

"Then …" (she chewed her lip). "Then, before the girl seeks to change her collar, I would have a collared girl explain to the new slave what will happen after she changes her collar. Once that is done, she may inform her old master of what she thinks relevant, and she may meet other girls who are also changing their collar. As I said, one seeks the most information and assistance, especially when one seeks a better collar." Emma looked at Mattie, "Mistress, I would try to keep the girls together as long as possible, for that mutual assistance."

"Okay, this is workable," Elena said. "Mattie, Arthur said in a letter that you were going to have the Imperial Army handle the shore based functions like construction, training, supply, and so forth. After that, the Navy and the Marines take over for their more specialized training."

Nodding, Mattie agreed. "That means that there's more 'tail' than 'teeth' to the Army, but it avoids duplication, and we're not thinking of having huge infantry garrisons. There are some planets in the Empire that have standing local armies, but most can't afford a standing army over a couple thousand troops, and those are ones with semi-hostile local opponents, and generally medieval weaponry. We put up the modern version of a castle with drawbridges, moats, and good fields of fire for mortars and such, and do some demonstration firings for the local potentates. There, we might have a battalion or two of infantry, but that castle is also our trade port."

"No such thing as a Prime Directive?" Spade asked.

"No, we're generally not the first ones in, but we're willing to trade with them equally, and protect them from the unscrupulous types who would buy Manhattan for glass beads and horse blankets," Mattie replied. "One planet grows a particular type of plant, which we've found is good for treating various types of cancer. We're honest with the local king, he's got a piracy problem; so we're helping him with his fortifications, and teaching his people how to do things in trade." She took a gulp of coffee, "Once we get some ships built, we're going to be ramping up Imperial Survey. That's part of what Aurora and other astronomers have been doing, merging the Terran and galactic star charts."

"There are still a lot of holes there," Aurora said. "Some just have a star listed, not even the type, just the coordinates, and we don't know what's in that system. Planets? Civilizations? Black holes? We don't know, but we're getting off track. If we have a shore installation, like on Tosul, we would have a guard force, for instance, of collared girls who slaves can approach on something like an equal basis. Once those girls change their collars, we ship them back to Earth and run them through Corfu."

"Yesss…" Mattie said slowly. "For instance, we have a small company, maybe fifty girls…"

"That's a platoon," Spade corrected. "Company strength is around two or three hundred. Keep the same platoon all through basic, but let them compete with other platoons. Once they're physically fit, got the 'Army' mindset, and they know they can rely on the other girls; then go through the more specialized training. With construction, one platoon would be trained in different aspects of installing electrical and comms, another in water and sewer, another in buildings, yet another in things like hydroponics and environmental. Together, they form a Construction Battalion like the old SeaBees, they're assigned to a particular system or sector, and get jobs to build bases on planets; in moons and asteroids and bolt together space stations; they go and do that, then move on to a different job. That gives them a lot of experience at different things. If you also have operations groups for maintenance and the guard force with them, that would be more 'jack-of-all-trades'."

"Don't forget the groups that are specific to a ship," Elena said. "The flight deck crews, ordies, grapes, and so forth, as well as the people like cooks and laundry, not to mention the Marines."

"It's not just the aircraft carriers, the smaller ships would have shuttles that would do boarding, search and rescue, that kind of thing," little Bill said. "There would be more of them than the big assault carriers; you don't need carriers for convoy duty. On something like a frigate, you'd have a platoon for shuttle maintenance and operations, while the ship's Marines would be another platoon, and the Navy types would be ship operations." He looked around, "I think the idea is to have a lot of small groups, they would make kind of an extended family for the girls."

"In 'Nam, in the Army, you had your year's tour, you were just slotted into a line company and started counting the days," Spade commented. "No real esprit de corps, just one more day, which I think is what these girls are going through. Make the training tough but survivable, and maybe change the collar lights to the Imperial colors at graduation. You're not a slave any more, but an Imperial."

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****Thursday, December 19, 2002: 08:05 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham, WGGN studio 5:****  
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"You can stay here, within sight of me," Mattie reminded Crystal. "Nobody but the studio people should know you're there." She hugged Crystal to her side, and she wagged her tail. The associate producer counted down on her fingers 3 … 2 … 1 just as Diane, the hostess of the show said, "Here she is, Gotham's favorite daughter, the Queen herself, Ms. Mattie Wayne!"

Putting her 'happy' face on, Mattie turned around the edge of the set, waving hello to the studio audience as the Imperial March played. The seats were arranged around an oval coffee table with a front-facing dropped leaf that had the show's logo. She stopped outside the coffee table, doing a little twirl, "Hello and I'd like to welcome the _Morning Brew_ people to Gotham. Oh, I love this town! You can take the girl out of Gotham, but not the Gotham out of the girl!"

"You've had an interesting week," Diane said, as the other hostesses made way for her to sit on the small couch in the center. As she worked her way in, she commented, "I bet Spielberg gets a buck every time that music plays." There was a general chuckle as she unclipped her katana from her uniform, placing it on the coffee table. "Well, I'm home, I love London and Scotland, but there's something about Gotham. I hope you're taking the chance to see the sights; play tourist."

"I confess; one thing I'd love to see is one of the infamous Bat Clan," Joy, a pneumatic blonde said, and her guest shook her head, "No. You see a Bat if you _are_ trouble, or you're _in_ trouble, as in life-or-death trouble."

"So what about the Chinese? Will they attack us?" Joy asked.

Miss Wayne shook her head, "I doubt it. First, their national government is rather nonfunctional at the moment. I have no objection to the common citizens, or the members of their armed forces. However, the local governments, what we would call the state or provincial level on down, are still functional, people still get up in the morning, eat, go out, live their lives. I will say that War has removed their nuclear weapons such as the missiles, bombs, and has sunk their only missile-armed submarine. The chance of long-range attacks is microscopic, and Disease has removed their biological and chemical weapons. They can still defend themselves, but it will be with conventional weapons only."

"You said the submarine was sunk," Emily, another hostess said.

"War surfaced the submarine, allowed them to abandon ship; and then sank the ship in the South China Sea. The sailors were picked up by an American carrier, given medical aid, food and such, and then returned to a Chinese naval port. Now, as it was their only 'boomer' that removes that threat to peace." Miss Wayne shifted on the couch, "I have a question. I was a little out of it on Monday, what's happened with Fifth Avenue?"

"They're having to rebuild that area, redo the water lines; the sidewalk and such," Diane said. "As the entire thing was initiated by an agent of the Beijing government, and the insurance companies are calling it a terrorist attack, they're suing the Chinese government."

"There was some discussion of suing you, and someone may still do that," Whitney, the only black hostess said. "Frankly, you showed a lot of power there, a lot of people are afraid of pissing you off," she added. "That didn't look like ordinary fire, what was it?"

"I'm still not quite sure how I did that," Miss Wayne replied. "The best way I can say this is that it felt like a … well, a runner's high. When all your problems go away, you don't feel pain, or exhaustion, you just … are." She flicked her left hand, and a white, glowing fireball appeared, floating above her palm. It was almost six inches in diameter, and she said, "It seems to have released some aspect, the best I was able to do before was about the size of a golf ball, and with a lot more work. However, I don't recommend the method." She sat back on the couch, "Superman told me it was fusing hydrogen from the air, several thousand degrees. I honestly don't remember; can we change the subject?"

* * *

"… the problem with that, Diane, is that the UN General Assembly is really nothing but a debating society," Mattie said. "Excuse me," and took out her cell phone. She stood up, moving off to the side, and reaching behind her to unplug her microphone. "Hello, Holy Father," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Sorry about that," Miss Wayne said when she returned, Joy reaching over to plug in her microphone again. "When the Pope calls, you take it. Where were we?"

"World governments," Joy said. "You were going to tell us why we need one."

"Yes, thank you," and Mattie reached for 'her' coffee mug on the table. She looked up at the cameras and the studio audience, "You watch these interview type shows, and they all seem to have coffee mugs on the set. I've only been on one show has actually had coffee in their mugs." She turned hers upside down, and a small slip of paper fell out. She picked it up, "Inspected by number 83. Made in China," she read. "One of the contract conditions I have is a coffee mug from the show."

"You must have quite a collection," Whitney put in.

"Yes, and I'm still trying to figure out what to do with them all." She shrugged, "Everyone needs a hobby, and I've heard Wonder Woman collects stamps. Anyway, Earth, or Terra, is one of a very few planets that don't have a unified, worldwide government. I think that's one of the reasons we don't get along with each other that well, but that's secondary. My primary reason is that I fully expect another invasion within two to three years, and we need to have a credible system defense force."

"Tell us why," Diane said, leaning forward and subconsciously gripping her own (empty) coffee mug.

"First, let me get into a bit of background," Miss Wayne said. "First, our broadcast media, such as radio and especially television, is very popular on other planets. It's dubbed into Trade, but I've seen Earth based shows, including the news, which is regarded as a very involved soap opera."

"Now why would that be?"

"Soap operas or why they're watching?"

"Why they're watching," Emily asked.

"A lot of those planetary governments control the media, and limit news reporting. You all know the term 'bread and circuses'? Well, our broadcasts provide that, and we've had broadcast radio for something like ninety years, and broadcast TV for what, fifty years?"

"Something like that," Diane agreed. "So our broadcasting serves the purpose of those circuses?"

"Yes, and remember, it's a speed-of-light transmission, so the people in the Kentaurus trinary system, which is only four and a half light years away, are just now finding out who shot JR Ewing." Miss Wayne held up two fingers, "Second point; magic use. We all remember what happened at the child minders in London, magic and wizards were exposed to the general public in a terrorist incident that was sponsored by the DGSE and the French government. _Le Monde_ did an extensive investigation and confirmed that."

"I remember that," Joy agreed. "So people in the … Kentaurus system, did you say? They'll be seeing that in about four years?" She frowned, "I thought Alpha Centauri was the closest star."

"Alpha's one of three stars in that system, the closest one is actually Proxima, but that system isn't inhabited. They've got a total system population of around seven billion, and they look a lot like us. The major difference is that they can use their pinky fingers as a second thumb," Miss Wayne replied, waggling her fingers. "Moving on, third point; remember the slaver the Chinese were selling drugs and their women to? We were forced to give his ship back to him, and he lost no time getting out of the system, with his active sensors going all the way. Anyone want to bet against him selling the information about our defenses, or lack of them, to whoever can meet his price?"

"Why would he do that, and why would anyone be interested?" Joy asked.

"He'd do that because the information is valuable," Miss Wayne replied. "Habitable planets, known as water worlds are extremely valuable because of their scarcity, and here he's got information on a populated system with intelligent life, and it has not just one, but _four_ habitable planets: Earth, Mars, Ceres and Europa. Furthermore, they don't have a navy, and their general tech level is about Class 14. All he needs to do is park a battlecruiser in the orbitals of the one inhabited planet and enslave the population. What's more, a significant fraction of the population, about one in a thousand, is actual zarroji." She popped out a wand, waving it around, then said, "Magic, and magic users, are considered mythical beings. They're known as 'zarroj', plural 'zarroji'. If the slaver, who we were forced to let go by a judge, adds that to the pot, that he's got a whole _planet_ full of these mythical beings, he's going to regard this as tungsten in the bank. The only questions are not _IF_ we'll be invaded, it's _WHEN_ and by _WHOM_?"

* * *

"So what would you do?" Diane asked when they came back from commercial.

"Ideally? Militarize the entire planet, because those invaders aren't going to care if you're American or French or Russian. However, there's a limit to how much I can pay for myself. I'm about at my limit, financially. We also need to produce a military and ships to defend the other systems in the Empire. Before you ask, the UN is toothless; the General Assembly will argue and debate until they're stood against a wall, and various members of the Security Council are egotistical and arrogant enough to demand to control the entire planetary defense…"

"France, you mean," Whitney said. She reached out to pick up her own mug, "You're right about these mugs. I could use some whiskey in mine." She played with it, "You're going to overthrow every government…"

"_NO_," Miss Wayne said firmly. "I am going to put in another layer, one which people can vote for; a planetary assembly, who will then elect the seven members of the Terran delegation to the Imperial Assembly. There will be a flat tax on your gross earnings, just like Social Security, that will help to pay for that military."

"How much of a flat tax?" Emily asked.

"Initially five percent, this means that if you make $500 a week, gross, that's $25. Demanding that one country pay the lion's share of the cost, as the UN does of the US, is just unfair. Like I said, flat tax that everyone pays, because everyone is in danger."

"And if a country wants to opt out?"

"So they can evade their responsibilities as citizens? To tell the invaders 'Take them, not me?'" She snorted, "I think you can imagine how popular that will be. No, a politician may say that, but the common, ordinary citizen isn't. That's like telling your neighbor whose house is on fire, 'No, you may not use my water hose, because you did not pay me for the apples your children took from my tree.'"

"And you?"

"You need someone to make the unpopular decisions, uninfluenced by pressure groups and lobbyists. Elected officials are influenced, we know that, but we also need to have them with both checks and balances, and enough political power to make those decisions and have them stick. You need continuity of government, but also a way to get rid of dangerous or unfit rulers."

"And on that we'll take a short break," Diane said. She waited until the producer signaled, then said, "Five percent of the world's product? That's how much?"

Miss Wayne took some index cards from somewhere, shuffling through them, "Gross world product in 2001 was thirty one trillion and change. Five percent of that is …" she flicked a wand, "…1500 billion, in round numbers, and I know people are going to be nervous about that amount of money, but military services aren't cheap. When we get back, ask about unemployment," she said as an assistant came out, touching up makeup. She scuttled off as the producer said, "We're back in five, four …"

"Welcome back to _Morning Brew_'s special broadcast from Gotham City, and our special guest, the Queen herself, Ms. Mattie Wayne," Diane said. "We were discussing the planetary economy; but a number of our viewers are going to say, 'Okay, but I need a job!' What can you tell him or her?"

"We're hiring, we're doing a lot of construction, both in orbit and on the Moon. We've got shipyards going in, building modular ships, so if you're construction, we can use you. If you're a military veteran, we can use you, and we've got personnel that served in World War Two and Korea. If you're interested, we can set you up as an asteroid miner, although we do suggest that's at least two or three people, for safety reasons. Now, that can be boring, but we've also got supply ships to service our installations in the outer parts of the system, if you've got a larger family, if you've got people in your family that are machinists, electricians and so forth, we've got maintenance ships. There's a lot of work to be done on the civilian side, and most of that is in space. For that matter, we could use people to run shops in our various space stations."

"I know you've got hotels in the space stations," Emily said. "What's this about shops?"

"When you go through an airport, there are shops selling everything from clothing and shoes to newspapers and coffee, plus bars," Ms. Wayne said. "That's because you have to sit and wait for your flight, and we're adding to and modifying the LEO station for a new shuttle service. Before, if you had to fly long distance, from Houston to London, you had to connect through New York, and then sit in a plane for several hours, so the airlines bought all these expensive, huge jetliners. However, we're taking advantage of orbital mechanics, so you hop a shuttle flight up to LEO, sit in a lounge there until your shuttle to London or Tokyo or wherever is called, and catch that flight. You've got half an hour up, half an hour down, and maybe an hour in orbit. You're paying less than that long, boring flight on a 747, and you'd be an officially certified ESA astronaut." She smiled, "I can see people taking a flight like that just for that reason, but we still need people to work in those shops and bars, and to handle luggage and passengers, service shuttles, all the jobs that go on in an airport."

"That wouldn't work short-haul. LA to Frisco," Whitney said.

"No, it wouldn't be economical for those flights, but that's why you have those short-haul airlines, or for that matter, rental cars. In places like Greece or the Philippines, you'd still connect through Athens or Manila, but then you'd get on a puddle-jumper to the different islands. I think a lot of 747's are going to be converted to cargo planes and sold to UPS and FedEx."

"During the break we were discussing the five percent tax," Diane said. "That's a lot of money."

"Yes, it is. I've kept everything pretty transparent financially, and I've got several bankers and money managers to make sure everything is above-board. Unfortunately, I've tried gentle persuasion, and several national leaders are rather mulish. We don't have the time for petty political games; we're at war! Just like when I brought back starship technology, and people wanted to play 'Mine, all mine!' We don't have the time for this!" (She banged the table.) "Do you want your wives and daughters and sisters sold off as slaves? Your husbands, brothers and sons killed before your eyes? People, this is _WAR_! I'm not; I can't pay for the whole thing myself! I need help here, and it's not right to ask the JLA to do it all while we sit on the couch and eat pretzels."

"People might say there's plenty of time…"

"No. There's not. Personnel take time to train, ships and bases to build, weapons and missiles to manufacture. These are not Liberty ships, even those took about three months each to build with round-the-clock shifts. These are warships, and these are different from anything in our previous experience. Instead of ships sinking, we have to worry about pressure loss, and while we can apply some technology, some we have to create, as well as tactics, plan different strategies based on available resources… It's not an overnight job, people."

* * *

Walking into the sunroom, which seemed to have become a command post and meeting room, Mattie and Crystal flopped into chairs. Cindy the house-elf popped in with drinks for them, and Lois looked up from her daughter. "You did well, kid, I believe you. Finish your drink; I'll have an interview with you. I'll even upload it to the wire services, so your one-on-one tonight with Mary Knight will go easy."

"I've also got some talking points to go over with you," 'Spade' said. "Your aunt Sheila and I have hammered out a contract, and we're going to have an early Christmas, since you have to go off-planet again." He raised his glass to Lois, "Your aunt Lois and I have been going at it, follow our talking points, you'll get your message across."

Mattie yawned, "What I'd really like is a nap. Can you give me an hour?"

* * *

Mattie groaned and rolled over as the window blinds were ruthlessly yanked open. "Youse will be up and showering," Cindy demanded. "Youse has slept for several hourses, youse needs to eat and discuss thingses with youses Council. Cindy will have a fresh uniform ready for youse." With a gesture, the blankets were pulled away, "Shower! Eatses!"

"Yes, Mistress Cindy," Mattie said, saluting the house elf.

* * *

With the number of house guests the informal dining room had been rearranged into a buffet. Taking a plate, Mattie moved down the line, noticing Connie sitting with her new family. She nodded to her Uncle Clark, who had his daughter, little Lana Lane on his lap and holding a bottle for her. Aunt Lois waved her over, a house-elf Mattie didn't recognize popped in, refilling water glasses and coffee cups. "What's going on?" Mattie asked.

"We've been doing adversarial modeling, thanks to these two," 'Spade' replied, waving his coffee cup toward Clark and Lois. "We've got answers to several knuckleduster questions for you, including Arthur and his 'funeral' (he finger quoted), and most importantly, what your 'evil' plans are for us poor unfortunate Terrans under the despotic rule of Her Imperial Highness Martha the First."

"Um," Mattie replied.

"Brilliant comeback, kiddo," her Aunt Lois replied. "It's snappy, with high information density. Good for talking heads like my beloved husband, but we ink-stained wretches want more detail."

Chuckling, 'Cee' advised, "Get your brain in gear first. Arthur's 'funeral' is private information for family members only, and you don't confirm that he's dead. Which he isn't."

"Just a lot of pain," Clark put in. "Death has been looking for a Chinese counter agent, but they apparently didn't bother to create one, as it is so fast-acting. The poison itself was apparently a secret within the MSS, so we're going to have to reverse-engineer it. Superman has taken a sample to his Fortress, but that's where we stand right now regarding Arthur."

"Regarding the Terran Assembly," 'Spade' put in, "The basic layout is that each province elects a representative to their continental bloc, they elect the seven continental representatives for Terra to the Imperial Assembly. We've got several checks and balances built in, including on the Imperial Throne and the Heir and the Alternates. We haven't worked out selection methods yet, though."

"Keep them secret, or reasonably so," his wife 'Cee' said. "Have some mystery, like the College of Cardinals does when they elect a Pope, but also know that since the Heirs come from a decent-sized pool, it will allow speculation, betting, all the glitz and glamour the British Royals have."

"Which they find a pain in the arse, but I can see that," Mattie said as she finished her salad. "They always need people to go to ribbon cuttings and launch ships." She attacked her steak as she thought, swallowed, "Okay, checks and balances. Arthur and I were briefed in, but not on sources or methods."

"Good plan," 'Spade' replied. "If the Queen isn't cleared for that, your average nosy Assemblyman or reporter isn't going to be. By the way, someone had a sense of humor regarding naming your intelligence service the IRS." He took a gulp of his drink and continued, "Keep Imperial Research and Survey the public face, any covert work goes on behind that mask. Also have a public, open research service available, anything 'black' goes on behind them. Admit to having spies, but use that phrase…"

"I do not confirm or deny military or intelligence information," Mattie quoted herself. "What about oversight?"

"You have some Cabinet members that are briefed, as well as certain select members of the Assembly that can be trusted to keep their mouths shut. Imperial Research briefs them in closed-door sessions. They can be told 'Agent 927 on planet such-and-such reports this' but they don't need to know who agent 927 is. The local office would know, but anyone else?"

"They don't have 'need-to-know', and neither do nosy reporters like my beloved wife and me," Clark said. "As an Imperial Citizen I can understand that, and recognize that publishing that would likely get that agent 927 killed. As a reporter, though, I want to know."

Slowly chewing, Mattie nodded. "What about…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, December 19, 2002: 20:00 (GMT -5)  
Terra, New York, WGNN studios:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Counting down, the producer pointed at Mary, who said, "Good evening, and welcome to '_Knight at Night_'. We're fortunate to have the Queen of the Terran Empire, Ms. Mattie Wayne." She turned, "Your Highness…"

"You can skip all the groveling and titles, Mary," Mattie said with a smile to the camera. "Mattie or Ms. Wayne will do just fine."

"Thank you, Ms. Wayne. We'll have a few questions; and then we'll go to open phones, and since this broadcast is worldwide, the viewers should be seeing a local toll-free number. Callers, please remember to give your location and keep it clean."

* * *

"… we're working on a proposed budget, but without specific numbers, all we can do is percentages at the moment," Ms. Wayne replied.

"And on that note we'll go to a short break, then back with Empress Wayne and open phones," Mary said, keeping her smile until the camera light went off. Mattie reached under the table, taking a couple long pulls from her water bottle, as the producer set a couple of phones on the table. Mary commented, "Not bad so far, but God knows what's coming up. You've really got the Four Horsemen as houseguests?"

"Yeah, and while Famine is eating constantly, at least he's cheap to feed, he prefers bread and vegetables. We're the most concerned about Disease; he _says_ he hasn't let anything loose…" The producer pointed at Mary, "Back in five, four …" and the red light went on again.

"Welcome back to '_Knight at Night_' from Manhattan, we've got the Queen of the Terran Empire, Ms. Mattie Wayne with us, who has commanded us to use her regular names," Mary said with a smile. "So anyone won't think we're being impolite. Ms. Wayne, we're going to open phones, I remind our viewers of the local toll free number, please give your location and keep it clean."

"Here goes," Mattie said, pushing the first button. "Hello, you're on the line, what's your question?"

"Hello? Is this really the Queen?"

"Yes, it is, caller. What's your location and your question?"

"Um, are you going to draft me into the Storm Troopers?"

"I don't have Storm Troopers, or a draft, so you're safe there, caller. However, we do have an Imperial Army, where you can travel to distant parts of the galaxy and meet interesting people."

There was a hum of a disconnected line, and Mary said, "What's the most interesting type of … well, of person you've met?"

"Physically? I'd say a group mind, made of hundreds or thousands of semi-intelligent cockroaches. You walk _very_ carefully around them." Ms. Wayne pushed a flashing light, "Hello, you're on the line with Mattie Wayne. What's your location and your question?"

"Um, do you have, like, Death Stars and that kind of thing? Oh, I'm in Phoenix."

"No, no Death Stars, although someone in my Design office is definitely a Star Wars fan, the ships do look like miniature Star Destroyers. These are only a few hundred meters, instead of Vader's forty-kilometer ship, and they do have a carrier-like island at the aft end." She pushed another button, "Hello, you're on the line with me, location and question?"

"Oy, Mattie, it's Sprink. You don't pick up your bloody mobile, mate, so give a shout."

"And how's the wedding plans going?" Mattie replied. "I'm five hours behind you lot in the Great Smoke." She checked her cell phone, "Sorry, my battery's flat. I'll give you a shout when I get to the hotel, mate." She punched the button, "My best mate in London. I wonder how many calls I've missed. Anyway," she punched another button, "Hello, you're on the line, what's your location and question?"

"I'm prior service from the Sixth Marines, I'd like to join up, but I'd rather not be changed into a girl," the caller said.

"That's a bonus program to get more women to sign up, and I regret to say was abused," Mattie replied. "We're not perfect, folks. We do want more women because the logistics improve, we figure on a hundred kilo male for things like food, water, air and so forth. If we get a woman weighing fifty or seventy kilos, that's an automatic savings right there. Biosculpt was also offered to disabled veterans from various wars with a 'be whole and join up as a healthy young female, or stay an old, disabled man' approach by the recruiters. They got a bonus depending on how many recruits accepted, and that's been dropped. We'll still do it, but you need to ask for it." She took a gulp of water from her bottle, "As far as prior service people, we do ask you be in good physical shape, but you can go into an accelerated basic if you separated within the last two years. Otherwise, you go through regular basic on Corfu, loving those hills."

"Now that's a peculiar phrase," Mary commented.

"When you're a runner, you generally 'love a hill' (she finger-quoted) by double-timing up a nice, steep one, then walking back down, and running back up. The physical conditioning is fairly standard for military service; we also need to give you the 'Army' way of looking at things." She took a swallow of water, "The Army provides the 'shore' services, basic training, messing, logistics, that kind of thing. Then, once you've gone through Basic, you then go on to either specialty Army training or to the Navy or Marines for their specialized training." Taking another swallow of water, she added, "We're not looking for the huge numbers of Infantry that happened in the World Wars. Some planets will have garrison troops for security, as will our Embassies and commercial buildings. We're not looking to conquer planets, but if there's a threat to our facilities, we'll have troops there. However, the vast majority of Army troops will be doing construction, supply and so forth." Mattie punched a button, "Next caller, you're on the air, what's your location and question?"

There was a patter of Russian, in which Ms. Wayne replied. The line disconnected, and she said, "The caller asked about intelligence services. I replied that we did have those services, but you needed to go through Army training first. As far as details, we have civilian oversight, and I do not confirm or deny military or intelligence information." She smiled, "Next caller?"

"I'm in Metropolis, and I was wondering what kinds of social systems there were, Ms. Wayne."

"Just about everything you can think of, including religious, feudal, business societies with planetary Boards of Directors, the usual Empires with various levels of freedom and political power, and systems that are completely owned by various interstellar mega-corporations. Those planets are truly slave planets, there are maybe a few hundred or so free individuals at the very top, the rest of the planet's population is slaves, and have been for thousands or millions of years." She took a gulp of water, "That's what I'm trying to prevent. When that Chinese-linked slaver was let go by the judge, he had every sensor on his ship going like mad, there's absolutely no way he wasn't going to sell that information. The question we have is how long we have before another invasion fleet comes, and how much we can build before then."

"So, worst case?" Mary asked.

"That slaver makes contact with someone like Black Hole, the interstellar criminal network, who puts together a fleet and attacks. Right now, we couldn't stand them off, so the JLA is called in, hopefully they can, but our information is now 'public'. If they take the system, most of the males will be killed off except for breeding stock. The females will be collared and sold off as slaves. That's within a few months, and that's why I'm pushing this as an immediate threat. We don't have the time for the usual political games, and tacking on amendments and pork, and studies that take months. Now, I'd like to address the people that will dismiss this; and put their heads firmly in the sand and deny there's any threat, I ask, "Do you buy insurance?"

"Insurance?"

"You buy homeowner's insurance against someone breaking in, or a fire or other damage to your house; it's the same thing with auto insurance and other forms of protection. It's something that you hope you won't need, but it's there if you do. We're in the situation of a family in a house filled with valuables in a bad neighborhood. You buy locks and alarms and maybe have an attack dog." She paused; then punched one of the flashing lights, "Hello, what's your location and question?"

"I'm in Toronto, and you said that was worst case. What's the best case?"

"He's not successful in selling the information, or he's a bad haggler and prices the information too high. Also, he might simply be killed and the information stolen, but for whatever reason, he doesn't sell our location or our defensive status. However, I wouldn't plan on that. He's got the location of a system with four habitable worlds; he's going to find a buyer. Think of it this way, you're hiking in the woods and you find gold. You're going to sell that information, but first you're going to do some research on who owns that land, and buy it on the cheap. Once you do, _then_ you turn around and sell the location of your gold. That's going to take some time, but not forever."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, December 19, 2002: 22:37 (GMT -5)  
Terra, New York, Holiday Inn Central Park:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Touching down lightly in an alley, Crystal and Mattie made their way to the hotel, Crystal having un-shrunk their suitcases. They entered, making their way to the front desk, where Mattie greeted the young man. "Good evening. We're checking in, two connected rooms for Wayne?" She offered her green AMEX, and he looked up from his screen at the young woman in uniform, "Yes, your highness, and welcome to New York and our hotel. We've got you booked on the penthouse level, and the reservation is flagged for a manager. I'll summon one while we check you in;" and he picked up a phone.

* * *

"I must complement the young man at the front desk, he didn't even raise an eyebrow when he saw me," Mattie said as the elevator rose toward the top floor.

"Jared has always been unflappable, but thanks for mentioning it," the manager, who had long, dark blonde hair and a name tag reading 'Alina'. The elevator 'binged' and the door opened to a short hallway, two rooms on the right were marked with yellow police evidence tape. Alina pulled the tape off, using a passkey to open them. "These are the rooms Mr. Morton and Mr. Wright were occupying…"

"Excuse me," Crystal said, showing her ID, "I'm SO-1 from the UK. You have permission from the local coppers to do that?"

"Yes, the NYPD sent us a fax, but we weren't quite sure what to do with their property they dropped off, and this here, so when you registered, we thought it best just to wait until you arrived. If you want, we'll go down to the manager's office and get you a copy. Your rooms are just across the hall."

"I'll do that, Mattie, can you start?"

"I'll just go open the connecting door," Alina said.

* * *

"This is hard," Mattie said from the connecting doorway. Crystal nodded, muffled sobs as she clutched a small box. She held it out to Mattie, and taking it, she saw an engagement ring. "Why don't we trade off? I'll do Steve's, you do Arthur's room; there will be a bit of a remove that way."

* * *

"Front desk."

"Yes, this is Ms. Wayne. Alina asked me to call when we had our … our husbands' stuff packed up, so you could notify Housekeeping?"

"Yes, thank you, Ms. Wayne, and please accept our sympathies."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, December 20, 2002: 07:38 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham, Wayne manor, south sunroom:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Things are definitely looking up," 'Spade' offered as he looked up from his laptop. "Mattie, if you'd make a quick trip to DC and meet with the President while your Mom schmoozes the Senate, you've got your Uncle Fidel working on Central and South America, the Brits and Germans are covering Europe, Taiwan and the Japanese are doing Asia, and Egypt is doing the Mideast. As long as the unification bill doesn't get too screwed over by the Senate, we should have a unified planet by New Years." He shook his head, "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Slytherin Solidarity," Connie replied. She had taken on the job of Mattie's chief of staff and aide; to some extent the exhaustion had gotten her away from the mental image of her Mom's dead body. She was hitting the dreamless sleep potion quite heavily and risked addiction. "If you could drop Ms. Hawking and me off in Manhattan we can take care of Mom's … Mom's affairs."

"Superman will be by later with his passenger module and Granmere Laval," Selina said. "He can drop you two off in New York, Mattie and I off in DC, and then go on to pick up the British in London."

"That should be fine," Mattie looked up from her coffee. "I guess I'd better go change into my uniform, then." She left, and Julie shook her head, "I'd always _heard_ about the levels of influence the Slythies had. This is just … unbelievable."

"Why do you think the most recent Dark Lord tried so hard to recruit us?" Aurora said as she looked up from her own notes. "There's something in everyone that wants a bit of power, and if they've got complaints, they should have negotiated a better contract."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, December 20, 2002: 09:00 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Washington, DC, the Oval Office:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Mr. President, Her Imperial Highness, Ms. Wayne," and Pete Ross, President of the United States rose from behind his desk as Crystal and three other Secret Service agents entered behind Mattie. He shook hands with a small bow, "Milady Empress, how good of you to drop by."

"I'm sorry for the disruption in your schedule, Mr. President, but my schedule is rather tight, and I have to go off-planet shortly," Mattie replied, bowing in return. "I'm glad you can fit me in." He gestured to seats by the fireplace, and the White House photographer came in, shooting some photos. He was about to leave, and Ms. Wayne raised a hand, "While I'm strictly amateur, one shutterbug to another, send me some of those and I'll autograph them. As a matter of fact, I'd like to see your shop."

The President grinned, "Everyone has a hobby. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs likes to restore old cars; the Head of CIA is a hockey nut."

"Wonder Woman collects stamps," she agreed, and paused at his expression. "Mr. President?"

"Mattie, for this, please call me Pete. I was thinking you might do me a personal favor. Not as the President, but as ordinary Pete Ross, loving husband and father."

"What is it, Pete?"

"My youngest daughter is absolutely the world's largest Wonder Woman fan, and my older daughter and wife would like to meet her. Anyway, Melissa's birthday is the twenty-sixth, and she'd be just over-the-moon if…"

"Say no more, Pete," Mattie said with a grin. "Can I get my cell phone?"

"Oval Office is shielded, ma'am," one of the formerly-impassive Secret Service agents said with a small smile. "Best reception is out in the Rose Garden, but we've got a couple feet of snow there."

"I can dry off," she replied with an answering smile.

* * *

"Pete?" Mattie held out her phone with a smile. "Make the arrangements for Melissa's present with Wonder Woman."

"Thank you, Mattie," he said as he took it and started talking. He nodded a couple of times; then motioned over one of the Secret Service agents. They talked a bit more, then Pete walked back to Mattie, handing her phone back. They re-entered the Oval Office, with Crystal holding up her wand. "Shoes off, you lot; for warming and drying charms."

"I really appreciate this," Pete said. "It's the little things about being President that can be such a pain in the butt."

"I know exactly what you mean," Mattie agreed. "You can't simply go out for a pizza and a movie; you've got to have the Fifth Marine Division storm the beaches first." She turned, "Listen, guys, we really do appreciate you and your work. (Pete nodded with a 'hear, hear!') But you can meet your wives and families and do normal stuff. If we tried that, we'd be instantly recognized (she brushed the two white patches in her hair) and mobbed. I know I get so jealous that you can go home after a shift, put your feet up with a beer and watch a football game." She took a deep breath, "Well, Mr. President, while my Mom works over the Senate, I hope we can do some business."

"Yes, back to business, Your Highness. My budget office ran some numbers based on last years Gross Planetary Product and the budget spreadsheet you've published on the web." He handed over a pair of file folders, opening one of his own.

"Hmm," she mused, as she looked it over. "I would like to bounce this off Mr. Griplink, my Gringotts Account Manager." She looked up and settled back in her chair, "Mr. President, he mentioned that the United States doesn't have an account with them, something they'd like to rectify. Most other countries do."

"We have a Treasury Department, Your Highness."

"Yes, Mr. President. I learned that in school," she said with a smile. "However, I would mention that Gringotts is our affiliated bank with Lantern Bank, the interstellar bank. On a political note, this is regarded as an insult by the Goblins, who, I may note, could pay off the US national debt out of pocket change. Not someone you want irritated with you."

"SecTreas blew them off, but then again, that was last year," the President mentioned. "Okay, I can see this, so how do we fix it?"

"Goblins have a lot of dignity, and are some of the finest metallurgists on the planet," Mattie said. "I can make a call to Mr. Griplink, who for internal Goblin political reasons will extend the actual invitation to Mr. Mackrack, the Chairman of Gringotts and the head of the Goblins." The President nodded as she continued, "They will arrive, you will discuss terms and conditions, and most importantly, you will treat them as a high-level head of state; like you would the Chancellor of Germany or the Queen of England. They enter through the public entrance, they walk _around_ security, the Secret Service is extremely polite but not groveling, you do not insist on confiscating their cell phones or wave metal detectors over them (she turned to look at the Secret Service); any more than you would look in the Queen's handbag. I understand security, as will they. However, there are protocols to be followed, and if they bring a detachment of Goblins armed with swords and pikes, you don't blink an eye."

The head of the Secret Service detachment asked, "Ma'am, you want us to allow swords and pikes in the presence of the President?"

"Two reasons, they are the security for Mr. Mackrack, just as Crystal is my security. To disallow that security would be interpreted as insult, a lack of trust. Secondly, by allowing them in the President's home, as guests in that home, they will literally stand and die in his protection. It would be unthinkable, and a major insult, to think they would attack the President, and besides, you guys will also be there."

"Chet, I can see this," the President said. "Please go on, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Mr. President. Once Mr. Mackrack and his party have left, within an hour or two, you will receive a call from your new Senior Account Manager. You treat him as an Ambassador, which he is. He is the one that will interact with you and the Secretary of the Treasury, and this is going to be the toughest part for you. If he wishes a particular bill passed through Congress, that bill is NOT loaded down with pork and earmarks, which mean you're going to have to lean hard on Congress. If they want to fund a bridge in Alaska; that would go in a ports and highways bill; not a defense bill and it's voted on in the light of day."

"My dreams come true," the President said softly. "What else, Your Highness?"

Mattie grinned, "Mr. President, you've noticed that our proposed Imperial Constitution doesn't allow pork on spending bills; it only allows deficit spending on an emergency basis. That deficit must be paid off before a fiscal emergency is again declared. It also gives the Crown a line-item veto."

"I'm jealous," the President commented. "A sane fiscal structure. So the Ambassador has come and gone, and we've got a new account with Gringotts. Then what?"

"You can then use the Goblins to lean on any obstreperous members of Congress, in the interest of sound fiscal management. Of course, your proposed course of action will require that fiscal management. I'm sure that between you, Treasury, and your Account Manager you can come up with perfectly legal things to discuss."

The President sat back, regarding her. "For someone that doesn't hold politicians in high regard, you're remarkably savvy about them."

"I've had some excellent tutors, Mr. President. My major objection is the fast and loose sense of ethics and morals; leaking secrets which will get people killed for a momentary sound bite to look good. That's why Niccolò suggested making me the 'bad guy' for the Assembly; it gives them an excuse to use, someone to blame. 'Well, I'd like to, but the Queen would…'" She shrugged, and the President nodded. "We thought of something like that. My political office had some suggestions to make regarding the structure of the Empire…"

* * *

Mark and Irene Higginbotham of Chagrin Falls, Ohio were in line for the White House tour when their son looked up and shouted, "Hey, Wayne!" People looked across the rope barrier, and a young woman in a grey uniform said something to an older man, then headed in their direction. She stopped a couple feet away, saying dryly, "You shouted?"

Mark's son was standing there, jaw dropped that she'd actually replied, when Irene said, "Miss Wayne, I'd like to apologize for my son's rudeness, and express my sympathies about the death of your husband…"

Mattie took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, then nodded and said, "Thank you. I appreciate that." She gripped Irene's hands for a minute, as Irene said "Totally understandable reaction…"

"The NYPD was rather upset about my destroying their crime scene," Mattie said wryly, when Irene's daughter Kathy asked, "How do you get the white patches?"

Miss Wayne grinned, "A spell went wrong, and I've tried hair coloring, spells and charms, everything I can think of to fix it. It's distinctive, at least."

"It is that," the older man said, and Miss Wayne blushed, "Where are my manners? Pete Ross, this is…" Mark reached out, and shook the President's hand, saying, "Mark Higginbotham, Mr. President." He changed hands, "Miss Wayne, err, should that be Your Queen, or …"

Miss Wayne laughed, shaking hands, "Mattie, or if you want to be formal, Ms. Wayne. Despite all the efforts of my British friends to convert me, I'm not comfortable with the whole 'Queen' bit." Behind her, one of the women said with a small smile, "We'll get you yet, Yank."

"How do you do that hairstyle?" Kathy asked. Mattie looked her over, "Your hair is long enough, want me to do it?" and twirled a wand. Kathy nodded, and Ms. Wayne flicked her wand. "Now go get some photos done, you can tell your stylist to match it." The British woman coughed, "Ma'am, we need to get to the House for that meeting."

"Okay, one last question … Mr. Higginbotham?"

"Um, ma'am, the whole Empire thing, bottom line, what will it mean to me and my family?"

"It means you can travel to other planets, other stars, once we get that set up. In terms of your paycheck, it's another deduction, and you've got one other person to elect on the ballot. I know that unemployment is up, if you want to work for me, I'm hiring all sorts of construction people. If you want to set up as an independent asteroid miner, Gringotts is doing mortgages for ships and equipment. We do suggest families of at least two people, for safety reasons. That can be boring, but there are families doing home schooling of their kids, we've got good communications."

"So why the taxes?"

"It's not that much, if you make five hundred a week; you're looking at twenty five bucks as your part in defending the planet," Ms. Wayne replied. "Honestly, I'm pretty much at my financial limit; I can't afford to pay for ships, bases, and all the rest of the things the Empire needs."

"How likely is it we'll be invaded?"

"Again?" The President asked. "I'm not betting against it." There was a murmur at that, and he continued, "We can't continue to rely on the JLA; we have to be able to stand up and fight back if necessary. I've seen the same TV coverage that you have; I don't want to see my wife and daughters with collars on their necks. The question isn't _IF_ we'll be invaded again, it's _WHEN_."

"So, like, where do we sign up to be Storm Troopers?" Josh Higginbotham had finally recovered his voice.

"At least high school graduate, and it's the Imperial Army," Ms. Wayne said, gesturing to her uniform. "If you're prior service, or even a disabled veteran, we'll talk to you. Once you get through Basic on Corfu, you then go on to further training, or the Navy or Marines. You want to fly starfighters, that's the Imperial Navy or Marines. There's more information on the Army's website, including the addresses and phone numbers of recruiters."

"Ma'am, we're running late," the British woman said.

"Okay," Ms. Wayne said, then waved to people and walked off.

* * *

"Mrs. Wayne!" the Chair of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee said, holding out his hand. "Welcome back to our little home-away-from-home. Can I offer you some coffee?"

Selina Wayne entered the Russell Senate office building meeting room, noting there were quite a few more people than last time. She raised an eyebrow as she accepted a large US Senate mug, and the Senior Senator from Ohio waved his own Cleveland Browns mug. "I thought it would be best to invite our colleagues from the government relations committee, as what you're proposing is more along the lines of joining NATO or the EU."

"To some extent," Selina said, smoothing her skirt as she sat at the table. "There would be a continental Assembly, all 54 states including Guam, Puerto Rico, the US Virgin Islands and DC, plus the Canadian and Mexican provinces; roughly a hundred people. They would elect a North American delegate to Terra's seven-member contingent to the Imperial Assembly. The net effect for the average Joe Citizen would be another entry on the ballot and an additional deduction in his paycheck."

One of the Senators, a plump middle-aged woman raised her hand, "I had a question about the money, planet-wide that's an awful lot of it. What are the plans for it?"

"Right now, all we can do is estimates based on last year's Gross Planetary Product and assumptions on that five percent. I sent over our estimates…"

"Got them," the Senator with a Seahawks mug replied, lifting a file folder. "That's enough money to build a fleet of carriers!" Another Senator quoted, "A billion here, a billion there…"

"True, but remember this is primarily infrastructure at this point," Selina said. "We'll be buying land, putting up buildings, building deep space bases and ports, that kind of thing. One way we thought people could help would be to have a community sponsorship of a ship, floating bonds. It would help if those bonds were tax-exempt, but that would at least cover costs for supplies, maintenance, and so forth if not the actual construction of the ship. Since most of these ships are smaller, system defense ships; that should be more affordable. We don't _need_ those carriers, Senator."

"At least not yet," he replied.

* * *

The Senator entered his offices again, trailed by Miss Smithers as he entered the inner sanctum. He pulled up short as his desk chair spun around, not even noticing as the door closed with a quiet 'click'. The Senator demanded, "Who are you and what are you doing behind my desk? Get out!"

"In a minute, my dear Senator Katz," the tall, blond man said. He was dressed in an expensive suit, and with a small gesture floated a mug of coffee. Stanley found himself sitting in one of his own supplicant's chairs, sipping coffee. He eyed the stranger, who continued, "You've just come from a meeting with the delightful Selina Wayne, and all the way over, you've been considering not only how to take full advantage of the situation to your benefit, but what 'earmarks' (he finger-quoted) you can attach." He tented his long fingers, "I strongly suggest you reconsider, Senator. I know you've been called the 'King of Pork', but I want a 'clean' bill passed."

"Who are you that you think you can dictate terms and conditions to me?" Stanley demanded; standing and glaring at the tall man. "Get out of my office!" The tall man simply looked at him, and Stanley found himself in a hot rock cavern, standing on a narrow ledge, with a pool of lava inches away from him. A few feet away from him, he recognized …

"Stanley! Stanley! Help me! I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but please, man, beg Lucifer for mercy!" Walter Lugo begged him from where he struggled to keep his head above the lava. Walter's arm, dripping with fire, stretched out to him, and Stanley staggered back. "You're dead! I went to your funeral! I was glad you were finally gone!"

"Please, Stan, you're here with …" they were back in his comfortable office, clean and dry of sweat, only now the tall man was dressed in a perfect white suit, and Miss Smithers strolled over to him, the bat wings on her shoulders extending out as he found her wrapped around him, her sharp teeth biting his chin.

"W'n'd'a, you can't have him yet." Lucifer said, and she turned and pouted. "There's the pimp in Georgetown. You can have him to play with tonight if you control yourself."

"Can I collect him?" she asked.

"You can mark his soul for yourself, but he's not scheduled to die for a while yet. Now back off, we want to allow the good Senator to make his decision without our influence." She separated, and he felt as if he was doused with a large bucket of ice. "Now then, Senator, you've seen what happens to those who … disappoint me. You're going to use your influence to pass the Imperial bills, and to endorse, enthusiastically mind you, any others necessary. I would not object to your sponsoring or co-sponsoring those bills. Should you encounter difficulties, you may confide in Miss Smithers, who has her own extensive network of contacts."

He looked at her, "I raised you up from dirt, I brought you to DC, and now you're some form of …"

"The correct term is succubus," she said, sparks flying as she filed a horned nail with a rasp. She gave him a bright smile, shifting back to Wanda Smithers, where she leaned against the credenza. "You really don't want to disappoint the Boss. He's behind this, for his own reasons. I'm not the only succubus, or incubus for that matter, on the Hill, and we're supporting his efforts."

"You're behind the Waynes! I'll expose you …"

"Don't be absurd," Lucifer said. "Neither of the delightful Wayne ladies is aware of my activities. They would succeed on their own efforts, although it would take a bit longer. I'm simply assisting in expediting the process, for my own reasons. Should you decide to proceed with that idea, you would not only disappoint me, but you would cause me to expend a bit of effort in squelching your ties with the good Reverend you're thinking of."

"What makes you think we don't have influence with all those Bible-thumpers you're always sucking up to?" Wanda asked. "You should see what we have on them!"

"And if I do what you want?" he asked as the visions of the billions of dollars of pork vanished.

"You'll please me," Lucifer replied. "Please me enough; you might even qualify for a trip up, although it's been quite a while since a professional politician entered Heaven. Do we have an understanding, my good Senator?" Stanley Katz nodded, reluctantly, and Wanda gave him a million-watt smile. "Excellent! Well, I must be off. Wanda, have fun, and Senator, please feel free to avail yourself of Wanda's services." She slinked over to him, wrapping herself around the Senator as Lucifer vanished, leaving behind a slight scent of brimstone. "I have a lot of 'services', Senator…" she breathed in his ear.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, December 20, 2002: 21:24 (GMT +8)  
Terra, Beijing, People's residential complex #13:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Ming was tired; she had been working extra hours while her husband Wen was stationed in the heart of the Main Enemy, New York City. Her feet hurt, but he was no longer here to rub them, not that she could see them in her state of advanced pregnancy. She hoped the lift was working this evening, walking up the stairs would not be pleasant. Stopping in the lobby of her apartment building, she used a key to unlock her postbox, and saw the usual bills, and a notice from the Ministry of State Security.

With trembling hands, she opened it, read the first few lines, and screamed, collapsing to the dirty tile. The manager poked his head out from his apartment, told her, "Comrade, please be quiet! People are…" and then noticed the blood and fluid pooling under her. Closing the door, he used his telephone to dial the operator, who promised to send an ambulance. She did not sound efficient. Having done his duty to his comrade, he returned to watching his television.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, December 20, 2002: 18:00 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 10 Secundus, 163, 06:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, north livestock area, south gate:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Your master has permitted you long, beautiful hair, slave," Yuki heard as her hair was twisted up on her head. "Unfortunately, we must hide it in a hood. Slaves are given color-coded hoods based on their destination, and masters require a visible neck." There was a series of jerks, "Can you breathe, slave? You have a long walk ahead, but masters wish to see only your collar and leash."

"At least they could if the star had risen," another slave commented. "Two more, then we may finish loading other cargo."

"Slaves stand. On the left!" and Yuki felt a jerk on the leash that chained her in coffle. '_The first step in three hundred miles to clear my name_,' she thought.

George Brenner climbed to the top of the shonnen-drawn bus, looking back at the lines of chained slaves walking behind the cargo wagon. His Yuki was among them, he had watched her being chained in line. He caught the eye of his former co-workers, also escaped with slaves from Dr. Tannenbaum's research, and wondered what their plans were. For himself, he was confident of finding a position in one of the seedling colonies, and he planned on freeing Yuki as soon as possible. With nothing else to do, he settled down for a nap.

* * *

Pete kicked the foot of the dozing George Brenner, "Hey, George, wake up. Rest stop."

"Wha… thanks, man. What about the girls?"

"Taken care of, man," Pete leaned close, "Keep your distance in public with your girl, man. She's a slave, and legally an animal, even if you like her. What you do in private is your thing, man."

George looked around, "Yeah, man, thanks. What are you planning on doing with yours?"

"She's got a common collar, man, so I'll offer her freedom at the first chance. I think you've got a good idea about the colonies, man, but I'd rather stay in the cities. I'm from New York City, y'know." He gestured for George to precede him, "How'd you wind up with a red-collar girl?"

"Luck of the draw, man. Luck of the draw." He watched a crew suction and water the lines of chained girls, then went to climb down the circular stairs and on to the small inn.

* * *

Yuki knelt in the inspection position, left leg up and out to show her brands, right kneeling, and bent forward at the waist so her cuffed wrists could be inspected. She breathed as deeply as her Enhancement allowed, resting for the long walk. She could already feel the road dust on her naked torso and the insects that walked along her sweaty back.

"End of the day, slaves," Yuki heard, and cheered to herself. "Water, food and suction and you'll be chained in here for the night. Assume the Inspection position tomorrow when you're woken." As the coffle of chained slaves moved forward, Yuki felt the mud with her sandaled feet. She was suctioned as she passed through a gate.

* * *

"Ahh, damn good beer," Pete said that evening. "I must say, this life has its attractions."

"For us, but how are the girls treated?" George replied. His eyes tracked a nearly-naked redhead who was wearing an almost-transparent white slave tunic, which swayed seductively as she danced, chained to a pole. The inn was dimly lit, but there was enough light to watch the girls. Their own serving girl, a dark-haired girl with coffee-colored skin, white brands on her thigh and a judicial collar knelt, "Do my masters desire anything? This slave is available for rent if my masters need relief."

"I do," 'Sam', one of the few women said, and stood.

"Yes, my mistress," the slave said. "If my mistress will precede this slave, this slave's owner will settle accounts with my mistress and provide this slave's usage keys." She followed her use-mistress as Pete asked, "Now who will bring us beer?"

"I'm going to my room," George said in disgust.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, December 20, 2002: 22:39 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Wandsworth, East Hill Pub:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Stand a pint?" and Ron turned and looked at the blonde next to him. She didn't quite fit in to this working-class pub, but then again, neither did he. It was a muggle pub, and after a moment, he signaled the barkeep. "A pint for the girl; and a refill for me."

"Thanks," she said, putting her purse strap over one knee. "Lucy." She added to the barkeep "Satanic Mills, please."

"Ron, Ron Weasley," he replied, and he was deeply enough in his cups that he missed her smile of delight. He put £20 on the bar and told the barkeep "Let it ride." Fortunately, she drank cask beer, while he was working his way through vodka.

* * *

"Oh, I need you, Ron," she wheedled as she pulled him down an alleyway. With a glance, the already dim lighting was reduced to moonlight, and she pulled him to the side. "Oh, Ron…" In his last conscious thought, he wondered why she was wearing an iron collar with a red jewel…

* * *

Lucille put the sleeping, redheaded infant in the iron turnstile, warm in her blankets that wrapped her in the wicker basket. A note was pinned to those blankets identifying her as 'Renee Bianca Wayne'. She found it deliciously ironic that one of her enemies would be raised by the Stockwell Orphanage, the same one that had raised her late Dark Lord. Turning the iron with a small smile, Lucille rang the orphanage's bell; then hurried away, the only sound the clipping of her heels on the snowy sidewalk.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 21, 2002: 06:13 (relative)  
Passan, River Kingdom, **_Ch'wan_**:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Roger McClinton raised his hand as the riverboat approached the Terran trade mission's dock, calling 'Hello the _Ch'wan_!" Several of the crew recognized him, returning his wave as the natives tossed lines to the outside guards. The Captain approached him as lines were secured, "You have requested us at the Guildhall again. I am pleased."

"Why should I not request the services of the finest boat and crew in the Kingdom?" Roger asked. "I wish you fair winds and calm waters, and to have the honor of joining your journey up-river."

"The honor is _Ch'wan's_, to share your journey," the Captain replied. "I welcome you aboard," and with a hand-clasp the transaction was done. Cargo was handed across, the First asking, "Any special requirements?"

"The tubes are more charts and diagrams, and need to be in dry-store," Roger replied. "The others are ceramic models, and should be with small, delicate cargo. More information and discussions with the King." The Second reached up to the dock, grabbing Roger's bag as he jumped aboard.

"We depart, then," and lines were tossed back as the crew used poles to navigate the ship through the city's canals.

* * *

"How are your relations with the people of Bandis-land?" Roger asked later that day as he used a rod to add to the ship's supply of fish for dinner.

"Calm, for the most part," one of the off-duty crew replied from his own line. "They do not have as much of ships as we, but have more grains and fields. Why do you ask?"

"We wish to open negotiations with them regarding ores and metals," Roger replied. "As we trade with you for plant saps and so forth; however, we wish to keep good relations with the King. I ask because I seek knowledge of the common person's view."

"Ah," the native said. He used a mid-hand to keep a grip on his line as he gave a felinoid stretch. "I think the commons would not object as long as it does not harm him in some way," he replied. "You Terrans have proved most reasonable, yet it is recognized that you have skills and needs we do not. It is only common sense that you would seek to address those needs. I do not know why you require particular saps, but you have proven honorable traders."

"Some of us are more likely than others to fall victim to certain diseases," Roger said. "These are long-term illnesses, and those saps, properly prepared, treat those diseases." Other crew grunted or huffed in understanding. "The ores, and the tailings from those mines and the processing, contain metals for which you do not have a use, but we do. For instance, one is known as aluminum, a strong, lightweight metal, but to extract it from ore requires a fire many, many times hotter than even the hottest of the blacksmith's forge. We can produce that, you cannot. If we buy the waste of your mines, the tailings, we can extract those metals for which you have no use. This also helps to clean the land and water of those waste heaps, enabling you to make productive use of that land and water." He twitched his line, "A fish caught from sick water is a sick fish, and not edible."

"True, this is," another crewmember said. "Beware the Trade Minister; we have heard he is a sharp knife."

"He does his duty well in the service of the King if that is true," Roger said.

"We have heard he puts duty to himself above that of the King, always seeking to add to his own place," the crewmember said.

"Gratitude," Roger replied, as the pole bent, and with a sharp jerk he set the hook. "I think I have something here!"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 21, 2002: 08:58 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham, Wayne manor, south sunroom:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Good morning, Pomona," Selina said as the herbologist entered. "Find a seat, there's tea and coffee on the sideboard. I've done my morning run, although Mattie and the others are still on theirs."

"Most interesting," Bella said from her copy of the _Daily Planet_. Her hand reached out, capturing her tea mug, although the gulp went the other way with a gasp of laughter. "Oh, my, this fellow _Doonesbury_ is most amusing. Why isn't he with the other comics, though?"

"The author gets political," 'Spade' looked up from his laptop. "Yes, definitely trending up. Could you pass me that _Washington Post_?"

"Here you are," Severus said as he folded his copy. "Mrs. Wayne, I …"

"It's Selina, Severus."

"As you wish. I was thinking of availing myself of your gymnasium, and then to inspect your Potions laboratory."

"Only if you go with a partner, Severus."

"I'll go," Bella said, folding her paper. She tugged on her fiancé's sleeve, "Let's go change."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 21, 2002: 12:45 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham, Wayne manor, small meeting room:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Selina tapped her fork against her water glass, "Are we all here? It looks like it. This first meeting of … what are we calling it?"

"The Imperial advisory council, I think, ma'am," Connie Koslowski replied. She glanced at a handwritten agenda on her clipboard. "We need to know how the various projects are moving along before we go off-planet."

"One thing before we start," Mattie said, cradling a cup of coffee. "We need the other sentient species to send a representative. The goblins and elves. Cyndi?" she called.

The house elf popped in, "Yes, Mistress?"

"We're having a meeting, and I'd like to have someone from the elves present. Could you ask the Pappy who he'd like to send, and offer my apologies for the short notice?" The elf popped out, and Mattie pulled out her cell phone, "Mr. Griplink? I'm sorry for the short notice, but I'm going off planet shortly, we're having an advisory council meeting, and I'd like to have someone from the goblins present." She nodded a few times, "I've invited the Big Pappy to send a representative, and in the future they will be regularly scheduled, I promise!" Connie could hear the short, sharp bark of Griplink's laugh, and she nodded. "That will be fine. I look forward to seeing you again." Closing the phone, she said, "We need a fire connected to the floo network."

"Peter?" Selina called, and a male Elf popped in. "Please light the fire in the East Drawing Room, we're expecting Mr. Griplink from Gringotts." The elf nodded, and Crystal motioned him close, asking him to fetch something. He nodded again, and popped out; popping back in with a rectangular aluminum crate. A wizened old elf popped in with Cyndi, and Mattie stood, approaching him and bowing, offering her hand. "Pappy? I'm Ms. Wayne, and I'm glad to have you here. I apologize for the short notice, we will be having these on a regular, scheduled basis, and I'd like to have a representative of the Elves there."

"We's be glad to be here, Queen Wayne, and we's be honored to participate. We's be full members of the Empire?"

"I would be honored to have the Elves in the Empire as full participants."

"I'se be talking to my Council to have a permanent representative. Until then, I'se be here."

"We are glad to have you, Pappy. Please, join us, have a seat," Mattie replied. "Mr. Griplink of Gringotts will be here shortly."

Peter opened the door, "Queen Wayne, Mr. Griplink of Gringotts."

"Mr. Griplink! It's been far too long," Mattie said, advancing and holding out her hand.

She stopped as he raised a hand. "We must do things properly, Milady Queen." He bowed, "Milady, on behalf of the Goblin people of Terra, I present my letter of authorization from His Excellency, Mr. Mackrack. Should you find this acceptable, I am the Ambassador of the Goblin people to the Terran Empire, with plenipotentiary powers and responsibilities." He offered an envelope, which Mattie opened and read. She passed this over to Sheila, who looked it over and nodded.

"Ambassador Griplink, I find this fully acceptable, and accept your authorization from His Excellency, Mr. Mackrack. I would like to welcome the Goblin people to full participation in the Terran Empire." She shook his hands with hers, bowed, and he returned the bow. They took a step back, and Griplink smiled toothily. "Very well done, milady, I'm glad to be here."

"Please, Mr. Griplink, have a seat. That was a rather fast response to my call."

"We anticipated the possibility, milady. I simply had to print out the document and change my jacket." Griplink took a seat, "Now, what are we discussing?"

"I'd like to start with Arthur," Maggie Morton said.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 21, 2002: 21:36 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham, Wayne manor, east drawing room:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Teela entered the room that until now had been off-limits to everyone but Mrs. Wayne's house-elves. In there, she saw a magnificent tree, with piles of presents under it, and several people turned as she entered. "Sorry I'm late," she said.

"There is no late for this," Death said from her chair next to the fire. She rose and approached Teela, "I am sorry that my duty forced the absences this year."

"Well, we'll just save Arthur's presents for next year," Julie said in a tone of forced cheer. "Is everyone here? Let's get started, then. Bill, you want to play Santa?"

* * *

"You got _me_ a holiday present? ME?" Disease asked, stunned. "But I'm …"

"A guest in my home," Selina said firmly.

* * *

Another slide clicked on the screen, and Mattie said, "Elena, I'd like to thank you for taking these pictures. It brings reports to life. Could you edit your report and put in these slides, and we'll put them on the web?

"I'll help with that," Teela said. She gestured to the screen, "Where's Brazos?"

Severus leaned forward, cup of tea in his hands, "What happened with those internet companies and their bandwidth devices?"

"There were several suggestions to increase bandwidth, and different devices for ships and shore installations," Mattie replied. "We'll still need the charm and potion to keep the connection up in jump space, but instead of having half a dozen bits of equipment, we'd have two or three much smaller ones. If not video, we should be able to transmit photos soon."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 22, 2002: 06:43 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham, Wayne manor:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Your luggage is stowed, Madame Laval," Severus said.

"Thank you, child." The elderly woman that Superman had brought back from New Orleans had been transformed due to Disease' reciprocal 'gift'. Various cancers and diseases had been removed, and the lady that smiled back at Severus appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, instead of her true age of well over a hundred. "Fetch the others and we'll be off. I never thought I'd travel the stars at my age!"

May Branstone and her parents entered the small craft, May taking the window seat at Madame Laval's gesture. Behind her, her parents took seats, and across the aisle, Pomona Sprout took the window seat, with Crystal next to her. Behind her, Bella took the window, while Severus levitated the last bits of luggage in. Mattie entered just ahead of Superman, who looked around, "Everyone ready? It will be several hours to Windfall, there's a small head in the forward bulkhead." He nodded once, then sealed the outer door to the lock, while Mattie did the same to the inner, then took her seat next to Connie Koslowski, who had the window. "I'm going to nap," she said, clicking her seat belt.

"Why don't you fly with him?" Connie whispered.

"He flies faster than I do," she replied, equally quietly. "I don't want to slow us down."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 22, 2002: 06:00 (GMT)  
Seconday, 12 Secundus, 163, 06:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, north coastal road:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Yuki was getting used to this. Wake up when her collar went off, kneel for Inspection, then food and water was pumped down her feeding tube, she was suctioned and chained behind the masters' bus. She was dirty, muddy and sore, her legs ached and she was insect-bitten, but she was still held by her Enhancement, so all she could do was think. Today was a little different, apparently a bit of hair had escaped her hood, so it was redone and pulled tight again.

"Slaves stand. On the left!" and Yuki was off again.

George took his usual place on the top deck of the bus. He was much larger than the natives or other Terrans, so he sat on the deck, with a blanket padding his back. This was the third day of their trip; as usual he looked over the lines of chained and hooded slaves being assembled in coffle behind the luggage cart. He turned as 'Sam' climbed up and took a seat, dropping her travel pack on the deck. He asked, "I heard you bought that tavern slave; what are you planning on doing with her?"

"She's in line," the woman replied, nodding toward the slaves. "I haven't decided yet, it's the first time I've had more than one slave, my original girl and now this one. Let me borrow your book, George."

Giving her a look, he dug in his own pack, tossing '_Slave Ownership for Beginners_' to her. Pete recognized his mood, asking, "There are the new seedling colonies starting up, were you thinking of one of those or a more established one?"

George sent another glare Samantha's way, but she ignored it, going through his book. "I don't know. The information we had was rather slim up north, I was thinking of doing more research when we got to Riverside. There are pros and cons each way."

Pete nodded, "Good point. I think healers are going to be in demand, even if we need to take an equivalency exam. Coming into an established location, we'd be the new faces in town; we'd have to prove ourselves."

"Whereas in a new location, it would be tougher at first," George said, getting into the conversation in order to distract himself. "However, we'd be part of the community from the start, part of the foundation, as it were. A known quantity."

"There is also Island and High Town," another put in as the bus started with a jerk. He was just as bored, as the shonnen pulling the bus were not noted for speed. "If you are healers, there will certainly be a demand for your services, even if you are limited at first to treating slaves and other livestock." He settled back, "There is the program to Enhance all slaves, the addition of healers will speed this up, and I have heard there are bonuses there. It is supposed to be an easy procedure, although it is done primarily in the Farm's slave house. Truly, I have never understood the Terran attitude toward slaves; they are livestock, like the shonnen pulling this bus. They do not have a difficulty buying and selling them, but then again, I am not native to this world either." He made an indifferent gesture, "I am here to consult with the government on slave breeding, although I do not understand why I had to slip in, my ship cloaked against detection."

"It's _government_, nobody understands why they do what they do," Samantha said, marking her place with a finger.

"This is true in all the twenty-eight known galaxies," the off-world consultant agreed with a small laugh. "As a female, do you not feel concern about the plan to collar and Enhance all females?"

"No," she said confidently. "I don't think it will go anywhere. Slaves I can see but collaring free females will never survive politically, the Traditionalists are posturing."

"I see," the consultant said. "You base your opinion on…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 23, 2002: 00:43 (GMT)  
Seconday, 12 Secundus, 163, 29:47 (WFT)  
In flight:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

People looked up when they heard Superman clearing his throat. "Sorry about that little swerve, there was a pirate. We'll be at the Benecee system in a few minutes."

"Please stow your tray tables and put your seats in the upright and locked position, and thank you for flying Air Superman," Connie joked, and Superman chuckled, "I heard that, Connie. We've just passed the system buoy, welcome to the Benecee binary system. I'm slowing down to travel through the asteroid belts of the secondary system." There was silence for a few minutes; then he said, "I'm entering orbit for the planet Windfall. Impressive, they've got a lot done."

People crowded to look out the ports, and Connie nudged Mattie, who woke up. "We're in orbit."

"Oh, good;" She checked her wrist comp, yawned, and said, "Okay, people, it's just before midnight here. I think a stealth landing is good, we can surprise people and kick some butt. Did we decide who was doing what?"

"Yeah, while you were sleeping; bearing in mind the covert nature of the mission and that 'zarroji' don't exist," Connie said. "We're all muggles here. Crystal and I will be going with you and Superman to look over Castellano's murder scene and then talk to the Governor, while Professor Snape and the others look into our missing slave girls."

"I'm still not happy with airing my dirty laundry," Mattie said.

"It's not your fault," Superman said. "Besides, you need to give an object lesson." The small craft shifted, "I'm going to drop people off just north of Riverside, then go on to Port Lincoln."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 23, 2002: 06:00 (GMT)  
Thirday, 13 Secundus, 163, 02:47 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, Castellano's office:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"The crime scene hasn't been disturbed," Superman said, looking up at the egg-shaped building. "The bodies have been removed, but there's still blood and …"

"Organic material," Connie said. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Kent." He raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged, "I overheard Mattie ask you to get the stasis tanks, you said you'd get them from the Fortress. Two plus two equals Superman. Don't worry about it, I'm a Slytherin."

"That makes things easier," he said, blurring and then re-appearing in jeans, running shoes and a Metropolis Meteors polo shirt. "The doors are locked, and the alarm is on."

"You forget who my mom is; like mother, like daughter," Mattie said, cracking her knuckles. In a minute, she held the doors open, "It's been a while since I did any breaking and entering. Then again, this is my planet."

* * *

"The two FBI agents stood here, in the doorway," Clark said, looking around slowly. He ghosted over to a large potted plant in the corridor, flying a few inches above the carpet. "There's powder residue on the wall. A shooter fired, left handed. The residue pattern indicates an automatic weapon in a smaller caliber; probably a 9mm." He reached down; then said, "Oww. There's an invisibility cloak here, I can't pick it up."

"_Accio cloak_," Connie said from her broom. Inside the room, Crystal was on her own broom, examining the blood-stained desk where Benni Castellano had died. "I thought this was all arranged to be a false assassination."

"That's what I thought, and what I emailed Benni, and what I thought the FBI set up with two of their agents. Someone, somewhere, didn't get the memo," Mattie said.

"Or got a different one," Connie said. She was examining the bloodstained footprints leading away from where the killer had gone through the gore. Using a tape measure, she added, "She was wearing a narrow wedge heel, 26.5 centimeters long." She maneuvered her broom, following the footsteps. "She wasn't in a hurry, the footsteps aren't that far apart, and she wasn't running on her toes. There's a series of full footprints, but the trail wears off."

"That's a size 9 ½ shoe for women," Clark said. He extracted a pen, using it to lift a cartridge case from the plant's pot. "9mm parabellum." He handed it to Crystal, who had traded places with Mattie, and was copying files. "I'm a size 7," Mattie commented. "We're assuming the suspect is a female."

"A Terran female," Clark said. "Heels are very unusual, and take practice to walk in. I can't walk in them; I've tried. Some slaves have hobbles that force them to walk on their toes, but the stride is much shorter."

"Like running in heels," Connie confirmed. "The stride is completely different. No, this person was used to walking in heels, which she did. It has to be a Terran female, who's left-handed. Isn't there already a suspect?"

"Yuki Fukuda, but she's vanished," Mattie said. "From what Christine said in her email, the suspect was seen on video walking down that corridor to the exit, with a gun in her left hand, wearing a collar and white slave tunic. The timestamps match the estimated time of the murders. However, they tossed her apartment and found a removable collar and other slave gear. Her laptop had some email and records of a payment into her account of five million Euros. That was a couple days before the murders, and we've had ships leave the planet since then. She could be anywhere, she could even be disguised as another slave and still be on planet."

"I know I'd want to be off-planet," Connie said. "We finished here?"

"Yeah," Mattie said, unplugging her portable drive. Crystal moved down the corridor toward the lift.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 23, 2002: 06:56 (GMT +2)  
Terra, Corfu, Housing area:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Dimitrios Metaxis stopped his pickup at one of the housing areas to check progress. Despite the early hour, his crews were already hard at work and no wonder – they received bonuses for early completion. This particular crew was already rolling paint on the new drywall, while the landscaping crew was working on the concrete parade ground at the center of the open square of buildings. The site chief waved at him as he walked through the site, then put his truck into drive and moved down the road to check the advanced training housing. This was housing for personnel going through advanced training, and separate from the Basic Training area he had just left. This area had different messing, with more classrooms, but the quarters were modular, being made from forty foot cargo containers by a Dutch company, and assembled as balcony apartments with 27 square meters (290 sq. ft.) of space – more than he had when he started in construction many years ago!

These units were being bolted into steel frames, and would have ten floors of apartments plus a basement area for laundry, storage, recreation and utilities. They were shipped as turn-key units; all they had to do was erect the anchoring steel frames, lift them into place with a crane and connect the utilities. Other crews were working on things like bus stops, firing ranges and those classrooms; they weren't his concern.

He heard the crackle of small-arms fire as he drove past one of the rifle ranges, the Instructors were already here; going through the same training they would later provide the thousands of recruits from all over the world. He snorted to himself, '_Maybe this will force the government to increase the number of flights out of Athens to more than one a day_!' he thought; then he reconsidered. '_Naa_…'

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 23, 2002: 11:00 (GMT)  
Thirday, 13 Secundus, 163, 05:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, coast road:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

May Branstone watched, her face an emotionless mask as the slaves were assembled in the pre-dawn darkness, chained by the neck in line behind the bus' luggage cart. Lanterns lit the area, poorly, as she looked at her father as he gripped her wand hand, he leaned over and whispered, "Muggle, remember?" She nodded, but it was hard not to draw and start hexing. Apparently Ms. Black was having similar problems, Professor Snape was whispering urgently to her; she drew a deep breath and nodded, examining the lines of hooded slaves. Her lips moved as she counted something.

Professor Snape took a few steps, trading glances with Granmere Laval and her father; then crouched, saying quietly, "May. Keep your temper, girl. Look at the slaves, and see their auras; compare them to your classmates and muggles."

She nodded, drawing a deep breath. "Professor, I see … some of the slaves have auras similar to … my schoolmates."

"Exactly," her professor confirmed. "Explain it, quietly, to your parents, whilst Bella and I go note their collar numbers. We shall enquire if those slaves are indeed for sale."

"I can't believe that Mattie would …"

"I do not believe she is aware of this. However, that is one reason we were dropped north of Riverside, to get the 'lay of the land', so to speak." May took another deep breath, nodded, and pulled her parents to the side.

* * *

This was day four, if Yuki had counted correctly. She was woken when her collar went off, she had knelt for Inspection, then food and water was pumped down her feeding tube, she was suctioned and chained behind the masters' bus. She really wanted a long, hot shower, the gag out of her mouth, and the chance to wash her hair and brush her teeth, but that would have to wait. Her Enhancement held, so she had to endure the insects, aches, and the feel of mud and dirt on her body.

"Pardon me, are these slaves for sale?" Yuki heard a master ask. She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard a British accent.

"Some of them are, others are privately owned," another master replied. "Slaves, stand!" and Yuki obediently stood. "These are all Enhanced slaves," the master continued. "You can tell ownership by the tags on their leash collars. This one (he jerked Yuki's leash) is privately owned; her owner is on the bus. He's the big, dark-skinned male. See the tag? If they don't have that tag, they're available for sale. You've got a few minutes to inspect the slaves before we move off."

"I see. Thank you," the other master drawled, and Yuki heard the other master move off. "91140," he said softly, making a note of her collar number. She heard his footsteps move off, and a few minutes later she heard, "Slaves, on the left!" Yuki felt herself march again.

* * *

George took his usual place on the top deck of the bus, noting there were apparently a few new passengers. A tall, dark haired couple, the man with a sharp hooked nose and the woman with sunken, intense eyes, another couple with a young daughter wearing jeans and a green polo shirt, and a woman in her mid to late thirties with dusky skin. They put down travel packs, and as the bus jerked to a start, he raised a hand, "George Brenner."

"May Branstone, and my mum and dad," the girl said, nodding toward the elder woman, "Gran Laval."

"Severus Snape, and Bellatrix Black," the black-haired man said. "How long to Riverside?"

"Should be the end of the day, hopefully," Samantha said, introducing herself. "Our jobs up north with livestock breeding came to the end with the contract, so we're heading there, doing some job-hunting."

"Not a good job, but there's some good came out of it," Pete put in. He glanced at the visiting slaver, "We each picked up a girl or two, got a good bargain on them too."

"Always a benefit with the animals," the slaver said. His clothing marked him as an off-worlder, while Pete and his colleagues were dressed as locals, with loose clothing for the heat. "Yes, a most profitable trip."

"We were considering buying a few of the slaves," Bella said carefully. "I had to dispose of my own slave, such a pity."

"You had her trained so well," Severus said. "Still, one must maintain proper discipline with slaves; otherwise they will begin to get ideas."

"True," the slaver said. "That's why Enhancement is such a bargain; the animals must obey."

"Is it difficult to implement?" Madame Laval asked.

The slaver waved that off, "A Healer Fourth can install the newest models, and there's no old-fashioned disk on the temple. A part-hour in a med-tank and then re-collar the slave to synchronize the collar and the implant. A single collared Healer can do ten or more slaves in a day, and the planetary government is buying the kits in bulk at a little over a hundred grams each. Enhancement adds approximately four hundred grams to the slave's value. There is more value if you choose to add biosculpt to correct defects in the slave's appearance." He gazed at May, and the girl felt as if insects were crawling on her skin.

"The slaves can still _think_," Professor Snape said, rescuing May from the slaver's gaze.

"Yes, but proper conditioning can assist in guiding those thoughts," the slaver said. "It is best applied consistently, some captured slaves especially need that guidance, and programming of Enhanced slaves can force this. Why, I remember …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 23, 2002: 13:29 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Pigeon Breast, WV, Rivers farm:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The jeep pulled to a stop, and Chantal breathed deeply of the snowy air, turning to say, "Thank you, Reverend Lovejoy, for picking me up and driving me all the way from the airport."

"My pleasure, my daughter, and I must say I am glad to have you home again safely." The minister sighed, "What you must have seen…"

"I haven't gone any further than Mars!"

"And Mars is just a point of light in the heavens, my dear. You have actually trod upon heavenly bodies! I must confess to jealousy." He sighed again, "Well, let's get you inside. No reason to have you freeze while you listen to an old man ramble…"

"Nonsense! I'm sure Momma will want you to stay the night!"

* * *

"Hey, there, little sis," the rangy young man said to the sweating blonde.

"Hey, there, Jase. How's the coal seam?" She thunked the axe into the chopping block, and started to collect the firewood. He moved to help her, no matter how much the miners scrubbed, they still had deep-seated residue of coal dust on their faces and hands. He put one piece on the block, giving it another chop to break it up, and then tossed it on the cord, while his sister collected the kindling, tossing it into a large leather sling.

"Same. How's outer space?" he replied after a minute.

"Colder than your girlfriend," she teased him with a smile. "I haven't been any further than Mars, but people think I've gone clear across the galaxy."

"Yeah, but still, you're the first real, sure-nuff astronaut Pigeon Breast, and maybe the entire state of West Virginia's had!"

"Well, it's not like I got paid mileage or anything," she joked. She stretched a bit, "I did play tourist on the Moon, went to a couple of the Apollo landing sites, and that red dot you see is actually just a big ol' spotlight the size of this yard. Mars doesn't really have any touristy places yet, it's just a big ol' reddish desert, they have to drill for water."

She leaned backward, twisting; Jase could hear her bones crackle. He started chopping another log to keep the conversation with his famous sister going. "I'm a mite jealous. Lord knows I'd like to go, I know there's something beyond the mailbox, the mine, and County Road 132." He gestured in the general direction of the five-mile long road from the farm up and down hills to Rt. 132, then gave a good whack on the log.

"You serious, Jase?" Chantal asked. "You and the others? I can probably arrange it, stake you to an asteroid or two."

"Momma would never want to leave Daddy," he replied, and gestured at the family graveyard. "This be our home for nigh on three hundred years, not some spaceship."

"Momma's getting up in years," his youngest sister said. "She's already having to hire in hands to work the farm. You know how her arthritis pains her hands and her knees." She leaned back against a cord of wood. "I'm having a third of my pay sent to her, another third sent to the Education Fund. You should have heard her fuss, but you know she needs the money."

"I've heard London's expensive," he said, thunking the double-headed axe into the block and starting to collect the wood.

"You're not kidding," she said with a snort, moving in her turn to chop wood. "I'm doing rice and beans, and renting a room. I'm glad I can take the Tube in to work, and I don't go out to pubs, I can't afford it. One reason I volunteered for off-world duty, and that's how I went to the Moon and Mars, extra pay." She put down the axe for a minute, wiping her brow.

"You said you could 'stake us an asteroid', he said as he collected wood while she pulled some from the pile.

"It would be a mortgage," she replied, checking to make sure he was a safe distance away. She swung, "I can't talk about it, but I'm working on a couple projects that stand to make a great deal of money through licensing to the Empire." She leaned forward to adjust a chunk of wood. "You'd pay mortgage on the asteroid and the ship, there would need to be at least two people, for safety, but most of the time you'd stay in the ship and monitor things remotely. A robot does the actual mining, so you'd be clean all day."

"Flying the ship, and fixing things?"

"You'd need training, of course, but the robot is just a spider that digs a shaft, the ore just falls down into a big steel box."

"Hah! Got you! I know there's no gravity in space!"

"No, there's not. You use a grav-plate on the outside of the steel box, which creates that gravity field," she replied, stepping back with the axe in her left hand. "That grav field overpowers the asteroid's natural gravity, so the ore falls into the box." She rested the axe, handle down. "There's a lot of money to be made there, you remember the old saying, 'Go west, young man?' Well, now it's 'Go to the Belt, folks!' Think we got enough wood?"

"Yeah, I'll talk to Danny and Marsha. Maybe they'd like to go there." She nodded, sinking the axe into the chopping block.

* * *

That night around the living room fireplace, Chantal set up her laptop and a small holo projector. "I thought I'd show you some of what I've seen. I've taken some pictures and video, and I wanted to bounce an idea or two. Reverend Lovejoy, how you feeling?"

"Oh, my! This is lower gravity?" he asked from where he sat on the small pad.

"Yes, that's a third gravity. It's about Mars standard, and what ships and stations keep in areas like mess halls, primarily so food stays on the plate and drinks in the glass." She looked around, "Susie, hand me that pencil, please." Her niece twisted around, then handed over a pencil stub. "Notice how quickly the pencil drops in Earth-standard gravity." It dropped to the rag carpet in a second. "Now on the gravity pad at one-third." It took a full three seconds, and she adjusted the controls. "Tenth gee, and please stay over the pad, Reverend." He nodded as she adjusted the controls again. "This pad will only go to one percent gee, and strictly speaking, this is acceleration. Drop the pencil again, please." The Reverend did so, and it slowly, slowly floated toward the ground. "Now, most asteroids have about a _thousandth_ of a gee natural gravity, so it's _microgravity_. The pencil would fall on the asteroid, but it would take a long, _long_ time. True zero gee is intergalactic space, interstellar and interplanetary still has very tiny gravity. Now, the pencil has the same mass, the same amount of material, but it's in a different amount of acceleration." She brought the Reverend back to ground; then said, "Okay, going the other way. One-point-five gees, you're fifty percent heavier. Drop the pencil, please." It _flicked_ to the pad. "This pad will go up to five gees, but I won't do that to you, Reverend." She turned off the pad, and the Reverend stood up, stretching as she rolled up the gravity pad, which looked like a heating pad. Susie unplugged the pad and tossed her aunt the end.

"Thanks, Susie. Now, I mentioned acceleration. One gee acceleration is 9.8 meters a second, or 35 kilometers or 22 miles per hour. If you've got good brakes, you can stop a car dead going 22 miles an hour in one second, or at 65 in three seconds. That's your three-second rule for the highway." Heads nodded. "Now, one problem we've had is that we can build gravity generators for much, much higher accelerations, tens of thousands of gees, but we (she thumped her chest) can't take that. If we tried, we'd wind up strawberry paste on the aft bulkheads. We can do up to ten gees for a while, but we're basically glued to an acceleration couch. We can't _work_ that way, we can't walk about and _do_." She looked at the Reverend, who had claimed a rocking chair. "Could you do anything like that, Reverend Lovejoy? Could you do anything routine, like cooking?"

"At the higher level, I could, but it would take much more effort. I can't imagine what ten gees would be like!"

"From what I've heard, you feel like a pancake. You can breathe, barely, and move your eyes, but that's about all." She picked up the pencil, "This weighs about an ounce, we'll say. If we throw it, hard, it will take the same amount of force to stop it. That's why the catcher's mitt moves backward, he's absorbing that momentum. On the other hand, if we don't use the same force, it will take a longer distance to come to a stop. That's your worn-out brake shoes." Some of her brothers grinned or laughed. "The energy is converted to heat, which is why brake pads wear out." She stretched a bit, "So, we've had mass, momentum, and acceleration, and you people thought physics was _hard_!" There was general laughter, and Chantal stood up, "I'm going to take five, and get some other things to show you. Susie, can you help me?"

* * *

In her old bedroom, which she was sharing with her sister and nieces, Chantal sat on a bed, asking, "Susie, I hear you're having problems at school. Anything I can do?"

"Well …" the pre-teen hesitated. "I'd really like to go outside Pigeon Breast, but to do that, I know I need school, but it's just so HARD sometimes, and Mrs. Gossen doesn't explain things too well…"

"Goose Gossen? She's still teaching math? She's like, a hundred or so? I had her, Momma had her!"

"Yeah…" and Susie giggled. "Her."

"Yeah, her," Chantal giggled too. "Okay, you're going to have to teach yourself. That's what I had to do, since the Powers-that-Be saw these (she cupped her generous chest) and thought, 'Housewife and mother' and not 'Engineer and scientist'." She turned serious, "Girl, this is West-by-God-Virginia. Things change very slowly, if at all. Those (she gestured), are my books. They're my Christmas present to you. I want you to go through them, and not just study them, know them upside and down. I was the class valedictorian, the top student, at Macon County High School, and that would have helped get me into a good college. What got me into MIT were my essay and the recommendations from my teachers, including ol' Goose herself. I always, always had the answer, and I could explain it to others, despite God giving me the looks of an airheaded blonde bimbo, he made up for it with a good brain." She leaned forward to tap Susie's forehead. "I made it through the world's toughest school, with some really, really stiff competition. Overall, after five years, I ranked sixth in my class when I graduated, so I didn't get valedictorian. I got a 'B' on one exam; everything else was straight 'A'. A German guy got valedictorian."

"_Sixth_? With _one_ 'B'?"

"I said it was the world's toughest school. I had my pick of jobs, but Arrowhead was willing to set up my pay the way I wanted it. A third of my pay is going into the Education Fund, to help out YOU (she poked Susie's chest). That doesn't mean a free ride; I worked my way through college as a waitress, and there's a cute guy from Texas I met, he insults me right back." She waved that off. "We're talking about you, Susan Moss. You say you want to get out of Pigeon Breast, well, education is one way." She rooted through a bag, holding up a DVD, "This is another."

* * *

"Okay, I'm back," Chantal announced, sitting cross-legged behind her laptop, which rested on a footstool. "I'm calling for a family challenge. I want to get Susan into a top-notch school. That means you teach her everything you know, and don't hold anything back because 'she's a girl'. That means mechanics, welding, everything, including the family 'shine business and who's got dirt on what. On her part, Susan will take my textbooks and notes, and bust through the roof with her grades. Susan, you'll have my email address, you don't hesitate to write me. We agreed?"

Heads nodded, "Good. We're Rivers, we've stuck together in this holler for almost three hundred years. We may be poor, but we're family. Second point, and I'm addressing the 'poor' part." She worked the laptop, "Everyone see the holo? Mel, can you turn off that light? Thanks. You all helped me get into MIT; I'm paying the marker. This is a common asteroid; this particular one is around 4.8 cubic kilometers, close on the five cubic kilometer allowed per claim."

"How much is that, and why that particular one?" Mel asked.

"That's big, that's over six billion cubic yards. Think a large mountain, and as to why that one, it's got ores that we can sell, and I've put a deposit on the claim to hold it. If we agree to go forward with this, I'll need to go into town to set up some legal things, and I can arrange a mortgage for the ship, equipment and the claim. Now, some of this is inside information, but it's got a particular metal that we'll need that will sell very well."

"Gold?"

"Some of that, but it's not the most valuable. It's got carbon in various forms, so we'll probably see diamonds, but I've seen those that are bigger than a basketball." She waved this off. "We'd all get shares, but we'll need someone tightfisted to control the money, and it won't go to their head. I want part of it to go to Pigeon Breast, and the Education Fund, and to pay off the mortgages on the houses and the farm, so we'll always have home and the holler." She changed slides, "This is a typical mining setup for an asteroid, and remember we're talking about space, where a hundred thousand kilometers is close. You have a habitat, where you live, grow fresh food, dock the ship, that kind of thing. That's the green area, next to that is blue, where the reactor is …"

"Reactor?" Momma asked, alarmed. "You want us to live next to an atomic bomb?"

"Momma…" Chantal replied. "This is setting up a generator, and this isn't within arm's reach, it's done miles away. There's no power company, we need to install this for the mining equipment and such. It won't explode; it's not designed for that. It provides heat and electricity, and it will last for years and years. We install it and forget that it's there. Trust me on this." Momma gave her an eye, and Reverend Lovejoy leaned over to pat her hand as Chantal continued. "We were talkin' earlier; the mining robot is just a spider that climbs up the shaft it cuts. The ore falls down the shaft, into one of those big steel cargo containers. Every so often, we switch them out, and take the full ones on the ship to L4, the big smelter in orbit that Miss Wayne built. We sell those, get replacement containers, supplies, that kind of thing, and fly back to the claim."

"Do we need to buy fuel for this reactor thing?"

"No, Momma. It's all fueled for thirty years or more, it runs helium through instead of steam, so we might need to buy more helium once in a while, if there's a leak or something. We just dig a hole, connect some pipes, and start some pumps." Her cousin Jimbo (the handyman) leaned forward, "How big a hole, and how many pipes?"

"'Bout a hundred feet deep by fifteen, twenty feet wide," she replied. "Set some charges and collect the debris, the pipes are high pressure steel, inlet, outlet about one inch. Three centimeter, actually, which run to a heat exchanger, so you've got the radioactive gas heating up another gas loop going to the actual turbine, which spins to turn two generators, one AC, one DC. After that, it's just power conditioning, cabling, nothing really unusual."

Jimbo nodded, "Nothing I ain't done a hundred times, 'cept the exchanger. Why that?"

"The reason is to keep the one gas line, which runs helium through the reactor, an' gets radioactive, separate from the gas line turning the turbine. Once the one line is 'hot', you'd need special shielding to work on it. The only other thing is a big radiator, for waste heat, and you'd need to insulate the pipes. Space is really, really cold, like four hundred fifty degrees below zero. I got designs I'll show you."

"'Kay," Jimbo said. "Simple 'nuff, an' I'll go over them with Susan too, but it's just plumbing and power."

Chantal nodded. "Just 'bout everything is off-the-shelf, you could buy them at the hardware or general store. Brings up Part Two of my plan. I was thinking of us using part of the money to do a General Store kinda ship to travel 'bout the Belt, we'd have things people could get, fancy stuff, like entertainment and education disks, that they could rent or buy, and wouldn't need a special trip in to Earth orbit. We'd need another mortgage, o'course, but…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 23, 2002: 14:30 (GMT)  
Thirday, 13 Secundus, 163, 09:17 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Government complex:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Christine Sullivan unlocked her outer office door, walking over to her inner office and stopped, the door was open, and she was certain she'd left it locked last night. Warily, she edged it open, and saw several people in her office. "Who are you?" she asked.

Her chair spun, and she blinked. "Ms. Wayne? When did you get here?"

"This morning," Mattie replied, nodding toward the others. "They're with me." She got out of the chair, "Talk to me, Christine. What's going on with this planet? The Assembly, the colonies, various slaves, and Benni's murder; do I need to put someone else in this office?"

"I'm doing the best I can!" Christine snapped. "First, I had to be recollared, then Yuki has to have those other slaves Enhanced, and then she disappears! The Assembly, the Traditionalists, I just want to strangle them, and then there's the triple murder and who's accused? Yuki!"

"Have a cuppa," Crystal said. "Let's start at the top. Why did you have to be recollared?"

"Politics," Christine said curtly. She stalked over to a file cabinet, unlocking it, and finding several files, then thrusting them at Ms. Wayne. She waved at the file cabinet, "Feel free." Mattie bent over the documents as Clark said soothingly, "Now, Ms. Sullivan, calm down. Let's start at the voyage out. How was it?"

"Initially, it was good," Christine said, taking a deep breath. She looked at the door as she heard a noise, and Connie went over to check. "Office staff," she reported. "I'll put out the 'do not disturb' sign."

"I really want to find Yuki," Christine said. "I don't think she's the contract killer type, and she understood all this ... this …"

"She also had a hand in doing the Enhancement of slaves, including your own," Mattie said, putting the files down. "I want to find her myself; I did _not_ sign some of these documents." She sighed, "Let's change the subject. What about the Traditionalists and the Assembly?"

"You know about the botched election?" Christine started. "Well, there's sufficient evidence for election fraud, we could prove corruption which would be a death penalty case, except for the political angle of lopping off the Opposition's heads."

"Hmm," Mattie said. "We need a Loyal Opposition that functions within the law." She thought for a minute, only to be interrupted by a knock. "Miss Sullivan? It's Petunia. Are you all right? We heard some noise…"

"Come in, Petunia," Christine called. Petunia entered, then said, "Oh, my! Miss Wayne, what are you doing here?" She glanced at the others, pausing at Clark. "Mr. Kent, isn't it? Reporting on our difficulties?"

"No, I'm here as Mattie's uncle," he replied. "Trying to get this all sorted out. How long do we have until the Assembly officially opens?"

"Officially they open in about three weeks; the first of Tertius. Right now, they're settling in, unpacking, setting up their connections with their district offices, that kind of thing."

"And politicking," Connie added. "There's space allocated for four political parties, we could throw some parties ourselves, a 'Welcome to Riverside' kind of thing, let them meet the Queen before her formal speech opening the Assembly, swearing in the Assembly…"

"Slytherins…" Crystal mumbled to herself. "Does that mean we won't need those bloody swords we've carried along?"

"We might not even get into a fight," Mattie confirmed. She grinned slightly, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Crystal…"

"Considering that as the only male of this little group, it would fall on _me_ to do any fighting," Clark put in.

"Don't worry, Uncle Clark," Mattie said with a grin. "I promised Aunt Lois I'd keep you safe. I won't let you _near_ a politician!"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 23, 2002: 22:00 (GMT)  
Thirday, 13 Secundus, 163, 17:13 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, coast road, north Riverside:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The bus eased to a stop, the driver turning, "North Riverside, masters and mistresses. Thank you for traveling with us." George stood, stretching; then folded the blanket that had padded his back and put it next to the driver, "Thank you," he told her. Tossing his pack on his back, he started to climb down.

"Are you interested in selling your girl?" Severus asked.

"No, I don't think so," George said, pausing on his way down. "Thank you anyway." He continued down as May watched the slaves being separated and unhooded. The slaver said, "I'll negotiate a good deal for those other slaves if you like, but there will be a small fee."

"Of course," Severus said. "Just those specific slaves."

"Better price if you get all of them," the slaver said.

Granmere Laval said, "Perhaps that will be best. We can always sell the ones that don't match our specific needs."

"True," Severus said, and gestured to the ladder. "Come, let us negotiate that fee."

* * *

"_Release_," her master said, and her Enhancement finally stopped. He then said, "Close your eyes," and he fumbled with the hood and her blindfold. "You're in shade, but let your eyes adjust. I'll take your gag out when we're in the room." She whimpered, and felt her hands released. She blinked, looking around. Her owner crouched next to her, indicating a luggage cart. "You're the slave, so you handle the luggage. The room's on the third floor, and there's no elevator. Sorry." She whimpered, rubbing her wrists; then stood.

* * *

"Ooh, that … that …" May fumed as she closed the door to the room she shared with Gran Laval. The inn was short of rooms. "He made me feel like …"

"A slave? That he wanted to inspect your teeth?" Gran said. She gestured for silence, waving her hands. "Clean. I felt the same way, child. At least we bought the girls, but I want to scrub."

"We missed the one girl, though. I could swear her owner was a Terran, though."

"American, by my guess, and not too happy to be here, by his body language," Gran said. She muttered something in Creole, and the luggage unpacked itself. "Let's go see how your parents are doing, girl."

* * *

Yuki coughed as the gag was finally removed, bending over the toilet. "This slave is grateful, my master," she said, and coughed again. She stood, turning to flush with her cuffed hands, and George said, "Come here and let me take a look at you."

"Yes, my master," and Yuki knelt in the House Slave position, back straight, her leash looped back up and clipped to the ring. Her master ran his hands over it, "That ring's seamless, not even a weld. How did it get on your neck, and how do we get it off?"

"This slave does not know, my master." Yuki took as deep a breath as her Enhancement allowed. "May this slave ask my master what my master's plans are?"

"Not selling you, although I've already had offers," he replied. "You know that you're wanted for the killing of the Lieutenant Governor and two others?"

She started, "My master, this slave …" and he waved her off. "I know you didn't do it, you were tied in a corral being furniture then. I want to keep you my slave until that's cleared up, then we'll see what happens. One problem is that you're a red-collar slave, so I don't know if I _can_ free you. You're Enhanced, what can you tell me about that?"

"My master, this slave's Enhancement informs this slave that this slave is not to be left unbound," Yuki said. She looked up at her owner, "The compulsion for this slave to bind this slave is _very_ strong, my master."

"Eventually, but now I'm going to give you first crack at the shower. Try not to run it out of hot water, please."

"This slave thanks my master. This slave begs my master to unlock this slave's belt, there are objects inserted that are very uncomfortable." She stood at her owner's gesture, and he examined her belt, then his set of keys. She spread her legs as he unlocked the front panel; then lay on the floor, legs spread wide and pelvis elevated. His fingers probed her gently, "I'm going to need to get some tools to get that out. Tough it out a while longer," he told her. He clipped the front panel back in place; then tugged on her leash to stand. She did so as he released her hands, "Go get the shower started."

Yuki looked up at her owner through her lashes, "Would my master like to bathe with this slave?"

George chuckled, "Wench. Go get the water started, I'll be in shortly."

* * *

"Oh, this slave feels so much better!" Yuki said as she knelt in the House Slave position. George rubbed something on her insect bites. "My master looks much better, but will miss last-meal if my master does not hurry." She motioned with her head, "Go, my master. This slave will wait."

"I'll bring you something," he replied, and she heard the door lock.

* * *

George entered his room only to find Yuki asleep. She had bound herself, kneeling in the room's neck ring. He set the sandwich aside for her, quietly stripping to his boxers and leaving the window cracked for the breeze.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 24, 2002: 17:00 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 14 Secundus, 163, 05:13 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, coast road, north Riverside:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

George woke up, only to see Yuki studying him from her neck ring. "Good morning, my master. Did my master sleep well?"

"Umm…" he said, staggering to the bathroom. He came out, "Sorry, I'm not a morning person. You're rather chipper for so early."

She shrugged, "This slave was woken by this slave's collar, along with other slaves, my master. There is a general signal, it activates the pain circuits," and she smiled slightly. "It is an efficient way to waken slaves. May this slave request to be released so this slave may be suctioned?"

"Don't you get tired of saying that?" he asked as he released her.

"This slave is Enhanced, my master, and has no other option." She turned to present her cuffed wrists, and he motioned her, "I want to see how this connects."

"Yes, my master."

* * *

"I can't turn off your collar lights," George said, frustrated.

"Master," Yuki replied, "I am a red-collar slave. I am frankly amazed that you could turn off the forced speech."

"I thought I turned off the 'Master' bit."

"You did, my master George," she replied. "However, a slave is supposed to use the term. Until my status is resolved, I am slave, and would ask you to turn it back on, in case I slip and don't use it."

"No, I don't like the term. In public you can use it, but between us, I'm just George, and nothing else," he said as he tapped at his laptop. He reached forward and disconnected the cable from her collar. She rolled her shoulders, exercised her arms; and then gave him a bright smile. "Thank you, ma... George. What next?"

"We sit and talk," he replied. "What do you want to do?"

"Aside from getting this thing out?" She tapped at the front panel of her slave belt, "Up to you; I belong to you. Were you planning on selling me? It is not legal for a Terran to own a slave longer than thirty days, and it isn't likely I'll be freed anytime soon."

He sat back in his chair as she knelt next to him. "I picked up some information on those murders," he said. "They have video of what looks like an Asian female slave, holding a smoking gun in her left hand; then casually strolling through the blood in those cork-heel sandals and out of the scene." He raised a hand, "I know you didn't do it, you were with me, being furniture at the time."

"That's true, master. My collar location should prove that, and this one isn't removable," she added, fingering the back of her slave collar. She sighed, "Master George, I crossed my wrists to you, but there are some things you need to know about your slave. For one thing, I don't own a gun, I've never fired one, also, if I needed to kill someone, I'd use a spell, because I'm a witch."

"Really?"

"Really, master." She apparated to the other side of the small room; then to the bed, and finally behind him, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling his neck. She walked around and knelt before him again.

"Okay, so if you can teleport, why didn't you escape from that furniture bullshit?" he asked.

"Several reasons, master George. It's known as apparition, and it can be dangerous if you don't have a clear mental image of the starting and ending points. I had been gagged, blindfolded and hooded for several days before we met, I had no idea where on the planet I was. Now that I have that mental image, I could apperate to this room, or to your location, or generally to coordinates, like latitude and longitude."

"So you have to be able to see," he said, nodding. "Okay, what else?"

"Secondly, I am a collared slave, I had no idea who my owner was, and if I survived blind apparition I would still be gagged and hooded and could be tracked and returned to my owner. It was actually safer to be furniture." She shrugged, "Third, there's a range limitation. It's power-dependant, and I'm not that strong a witch. Some wizards are strong enough to cross the Pacific, but I'm stretching to do a couple hundred kilometers. If I were to try to apperate both of us, you being a muggle or non-wizard, I could do maybe fifty kilometers, but I'd be unconscious afterward. So if you were in trouble, and I knew it, master, I could get you out of a house fire, but not out of an earthquake."

"Got it," he nodded. "What else?"

"Fourth, master, I could do a lot more with a wand, except that I don't have anyplace to carry one." She stood, twirling in her translucent slave tunic as she added, "I've got some spare equipment hidden around Riverside, and I could apperate to collect it, except that I'm a wanted slave. I'm surprised that I haven't been confiscated and publicly tortured as punishment for killing three free persons."

"Even though you haven't done it."

"I'm a slave, master. My guilt or innocence doesn't matter; I have to be tortured to death as a warning to other slaves."

"Like hell," he growled. "What did you do before you were captured and collared?"

"Attorney, but I was a worker-bee, my master. An associate in a large firm, I also did part-time work as a bunny in a Tokyo club. There were lots of drunken salarymen fondling me, but it paid well. In college, I worked in an adult club in San Francisco as a sub, so I'm used to wearing a slave collar, my master." She tossed her hair back, "I would prefer to stay your slave, my master, to prevent my being tossed on a rack. What about you, my master?"

"I'd have to sit the certification exams for Healer, but I'm basically a research doc. I went back to college when I was playing pro football in the NFL. The boss of our little research project from hell thinks she's Mengele reincarnated, she was doing genetic engineering with slaves."

Yuki snorted, "She'd better hope that WorkForce doesn't find out. They're already doing that, and that could be construed as patent infringement."

He chuckled, "So, assuming that we can get your little legal problems sorted out, what do we do? I want your preferences; don't give me any 'I'm a slave' bullshit."

"I think we could do well in one of the sub-colonies. I would need to sit the exams for paralegal, as there's always legal work available. As a slave, I could not be a speaker-at-law. However, you would need a waiver to own me, master, as a red-collar slave I doubt I _can_ be freed. At best, I would wear a judicial collar." She sat back, "Master, I want to know what evidence is against me, if any. I didn't specialize in criminal law, but I did take basic courses in it. I would suggest contacting one of the local speakers-at-law as our representative, master. They can obtain that evidence."

"Okay, I'll look into that. What else?"

"With your permission, Master George, I'll apperate to various locations around Riverside and collect some equipment, then come back here. I might need some cash for local bus fares; and to buy equipment on your orders (she finger-quoted). I'll also do some nosing around regarding the various seedling colonies and we can compare notes tonight."

"Sounds good; it's a little after 7:30, back here in … twelve hours?" He found a small bag of coins for her, and she smiled, "It's a date, my master!" and vanished.

* * *

"I want to kill that bloody slaver," May fumed when they convened for a meeting in her parents' room. "I see Emma every time I see a slave, and I just want to … to …"

"Take deep breaths, child," Madame Laval said. "You're not the only one. My own Gran was one of those slaves, I see those girls and I see her, freshly shipped from Africa and on the block in New Orleans. At least these girls have more of a future." She took a sip of tea, "What do we do with our own collared girls?"

"We start searching for them," Pomona Sprout said. "A 'point me' spell just indicated southwest, we're north of the town of Riverside proper. Once we locate them, we determine their condition and go from there. We will need to have a base of operations, and this is as good as any other place."

"We also need to determine what to do with our fifty or so slave girls," Severus said. "Of which we only have an actual interest in five. I suggest we split up. Bella and I will risk blind apparition…"

"No, I cannot repair you if you splinch yourselves," Bella replied. "Use a map and estimate the coordinates, or contact Ms. Wayne and apperate to her. We'll need to coordinate with her in any case." She turned, "I suggest we leave the Branstones here as our base with a comm unit, while we split up, Severus and I, and Pomona with Madame Laval, each with another comm unit."

"While my wife and daughter maintain a comm watch," Mr. Branstone said, "I'll go make certain our new girls are properly taken care of…" his mouth twisted, "For slaves."

"And why do we sit about?" his wife demanded.

"Fine, you two can do it, if you can guarantee you won't start a fight," her husband replied. "I know you two, dear, and I'm going to have a difficult enough time restraining myself."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 24, 2002: 19:29 (GMT)  
Terra, Ottery St. Catchpole, The Burrow, kitchen:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Any sign of Ron?" Molly asked, and Ginny looked over from her place by the stove. "No, mum. You know we'd tell you." Privately, she was somewhat relieved; her brother had become an obnoxious drunk, blaming others for his troubles. Harry had gone out searching for him, and had traced him down to an area of London, but Ron's trail had then vanished.

"Well, I worry about him," Molly replied. "Especially since that blow-up." A drunken Ron had insulted a client's guest, leading to a shouting match and Molly having to fire him. Ron had then apparated away, that had been the last anyone had seen of him. Molly had kept the client; fortunately he had difficulties with employees too.

_(Warning, slave torture.) _

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, December 24, 2002: 22:47 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 14 Secundus, 163, 11:13 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Government complex:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"… the situation at both Qing and Riverside is the same, Governor," the IBM tech-rep said. "I/O is severely restricted; in both places the original colonists used a type of bred slave with a primitive form of Enhancement. In the intervening years without food or water, they died, of course."

"And on Island?" Mattie asked.

"There it's a bit different, your Majesty. We had difficulty gaining access at first; the Elders regarded it as a 'holy of holies', we had to be escorted in. Once there, we found about a dozen of those bred slaves, linked together by their Enhancement. There were benches available for, by my count, another two dozen slaves. They had tried unplugging one girl, and apparently she was so … addicted … to the process that she started to convulse and die until they plugged her back in. We think a gradual process of substitution will work there, wean them off instead of cold turkey."

He moved to the next slide in his PowerPoint© presentation. "Each of the three sites presents unique challenges, but nothing that can't be overcome. The good news is that the majority of the equipment can be used; we simply blow the dust out, so to speak. The bad news is that we will need to import equipment, primarily for I/O, as I said. I would also strongly recommend that we refurbish the existing microwave links as a backup to the satellite links."

"The problem is that those link stations are in overgrown jungle, you've heard about the wabbit problem?" Christine replied. "We're also looking at installing the electric and fiber cables to them, as the ones we've gotten to run off of generators and Fuel, which we don't have a lot of. We'd have to install diesel generators, which would need to be imported. We would also need to install new sites to cross the Amazon and to the different sub-colonies and islands."

"Yes, ma'am," and he changed slides, "Let's start with Qing. They were the original colonists' landing site, and it is well chosen. You have other people coming in about upgrading the hydroelectric plant there and installing an electric grid?"

"Yes," Christine said. "We're also looking at using fiber-optics along with those power cables. The problem there is that most of the lines will go through virgin jungle. We've got convict road crews building those roads, with pipes to run those cables through, but it's slow going."

"The difficulty there, ma'am, is that it's hand labor, picks and shovels," Connie said carefully. "Some power equipment would make things run a lot faster."

"They're convicts, and that equipment is expensive and maintenance intensive," Governor Sullivan almost snapped. "I'm not giving murderers and thieves expensive power equipment to steal." She looked at the tech-rep. "Moving on?"

"Er, yes, ma'am. As I was saying, with Qing, I would install I/O, including additional high-bandwidth links and power conditioning equipment there, but also make that the central backup location. The installation is inside a mountain, so it's well protected against natural disaster, and needs the least done to it. The other two sites would simply run a weekly backup on their own backup servers and send that backup to Qing."

He changed slides again. "Until the fiber or microwave links are installed or brought back on line, the satellites are the only links, and they suffer latency problems."

"Yes, I've found that out," Mattie said with a grimace. "That was a design problem in Warsaw. Unfortunately, adding FTL to the satellites now would mean replacing each one, not simply bolting a new transceiver in. We've got a meeting later regarding those fiber-optic lines and a power grid, so allow for their later installation in your plans, please. Unless there's a major show-stopper, we'll be installing them, but its early days now."

"Yes, your Majesty. Here at Riverside, we would add in the supercomputing math processors for two reasons, weather prediction and the medical research you have ongoing at …" They turned as the conference door was shoved open, one of Christine's secretaries standing in the doorway, "Master, please! You can't go in; the Governor is in a meeting!"

"She'll want to hear this," a deep voice said, and the inner office door opened. A very large black man stood there, he asked, "Governor Sullivan?"

"Yes. Now who are you?"

"I have information you want on the murder of Benni Castellano," he said.

"Good." She looked at her secretary. "Call Officer Rowle, ask him to come over." The secretary vanished, and Christine said to the table, "I'm sorry for the interruption. Please have a seat, Mr…"

"Um… Forrest. Nathan Bedford Forrest."

"Why do I not believe that's your name, Mr. Forrest?"

* * *

"… she was with me on the day of the murders," 'Mr. Forrest' insisted. "There's no way she could have done it!"

"I see," Thomas Rowle said, and leaned forward. "You have some sort of evidence to support this? Otherwise unsubstantiated testimony will not help."

'Mr. Forrest' chewed his lip, "I can give you her collar number, and you can do a trace. I own her; you can't do anything to her without my permission."

"We would simply subpoena her, but if she's actually innocent as you claim, she wouldn't have any worries. You, on the other hand, as her owner…" the Mountie started to say, when there was the crack of apparition, and a heavy triangular wooden frame appeared, a bloody slave girl bound into it. It toppled over, the IBM tech-rep turning away, fighting to hold down breakfast. George shoved the Mountie aside, "I'm a doctor!" He knelt, "Yuki!" He pulled the frame upright, starting to examine the slave.

The frame was a right triangle, with small wheels at the front corners. The slave was bound on her knees, with a pair of bars behind her knees and binding her ankles. Braces ran up to a top bar, about five feet high, where a small winch was mounted, steel cables connecting to a wooden neck bar that pulled up from under the chin. The slave's wrists were cuffed behind her, the right arm charred, the left with tatters of muscle, it had been partially cut away from the shoulder. Trickles of blood ran from the sightless eye sockets and the gagged, bloody mouth. She shifted in the frame, and George said, "We need her in the hospital, stat!"

"Let's go, then," Constable Rowle said, picking up one side of the frame. George picked up the other side, the two large men hurrying out.

"She was … she was … " the IBM tech-rep said.

"She's a slave, Mr. Pynchon," Christine said coldly. "An animal, like I was. She was disciplined for some reason, what we would call torture. We'll find out about it later." She tapped her collar, "Please continue with your briefing."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 25, 2002: 10:30 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 14 Secundus, 163, 22:17 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Riverside General Hospital:****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"How is she, Mr. Forrest?" Christine asked gently, handing a cup of tea to the large man.

"She'll live, but Dr. Lopez says she'll need prosthetic eyes and arms …" he replied, accepting the cup. He stared out the windows without seeing anything. "It will be expensive, it will drain my savings, but it's the right thing to do…" he said, taking a gulp and setting the cup on the tile floor.

"Mr. Forrest?" Mattie asked, and he turned to look at her. She crouched, clasping his hands in hers, and she looked into his eyes. He shook himself; then looked away, and she said, "Dr. Brenner. George. Help us out with what you know, and we'll cover the costs. Constable Rowle has already said he's satisfied as to her innocence; he's withdrawn the APB. I've already issued an order lifting her red-collar status, moving her to a common collar." She fished a chip from her pocket, handing it to him. "Help us out, please."

He slowly accepted the chip, "She's … "

"She'll be fine, Dr. Brenner," Christine said softly. "I'll even sign a waiver if she wants to stay your slave," she added. "We've talked to your traveling companions; they've told us what your feelings are for her. They said she voluntarily crossed her wrists to you."

"Okay," he said with a deep breath. "Okay. I was taking med school classes during the off-season with the team. I went full-time after my knee blew out, and I started to look around for my residency. I was always fascinated by the scientific aspect, and in college I actually studied, pre-med, unlike a lot of my team-mates, who majored in underwater basket-weaving." He gave a wry smile, "Gut courses. They complained when I came to practice smelling of formaldehyde. Anyway, this opportunity came up, genetic research for domestic animals, all expenses paid, and I thought it would be chickens and cows, y'know. Farm animals, and being a country boy, I thought no problem. So what if it's off-planet? I got here, and a domestic animal (he finger-quoted) also turns out to include slaves. (He almost spat.) Turns out the Imperial Department of Off-world Affairs issued a bunch of research contracts (he turned to look at Mattie), regarding slave breeding."

"I didn't know that, Dr. Brenner," she replied. "Anything you can tell me…"

He regarded her. "Okay. The contract was apparently with the local Slave Control Board, part of the Commerce Ministry. There were three male slaves that Dr. Tannenbaum had doped up, a super Viagra™, but it made them violent. She had half a dozen of these slaves, infertile, like Yuki, that she had bought; she called them mules. They were bound back across sawhorses, what she called 'furniture'. Fertile slaves were brought in, strapped down to the furniture slaves, and raped, one after another, by the male slaves. After that was done, we DNA-sequenced the fertilized ova, and were told our contracts were concluded. I don't know what happened to the fertile slaves; I heard a rumor they were rented, and the male slaves?" He shrugged. "Don't know. Yuki pointed out to me that WorkForce was already doing genetic manipulation of slaves, that Dr. Tannenbaum risked violations of their copyrights. Anyway, I think she was going to buy some really cheap, disposable slaves to carry at least the first batch to term. She was also talking to a slaver, quietly, on the side. I ran into him on the bus down to Riverside, she had apparently given him the idea that it was all government-authorized." He reached down and picked up his now-cool tea, "If she had a contract from the Commerce Ministry, I can see that." He took a gulp, "Anyway, that's where Yuki was when Castellano was murdered, tied across a sawhorse in a corral three hundred miles north of here. Blindfolded and hooded for a week or two beforehand, so she had no idea where she was."

"She's also got a different foot size than the killer," Christine said. "She's cleared, Dr. Brenner, and in good hands at the moment. We'll want to talk to her, get her side of the story when Dr. Lopez says she can."

"Okay," he said. "Okay. I'm just … well, we were thinking about going to one of the sub-colonies, we'd both have to sit the qualification exams, me for Healer, but Yuki was thinking the best she could do was a paralegal, as a slave she couldn't be a speaker-at-law. One reason we came was to get more information on the different sub-colonies." He turned as he saw Dr. Lopez, "How is she, Doc?"

"Stable," the Cuban doctor replied. "Without all the medical jargon…"

"I'm in my residency, Doc," he said, standing. "I want to see her."

"Oh. In that case, Doctor, come with me. She's …" the two started to talk as they walked away.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 25, 2002: 15:00 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 14 Secundus, 163, 27:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Riverside General Hospital:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

George heard a small groan, startling him awake. He quietly moved to the bed, smoothing back the straight black hair, and heard a hoarse voice, "Master?"

"Yes, Yuki?"

"Why can't I see anything, master? Where am I?"

He regarded the collared girl lying in the bed. Her arms were held off to the sides, and patches covered her eyes. Using her Enhancement, her vision and mobility had been restricted. '_Time to practice your bedside manner_,' he told himself. "You're in Riverside General Hospital," he said gently as he checked her tranquilizer drip. "You were disciplined, we've had to replace your arms and eyes, but you've been cleared of all charges."

"Really, master? That's good news," she replied dreamily. "Am I salable? Will you be selling me?"

He suppressed a grimace, "Do you want to be sold?" he asked gently.

"I'm a slave, your slave, master," she replied. "I'm your personal, private slave to take care of you, master. I crossed my wrists to you, master." She sighed softly.

"You don't want a dark collar?" The combination of the drugs and her Enhancement meant that she couldn't lie to him.

"Not if it means leaving you, my master," she replied. "I love you, you're my master, and I'm your slave. Please don't sell me, master!" she worried; her blood pressure and heart rate increasing on the monitors.

"Don't worry about that, Yuki." He said. "By the way, Merry Christmas."

"The best present I could get, my master," she replied, as her heart and blood pressure returned to their normal values. "I'll cross my wrists to you again, Master George. May this slave keep the name 'Yuki'?"

"Of course," he said. "Go to sleep, girl, and heal. We'll talk later."

"Yes, my master," she said, and fell into a deep sleep.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 25, 2002: 09:50 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 15 Secundus, 163, 22:37 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's official residence:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

May Branstone kept her face a polite mask, as she had learned in the Den, and chatted with some of the new Assemblymen, those from Terran 'seedling' sub-colonies and the grey-caped 'observers' from the newly established sub-colonies. She held a small cup of tea, and at a break-point, excused herself; joining Connie at the buffet. "I want to kill some of these bloody bastards," she said quietly to her house mate.

"You and I both, but stick to the plan," Connie advised. Across the room, Mattie laughed at a Traditionalist's joke as if it were the funniest thing she'd ever heard. Lowering her voice, Connie reminded her younger house mate, "We're here to evaluate the Assembly members, especially the Traditionalists, see who says what, that's why we have memory charms on." She looked around; then asked, "How are the new slaves?"

"Secured, but Mum and I took care of them," May replied. "We'll have to figure out what to do with them, but several of them are captured girls. We received an inquiry from the owner of these girls, asking if we were interested in selling them." She blew out her fringe of hair, adding softly, "I just wish we could find Eleanor and Marie," she added, frustrated.

"They're well-hidden, child," Granmere Laval said as she came over to get a fresh drink herself. "We'll find them. Now go, circulate, talk to the politicians; be nice to them, and treat the serving slaves like they're invisible."

"They're slaves, I know," May said with a tight smile.

* * *

Michelle Mala of CIA, now slave 81412, served with other slaves, both those that had come out with her, and other slaves, bought in the market. They were left gagged to preserve their cover as service slaves, and 'owned' by a private company, run by a former slave. That company was contracted to service not only the Riverside government complex, but also the Ministries on Island's High Street, as well as such events. As a 'privately owned' slave, she wore her owner Clarissa's white slave tunic, who had some sort of tie-in with the Security Ministry.

She filled her tray at the bar, her Enhancement active so she could record the passing conversations, and walked about, stopping and high-kneeling at each small group, offering her tray with bent head, her hairline touching the tray in deference. She stopped at the Empress' group, listening while Mistress Wayne bantered with several of the Assemblymen, all of whom seemed to be Traditionalists. Glasses were exchanged, and she moved on.

* * *

Henry Rosenberg forced a plastic smile to his face as he talked to some of the Assemblymen. The ones with blue capes were conservatives, members of the Traditionalist Party, and a bigger bunch of bigots he had never … well, maybe the Nazis… No, on the other hand, they had at least accorded their own women the status of citizen (if a lesser version of citizen). These, though; everyone not of their own little group was _unmenschlich_ (subhuman). He had heard plans to collar and Enhance every female on the planet, not just slaves, and the Traditionalists thought it was perfectly logical…

He took a deep breath; he would definitely add this to his report to Yerida colony. Hopefully someone there would have the temperament to deal with the bastards; he knew he didn't.

"Thinking about our blue-caped colleagues?" a tall black woman said as she joined him. She offered her hand, "Liz Rossetti, from Rattler colony."

"Henry Rosenberg, just downstream from you at Yerida," he replied, accepting her hand. "I for one am glad I am not a permanent delegate, just an 'observer' (he fingered his own grey cape). I am thinking who of my people will have the temperament to deal with these … persons on a daily basis. I know the Talmud says to forgive, but …"

"Turning the other cheek," Liz agreed; her brown eyes hard. She shifted, her own short grey cape swirling, "In a way, I'm glad the strongest drinks are beer, I might start something otherwise. Even the Russians, I'm sorry, the Rodinas are trying to keep their tops from blowing. The blue capes are just so … smug."

"There is a reason for this," a young fellow with dark glasses and a light green cape said, taking a cup of tea. "I am Yuri, Security Minister, formerly of KGB. Keep a lid on your people's temper, and guard the others from Terran seedlings. Frau Wayne has a plan; she is a skillful chess and poker player. Trust us, we see the political winds, and will sail them successfully."

"What is that plan?" Liz asked.

"Your pardon, Frau Rossetti, but you are not Russian, or a professional politician. You are both university professors, and the political games you have played are nothing compared to what we plan." He removed his dark glasses, dropping them in his shirt collar as he added, "Not all is as it seems; there are wheels within wheels." He glanced at the white-smocked serving slaves, and around the room. The other two raised their eyebrows and nodded. He continued, "I do not seek to insult you; but to inform you. There are pieces in motion; cards being played that have the lives of men and women on it. Please do not take offense." He nodded, replaced his glasses, and vanished back into the crowd.

"Well, that was interesting," Liz commented. "I think I can play a snooty, arrogant bitch for a couple hours. You?"

Henry nodded. "Let's spread the word, quietly. I'm beginning to see the attraction politics have."

* * *

Bella smiled politely at one of the navy-blue caped Traditionalists, trying to ignore his evaluating gaze. All of them seemed to regard the women present as potential slave meat they could buy and sell. Holding on to her temper was one of the more difficult things she had to do, especially when this cretin had just explained why women had no reason for civil rights. She thanked Merlin Severus was there, and she could play 'arm candy'.

"What you're proposing could easily be extended to free females as well," Severus said politely. "If we are to grow the economy and increase the tax base, that would seem to be … ill advised."

"That is an achievable goal, as well as it is well-managed," the Traditionalist replied. "It is unfortunate, but biology shows females are unable to perform such complex tasks as managing businesses or a government. They are smaller; their brains are proportionally smaller, which limits their intelligence. They are suitable for weaving cloth, cooking food and other simple tasks like cleaning and serving."

"Excuse me," Bella said, and walked away. The Traditionalist watched her go; then asked Severus quietly, "When will you be collaring and Enhancing her? She will be much happier then. It distresses females when their known weaknesses are made public. A collar will make her happy ..."

"Plans are in place," he replied quietly. He raised his voice slightly, "So the difficulty is biological?"

"Indeed. We do not blame the females; they are what the Source (he made the Circle gesture) made them. They have simply not moved far enough up the Spiral as males have, it is thus our responsibility to watch and guide them. The most efficient way is with a collar, it reminds them of their place on the Spiral. Those females that, for some reason or another, do not understand this require the reinforcement of Enhancement to be happy and fulfilled in their Source-planned destiny."

"I see. It is simple biological destiny; they are smaller and weaker …"

"As the Source intended; the Will of the Source is not to be denied. We Traditionalists simply recognize that fact, for some reason you Terrans do not."

Severus recognized his opening, and quietly said, "Not all Terrans agree with the current policy, indeed, I have noted some females that are … dissatisfied to a greater or lesser extent." He covered his smirk with a sip of tea. He had bated his hook, and the fish was interested … He wondered how good a politician this fellow was …

"That's interesting, but why the public announcements?" Yes, the fish was definitely interested in that bit of bait, it wiggled enticingly, but he wasn't sure about that shiny thing …

"The political winds, at the time …" and Severus left the rest unsaid. Let this fish fill in what he would, as he wiggled the bait.

"Ah. And Wayne?"

"The Queen has powerful patrons on Terra, not all is as it seems. For now, it serves us best to have her be the public face of the Empire. Foolish actions, such as the attempt by Paavue earlier, complicated things to some extent…" Yes, the fish was definitely edging toward that tasty morsel. He would not have lasted a month in a Terran legislature. He mentally apologized, then added, "Proof of this is the successful assassination of her Crown Consort, Morton. He had served his purpose, and was no longer useful. She, on the other hand …"

"I see. Business can be done, then?"

"Indeed." The fish was opening his mouth … One last wiggle … "Do you see the large, black haired male with blue pants near the Queen?" The fish maneuvered to look. "That is the Queen's uncle, his name is Kent. He is not agreeable to doing business."

"Ah, thank you." The fish mused a bit, "It would not serve to be open about this. Perhaps a back channel may be arranged …" The fish was about to bite …

"Perhaps with a slave or two passing messages?" Severus suggested. "That is sufficiently simple that, with suitable precautions, they should be able to handle it. They currently run back and forth, gossiping and carrying on, and they are, after all, only females and slaves. Disposable."

"If they are caught?" The fish was having second thoughts, especially about that shiny thing.

"They are disposable, as I said. Various precautions can be taken, coded messages and the like. One does not even have to own the slave …"

"Truth." He thought about it, "Perhaps a meeting can be arranged between suitable slaves. Where?"

"Riverside? Someplace fairly private; however, it should also be public enough that the sight of two slaves gossiping and resting from their labors would not be unusual. A park, perhaps?"

"Around a particular fountain? How would they pass messages?"

"A waterproof tube, suitably disguised as a bit of plumbing, perhaps. I can provide that, if you can provide … "

"The code? I can arrange a suitably secure one. We would need to have a token of some kind…" The jaws were closing …

"An advertisement on a message board for that false company each of us will use. We would need to determine a proper signal word, but that can be passed between the slaves in sealed envelopes," Severus replied. The company Clarissa ran included two chase slaves, and he suggested, "Perhaps we should use a red-headed slave at first, for recognition. After that, others can be used if necessary."

"A WorkForce girl?" The fish had bitten, but hadn't noticed the hook, yet. "They're not as common as a local slave."

"True, but this is the initial stages. They can be continued, or not, as the situation warrants. After all, they are simply passing routine business messages between their masters."

The fish swallowed, "Truth. A common occurrence; completely unremarkable. What should we use for the initial contact?"

"We shall post an advert for … (Severus paused) … red queenfish, a freshwater delicacy. Your slave shall call to order for … who?"

"The uncle's name was Kent? We shall use that name."

"Excellent. We shall be rapidly sold out; however, our slave will know of an overlooked box, which she will bring to meet with your slave for a certain price, above that posted on the advert. She will insist on cash, as she is going behind her owner's back in making the sale."

"She should be beaten…"

"But she will not, nor will your slave, to encourage their participation. What is a few grams of tungsten, after all? We play for larger stakes." He looked up, and caught Bella's eye. "Now, I must circulate. This can be arranged by next Fifthday, the twentieth?"

"It will. I am …"

"No. Do not tell me. Let us wander about, smile, and socialize." Severus smiled, snagged another drink from a passing slave, and moved away.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, December 26, 2002: 10:46 (relative)  
Passan, River Kingdom, **_Ch'wan_**: ****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The _Ch'wan_ pulled into her berth at the Kingdom's capital city, with Roger recognizing a uniformed Royal Page waiting for him. Lines were thrown, and a ladder was set for him as his cargo was handed ashore. The page had a cart waiting, and carefully wrapped and padded his cargo. She gestured, and he took the seat next to her as she said, "Welcome back, Sa'ar M'Clintock. His Majesty looks forward to speaking to you again."

"Greetings to you, M'm …" and her finger waggled a decoration on her uniform with a toothy grin. "My apologies, A'm'm Fi'er, and congratulations on your promotion. Long delayed, it was."

"As my father agrees," she said. "However, the Council took time to realize the fact," she said with a sideways glance. "What can you speak of to me?"

"This is something of a courtesy visit as well as my normal reporting," he replied. "How is His Majesty's mood? I need to speak of a sensitive subject with him regarding foreign relations."

"Somewhat … irritable," she replied after a minute. "Wrap it between good news, I would, the best being last."

"Hmm," he mused. "That will require a bit of thinking. When does the King expect me?"

"Not until after half-meal tomorrow," she replied. "He grants you time to rest from your journey. If he was anxious it would be upon our arrival at the palace." Her cart rounded a bend, and crested a small hill, and the palace was before them.

Sitting on an island in the river, there were extensive parks on the landward sides, the river forming a moat with a few bridges crossing at the narrows. High walls with patrolling guards kept watch, the cart turned toward one of the approach guardhouses. Fi'er stopped the cart at the gate; they dismounted to be questioned separately by the guards. The iron banded gates swung wide, and they drove on.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, December 25, 2002: 23:40 (GMT)  
Firstday, 16 Secundus, 163, 06:27 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, VIP quarters:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"I think we did very well," Piotr said as he tossed down his pen. He looked at Clarissa, and asked the former First Girl, "Your girls will be ready?"

"L'ena is ready now," she replied, referring to one of her 'slaves', a former Chase Girl. Her company, Service Girls, had the cleaning contracts for the Ministry buildings in High Town and here in Riverside. She knew that she 'assisted' the Security Ministry, and thus received political cover for 'owning' her girls. In truth, her girls were volunteers who were told very little, for their protection. However, they knew they were somehow working for the Terran government; all they needed to do was behave as slaves, something they had done all their lives. "All she has to do is perform a 'behind-the-owner' sale? Routine," Clarissa said. "She is in no danger?"

"She will take a sealed box to a meeting, and receive an envelope, also sealed, which she will then give to another slave," Piotr replied. "If she is stopped and questioned, and the box opened, they will find fish packed in ice. She will not know the content of any item, and while she may be punished by her owner for making that behind-the-owner sale; that would be expected. Once the drop site is arranged, all she need do is sit by the fountain to rest, wearing a different tunic, and splash water on herself to cool off. Trading off the message canister is simply dropping it in the fountain. She does not know the contents; or even how to open it, and we shall be watching her, although she need not know that." He gave her a box with what looked like a section of one inch steel pipe, one of the 90° fittings rusted shut, and sloppily painted white. Clarissa looked at him, and he continued, "Do not try to open it. There are tampering arrangements in place to destroy the pipe and its contents."

"And anyone holding it," Clarissa said. She nodded, "Similar arrangements in High Town?"

"I would assume so, but we shall see. You might also inquire of your girls who would be interested in working undercover for us, inside the Traditionalists, as one of their slaves. There would be substantially more risk," he warned.

"Yes…" she said. "I shall ask. I can think of one or two girls that would be interested, though."

"Volunteers only," Governor Sullivan said as Clarissa rose to leave.

"Of course, milady," she replied, and left.

There was silence around the conference table when she had left, until Piotr sipped from his water glass, "As I said, very good results last night. Severus and I both caught fish, we shall see if they are keepers."

"I was not happy," Bella said. "I was reduced to arm candy."

"I can sympathize," Mattie said. "I was playing the figurehead Queen, as Christine is playing the dumb blonde under the control of Sir Cuthbert."

"There are other systems in which the reverse occurs, matriarchies," Mr. Kent said.

"Oh, I want to go there!" Bella said. "Are they members of the Empire?"

"I know of one, we've got observers there," Mattie replied with a grin. "Metis; it's not too far from here. They're something of a Greek or Bronze age technology level, another island planet. Aside from a possible colony location, we lucked out in finding them. I don't know what they can export other than fish."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, December 26, 2002: 01:30 (GMT)  
Firstday, 16 Secundus, 163, 07:43 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Riverside General Hospital:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Yuki turned her head at the knock on her hospital doorway, and whimpered once in greeting. "Hello, Yuki, or should I say, my former mistress?" Christine said with a small smile as she entered the room. She regarded the slave as she lay chained belly-down on the bed, her ankles shackled apart so a suction device could be fitted, her new prosthetic arms cuffed behind her, and a feeding tube running into a gag locked in her mouth. Christine tugged at her leash, which had been reversed to run between the handrails. Pulling up a chair up to sit next to the slave's head, and remarked conversationally, "Well, now that you're here, and nicely secured, there were several things I wanted to say to you after you had me Enhanced and recollared, but at the time it wasn't polite. Well, now I'm free, and the System Governor; and you're a red-collar slave, I don't have to be polite. What's more, I understand that you want to _stay_ a slave, which is perfectly fine with me. It may be petty of me, and cruel, but I really want to tell you this, and then you're going to tell me where the missing slave girls are, and what you've done to them." Christine reached over to rearrange a pillow so that the bound slave had no choice but to look at her, and said, "First, I thought you took entirely too much pleasure out of forcing me back into a collar, and a new Enhancement board as well…"

* * *

Dr. George Brenner walked into Yuki's room to find a small crowd there, with his girl out of bed and kneeling, still cuffed, and with Governor Sullivan holding her leash. The Governor nodded politely, "Dr. Brenner. May we borrow your slave so she will show us where she's hidden some family members?" One of the others said, "This isn't a request. She's alive and she can walk; she can leave the hospital for a day or so."

"She's also my slave," he said roughly, pulling her leash away. Yuki whimpered, nodding toward the door. "I'll check her out for a few hours, she can tell a few of you, not the entire bunch, and then she's coming back here. She still needs physical therapy. Now get out while I get her prepared."

* * *

"Turn left here, master," Yuki said in a hoarse whisper.

"There's nothing here," he objected. "It's an open field."

"There is, it's hidden, master. Please turn left here." Grumbling, he did so, and she waited a bit, then said, "Look carefully, master. See four small stones set in a pyramid, like cannonballs? To your left, master."

"I still don't see anything."

"I am sorry, master, but you're a muggle. Please stop, and let me down, and I'll show you." George stopped the wagon, jumping down, and walked around the pair of hexataurs to pick up Yuki, slinging her over his shoulder. Following her directions, he looked carefully for the stones, only finding them when Yuki directed his foot, inch by inch, to rest atop them. "I still don't see them, but I feel the stones," he said. He turned, asking, "Do you?"

"No, what charm did you use?" the dark-haired Bellatrix said.

"A modified Fidelius, mistress," Yuki replied. "I may tell one other person, more than that and the information is wiped from my mind. In addition, there …" she stopped, blinking. "Slave enhancement reset. Reset. Reset," she said in a monotone. She shook for a moment; her collar lights changed from yellow back to red; then she asked, "This slave inquires who owns this slave."

"I am your owner, girl. Your name is Yuki," George said. "Answer her questions," and he gestured at Bella.

"Yes, my master," and she lowered her head to the dirt from where George had placed her on her knees. "How may this slave please you, my mistress?"

"Wonderful," Bellatrix muttered. "Look up, and tell me what this is?"

"A stick, my mistress." She leaned forward to examine the wand, adding, "A carved stick, my mistress."

"Even better," she said. Granmere Laval came forward, "Let me try, child." She started to chant, and Yuki snapped rigid as the old voudou priestess leaned forward to carry on a whispered conversation. After several minutes, she leaned back, gesturing, and Yuki fell asleep, being floated to the small cart. "I will work on her memory later," she told George, and stood. "Come, child, we shall see what we may discover," beckoning to May and Bella. They walked forward, and vanished from sight.

* * *

George looked toward the spot where the three witches had vanished from sight. He had walked toward that location, and had felt a down sloped concrete pad, what he thought was a loading dock, even a roll-up door, but he couldn't SEE any of it. All he could see was a field of short grass, with gravel pathways here and there, and in the distance a truly massive vegetable garden, with an old, weathered outbuilding. He sighed and returned to the cart, where Yuki continued to sleep deeply. It was somewhat interesting that there appeared to be an over-ride code to change the collar lights, but he wasn't a programmer. He'd mention it to Ms. Wayne; she could probably find some use for the information.

He looked up as the youngest girl; May re-appeared. "Dr. Brenner, if you can maneuver the cart to the loading dock …"

"Can't see it," he reminded her. "I felt it, but I can't see it. Can't you turn it visible?"

"Err, no. Not at this time. Yuki would know how, but she's, well …" and she tapped her temple. "Anyway, we've got six girls, all Enhanced slaves, all with modified memories. Ms. Black says they're all Terran witches, and from what we've found out, someone on Earth has been planning this, there are another two dozen girls expected mid-January to be shipped out from Earth to Tosul, where they're bio-sculpted and Enhanced with an espionage package, and then shipped here."

"Wonderful."

"Yes. Anyway, we need to report in to Ms. Wayne, and get these girls in the hospital to see if we can restore their memories, at least."

"I hate to say it, but this cart ain't that big. Somebody's gonna have to walk."

"Oh. Yes. Well, Granmere Laval says the girls _know_ they're slaves, from a slave planet, so they can walk, along with Yuki …" she suggested, somewhat tentatively.

George sighed, "I don't like it, but if they're medically fit …"

"Ms. Black says they are. They just have to shut down or finish some brewing, which shouldn't take much more time. We'll start to get some documentation copied and things ready to load. I'll guide you in to the loading dock."

* * *

With a rattle, a door rolled up, and George could look into an ordinary loading dock that appeared to be floating a yard or so off the ground. Neatly stacked aluminum pallets were lined up; woven reed boxes were strapped in place, just waiting for a pallet jack or forklift. He walked forward, instead of the expected concrete block and steel, it was built of wood, but it was otherwise a normal, Terran warehouse.

"Weird," he commented, and May nodded her head. "We just want to take a few samples, as well as things like invoices. It looks like they've been producing seeds and brewing fertilizers for months, which we can certainly use here. How's Yuki?"

"Awake, but she's still in 'Reset' mode. I want to hook up her control chips to see if I can get her back to where she was. I don't want a damned robot."

"Well, that's what these girls are now, bloody slave robots. We'll get them to load up the cart while we finish the brews and then chain them to walk behind the cart. We can't do anything about dust and dirt; can you admit them for observation or something?"

"Yeah, I've got some hospital privileges."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, December 26, 2002: 02:30 (GMT)  
Firstday, 16 Secundus, 163, 09:43 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Assembly chamber:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"We ready for this?" Christine asked as she waited to the side with Ms. Wayne and her aide, Ms. Koslowski, who replied, "I think so. We've got all the documentation on the table, we'll give and take the various oaths, and if the Traditionalists go along with that, they're trapped by those oaths. If they don't, they lose their seats in the Assembly." She looked out at the Assembly hall, like the majority of the Terran-built complex, built of wood and logs to match the existing Riverside architecture. It was one of the few multi-story buildings outside the town's island. Looking out from the platform where the Assembly's officers sat, visitor's galleries ran along each side, with a smaller press gallery facing a mobile speaker's podium (which was currently set aside) and the platform with the Assembly's officers. This is where an unhappy Clark Kent sat with other journalists, a video camera in front of him.

The Assembly itself consisted of five sections with ten rows of paired desks on stepped levels. Each of those L-shaped desks had computer terminals and links to their local offices; the Assembly-persons who needed to make a speech would simply walk down an aisle to small swinging gates in a waist-high railing that allowed access to the central area. That area was lit by a large skylight with secondary chandeliers, ceiling fans assisted the air conditioning.

The Sergeant-at-Arms walked to the center of the 'pit' area, and struck a mobile gong, "Places, gentle beings. It is 9:45, we start the proceedings; please close the doors." There was a 'thunk' noise as bars were slid in place on the doors, he turned, "Ms. Sullivan?"

Christine strode out to stand in the center as the gong was wheeled back, "Thank you. Greetings gentle beings. I am Christine Sullivan, the System Governor appointee. I open this prefatory session of the Planetary Assembly by introducing Her Imperial Highness, Empress Martha I." She stepped back as Mattie strode out, dressed in an Imperial Army uniform.

"Greetings gentle beings," she began. "We start with the taking of oaths; then we move to the status of both the Benecee system and the Empire as a whole. I start by reaffirming my pledge to the residents, citizens and Imperial subjects of the Benecee binary system. As your Empress, I do swear and affirm that I will do my utmost to provide for the safety, security, and economic well-being of those persons, no matter their age, gender, legal status or species. Thus I pledge before the Creator of All, known by many names."

She waited as Connie moved forward with a document, "I now create the Barony of Benecee, defined as the binary star system of Benecee, consisting of the primary star Alpha, an M2 red dwarf with three uninhabitable planets and an asteroid belt between the first and second planets. The secondary system is known as Secundus, orbiting Beta, a G5 star, with seven planets, one habitable, the third, known as Windfall. The system has two asteroid belts, the inner one is from .9 AU to 7 AU; the outer one is between the fifth and sixth planets from 10 to 12 AU. These systems extend to the Oort cloud at 100 AU." She leaned over the table, signing the document; then took a pillow from the table, tossing it down. "Ms. Sullivan, if you please?"

Christine advanced forward as Mattie said, "In my capacity of Empress, and for the duration of your appointment, I nominate you as Baroness of this domain, and charge you with the duties of System Governor, with the duty and responsibility of the safety, security, and well being of the residents and Imperial Subjects of this domain. I further charge you with enforcement of Imperial Law as well as Planetary Law, with the appropriate powers and responsibilities. Do you accept these powers and responsibilities?"

"I do."

"Please kneel." Christine knelt, and Mattie drew her katana, tapping left-right-left shoulder. "I name you Baroness and System Governor. Rule well and fairly in my name and the Creator of All." She stepped back, setting the naked sword on the table and signing the appointment. Christine accepted it, stepping aside as Mattie called out, "I call Walter Cuthbert."

The tall man stepped forward, "I am Walter Cuthbert."

"In my capacity as Empress, and for the duration of your appointment, I nominate you as Baronet of this domain, and charge you with the duties of Lieutenant Governor, with the charge; duty and responsibility to support the lawful government and to assist in providing the safety, security, and well being of the residents and Imperial Subjects of this domain. I also charge you with enforcement of Imperial Law as well as Planetary Law, with the appropriate powers and responsibilities. Do you accept these powers and responsibilities?"

"I do."

"Please kneel." Walter knelt, and Mattie drew her katana, tapping right-left-right shoulder. "I name you Baronet and Lieutenant Governor. Rule well and fairly in my name and the Creator of All." She stepped back, once again setting the naked sword on the table and signing the appointment. Walter accepted it as Christine stepped forward, "In my office as Baroness, I do create the County of …"

* * *

Saamz leaned back in his chair, waiting while the different areas were created, and different assemblymen went up and back, receiving a document granting them a title. He wasn't bothered by the oath; an oath given to a female or a slave (which were the same), wasn't binding, and the System Governor was a collared female. He was waiting for the afternoon negotiation sessions where the choice committee assignments were to be given out. He wanted the security chair, where the chance to imprison his enemies, as well as lining his pockets with tungsten waited. He already knew of profitable contracts to give his supporters.

"Seat 83, please come forward." He heaved to his feet, moving down the few broad steps and into the central area. He ignored the cushion, striding over to the table and finding his appointment. He glanced it over, then snarled, "Sign this document!"

"Are you willing to kneel and take the oath?"

"I do not kneel before females, only slaves kneel," he spat contemptuously. "Females and slaves are the same, animals to be bought and sold. Sign the document, slaves, so I may get on with business!"

"If females are slaves, then our signatures would not matter," the shorter one in a grey uniform said. "Will you kneel and take the oath of affirmation and office?"

"I do not take commands from inferiors; I am Saamz, First son of Paavue, House Paavue! I command here!" He strode forward, backhanding the shorter one out of the way to seize the taller blonde by her collar, raising her up; then throwing her down. "Kneel before me, slave, and cross your wrists! You are at your natural position, as the Source intended; at the feet of a male!"

"You have not only insulted and assaulted the System Governor and Baroness, you have struck and insulted myself," the shorter one said, holding up a bloody hand. "You have drawn blood, and I accept your challenge."

"You forget, female; that you cannot fight." Saamz sneered. "You must be represented by a champion, and who would want to fight me? Your pathetic uncle?"

"My uncle is an honorable man, but he is unfortunately related by clan ties, not by blood. No, I will fight you myself; your age and my being female cancel out. I choose the standard Imperial Army short sword." She gestured, and a taller blonde brought an aluminum crate out, flipping open the locks. "There are twenty of them, differing only in serial number. Choose one."

"You are even more foolish, slave, I am a master of blades," he strolled over, examining one at random. He quickly deduced the locking device on the grip that held it in the sheath, drawing the blade and admiring the workmanship. He thrust it back in the sheath; then turned, "Strip, female. I would see you naked to prove you do not carry concealed weapons. It will then make it easier to collar and belt you as the slave you truly are."

"I do not see you doing so," she replied, removing her over-tunic that came to mid-thigh. Below that she wore a slave-yellow upper garment that went between her legs and came up her throat and to her wrists.

He grunted, "You wear slave yellow well, female."

"It is command gold," she replied, reaching behind to unfasten it as he pulled off his outer robes. Beneath, she wore a white garment over her breasts; she reached down to pull off her boots, necklaces dangling.

"To skin, female, including jewelry."

"You as well," she said. Holding up her left hand, "This is a bond-ring given me by my mate. It does not leave my hand while I live. It is not a weapon."

"Your previous owner, you mean," he smirked. "You will cross your wrists to me, you will be my slave, and I will remove that ring myself." The plates covering the sand pit in the center of the floor were removed, and he added, "Turn, female, and show all that you do not bear hidden arms."

"When you do," she replied, folding and tossing the last of her white under-clothing to the side. She turned, arms out, as he did also.

He spied something, "You wear slave brands! I knew you were slave!"

"Many years ago, I was taken unawares, made unconscious and collared and branded in that state," she replied. "When I awoke, I broke the collar from my neck, and fought he who had marked me and tried to enslave me. He is long dead, and I keep the brand as a reminder of what slaves go through." She took up her sword, throwing the sheath behind her. "I never crossed my wrists, or declared myself slave."

"You killed your master?" Saamz snarled, "You will be punished long for that, slave!"

She smirked, "You talk big, prove your words," and took a fighting stance.

"You will bleed; slave, and then I shall take great pleasure in your public discipline. There is only one way you leave this room alive, and that is as my slave, female!"

"Talk, talk, talk," she replied, and actually yawned. "Make me."

* * *

Clark was worried, but there wasn't much he could do. Mattie had specifically ordered him not to interfere, as she had Crystal. The goal was to humiliate the leader of the Traditionalists, breaking the organization, and she had been taking lessons from War in swordsmanship. Further, the short sword was the product of a few thousand years in design, starting with the ancient Greeks, through the Romans and the middle ages, with modern manufacturing.

He watched as his niece baited the larger, older man. They each settled into a combat stance, circling each other, watching and testing. She had the advantage of speed, he of reach. Their blades wove in the air, and finally, his anger building, he attacked.

With the clang of steel, the two separated, and she yawned again. "When are you planning on beating me to my knees?" she asked. "I'll have you on your knees; that's the only way _you're_ leaving this room alive."

"I will see the flesh stripped from your bones by my whip!"

"Talk, talk," she repeated. "So far you've done nothing but talk big." She twisted a bare foot in the sand, "That's where your words are." She made a come-on gesture, "Prove it, or don't you have the (rude gesture) to take a female that's not tied down?"

"You will be pulled tight on my rack, where I will be the first to take you! After that, I will make certain you beg for death!"

"Yeah, yeah," planting her sword tip down as she relaxed. "I don't see you doing it."

He snarled and charged, and she rolled, there was the clang of steel, and she was back on her feet. "I have scored on you, slave!" he called. "Look at your hand!"

"Look at your wrist," she replied, holding up her left hand. She raised her hand, using her sword to cut the strip of skin holding her left little finger on. She turned to toss it to Connie, adding, "I remembered, down, not across."

"What foolishness is that, slave?"

"I cut down the inside of your wrist," she replied, and there was blood running down his right arm, just as there was on the edge of her left forearm.

"You DARED to cut your master, slave? It is enough of a crime that you arm slaves; that they talk back to their owners, but this, to attack your master with a weapon, begs long punishment and a slow, public death."

"So far, you aren't doing too well at putting that into action," she replied. "I'm still here, still armed, and still haven't crossed my wrists." She gestured again, "Come on, make me. I'm only a female, remember?"

"A slave," he corrected her. "I look forward to collaring you, and branding you suitably. I will pull out your tongue."

"I thought your plan was to collar and Enhance every female on the planet," she baited him. "Be consistent. Am I to be Enhanced? You've ordered enough Enhancement kits to do that to every female."

"The only proper place for a female is collared, kneeling at the feet of her master when he decides to sell her," he replied. "Enhancing you will add to your pitiful value."

"Oh, really?" she asked. "I'm curious, what am I valued at?"

"Nothing, as you will not live to see the sales block," he snarled, lunging at her. Another clang of steel and twist of bodies, and he said, "A pity to mark you before your punishment." He blinked, touching his face, "You have damaged me!"

"You've done the same," she replied, and Clark could see a bloody line on her pelvis, while Saamz was sporting a bloody line across his left cheek.

"I will brand you 'Slave' there, where I have marked you!" he declared.

"Oh, so I'm not going to die," she replied. "One thing that you need to learn, a Terran never surrenders, they do not cross their wrists voluntarily. They die on their feet with a weapon in their hand."

"You will be the exception," he snarled, and there was another twist and swirl of blades. They sprang loose, and he said, "Another mark to match the other. You bleed well, slave."

"So do you," she replied.

He frowned, took a couple steps back and stole a quick glance, "You have unmade me, female! You will beg for death!" he roared. "I will have you dead by rape for what you have done to me!"

"Sew them back on," she replied, and he dropped his sword, clawing at the sand below him, which was rapidly turning dark with his blood. He gathered up handfuls of sand, and she said, "Puh-lease. Let's not be insulting. Pick up your sword and fight."

He picked it up with his left hand, "I am a master of the blade with either hand; you have crippled my right." He staggered to his feet, bracing himself with his blade, moving forward, finally swinging at her. She simply stepped away, and he stepped after her, slowly; blood pumping down his legs as he did so. He swung again, and she offered, "You've lost a lot of blood. Drop your weapon and yield, and you'll get medical attention; you'll live."

"To a slave? Never! I am Saamz, of House Paavue! I do not yield to slaves; I do not kneel before _females_!" He worked up the energy to spit at her. "I will see you dead, slave! Kneel and beg my … (he staggered) … beg my collar! Cross your wrists to me!" He took one more step; then collapsed to his knees, waving his sword in her direction.

With a tap of her blade, she disarmed him, throwing his sword away. He struggled to his feet again, took a step toward her; and then pitched forward. She watched him, emotionless as he went limp, blood finally slowing to a stop from his arm and groin. She circled around him; then went to pick up his under-wrap, using it to clean her blade and then his. Sheathing the swords, she moved to the table with her clothing, picking it up. "Governor Sullivan, please make certain he's returned to his clan for a proper burial. Please continue, I'll be back after I'm dressed."

"Yes, your Highness. There will be a short recess of fifteen minutes, we'll mark Seat 83 vacant," she replied emotionlessly.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, December 26, 2002: 12:12 (relative)  
Passan, River Kingdom, King's castle: ****  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Roger moved forward at the appropriate signal, bowing before the King. "Once again, sir, I greet you in the name of the Terran Empire," he said as the first diagram was spread out on a low side table. "The building of the line of sea-fortifications is going well, other than the four-day storm we had last month. That required pumping out the fourth and fifth tower locations again, as the high waves overcame the protective shell."

The felinoid king jumped down from his low audience couch, padding over to study the diagrams. He supported himself on his mid-legs, leaning down and running the fingers of his fore-arms over the diagram on the table. "Why did that happen?" he asked.

"Sir, we planned for average waves, not having multi-year information. It is not available. The locations have a sea-depth of eighty and one hundred five meters, we added five meters to those, as we also need to use floating barges and cranes. Lifting them higher than five meters over average would have almost doubled the cost of building those cranes, and they were pumped out within a day. They took minor damage, easily repaired, but there was a delay in doing so." Roger gestured, "We cannot control the weather, sir."

The king grunted, "Truth. Paint the sides of the towers with the wave heights."

Roger gestured for the first model, "Already done for towers three, four and five, sir. Towers one and two are in shallower water, and we would need to reinstall the protective shells and pump out the water. Instead, we can install a long cloth sail on the sides. It would not be as durable, and would need to be replaced every year or so. However, the tower's staffs can use looking glasses to read the wave heights on the other towers." The cover was unlatched, and a three dimensional model was turned to show the king. In it, a flared base rested on the 'seabed', running up in a tower, red lines painted every so often to show depth. Behind the model was a curved, painted background of the harbor, with other towers showing in line. Approximately thirty meters above the waves, the tower branched out with supporting gun platforms, signal masts, and so forth. Turning the model, Roger showed a cut-away version. In that, the base was solid up to about twenty meters below the wave-tops. In there, several small rooms; Roger pointed out a feature. "The gun's propellant, sir, can be stored here, in small batches. Since that is sensitive to the smallest spark, there are valves arranged here to flood each small room if necessary."

"And to pump it out? How is it lit, if not with candles or lamps?" the King asked.

"One floor up, sir, are pumps that can be used to drain the rooms if needed. To light it, we use what we call a light-pipe, sir. Sunlight is bounced through these mirrors, or lamps are lit one floor up and bounced in at night. Since we must guard against sparks and flame, workers here have no metal at all, sir. They load and unload the rooms through this lift, up two floors to the gun rooms. Here, the gun carriages swivel through an arc to aim and fire, and are loaded through what we call a 'breech'."

"That is new," the King commented. "They do not load from the front?"

"In honesty, sir, we are not certain this will work. It requires much stricter control of the casting of cannon, and much stronger metals. We _think_ your people can do it, but if they can't, the older style cannon can be easily switched in." Roger motioned; whispering to a guard, who brought over another, smaller model. "The difference, sir, is the new cannon are a hollow tube, with a swinging, locking hatch at the end, like a baker closes his oven."

"Only much stronger, bread does not explode," the King agreed, studying the model. He was silent, thinking. He nodded; then looked at Roger, "My spies tell me you have been speaking to the Bandis. For what?"

Roger raised a hand, "We value our relationship, but you are primarily a fishing and farming kingdom. Bandis has more to do with metals, and our own information is that they have a particular type of ore that is useful to us, but neither you or Bandis could use it. What we offer both of you is to buy the waste of your mines, we shall extract from that waste ores and other things that you cannot. This will allow you to profit from what you have thrown away as useless."

The King paced a bit, "I sense a catch of the claw; and what of the ground and water where the waste resided?"

"The ground, once it is uncovered, can be returned to use. We have a particular type of seed that we can offer you, but it would not be useful for food of any type, animal or person, for several years at a minimum. It would be sick soil that would need time to grow healthy again. The same with the water, we can treat it with other plants, but that is a larger job, and fish from there would not be edible."

Grunting, the King threw himself on his couch, reaching for his drink. "Your deal with Bandis?"

"Essentially the same. We would trade for some land on the Pa'stur River, build a processing plant for those ores. I would like to arrange with you shipments from your waste sites along the road and through the border guards, but we can ship down river. It would be somewhat less expensive to ship along the road, and it would be additional business for the wagons."

"Truth. You seem to be paying much and gaining little. Why do you not mine these ores in the skies?"

"What we gain is those ores and metals for which you have no use. Your keepers of coin have already written them off as worthless, therefore they are only profit to you, even if you charge us very little. It would cost us a much greater amount to mine the ores in space, as we would need to set up transport and processing, as well as food supplies, that type of thing. It is less expensive to buy your waste and recover from that, the plants and such can be easily bred by your farmers. You yourself would need to buy that land, to keep a peasant from planting food crops on the sick land, but that can be done as the waste is cleared and shipped." Roger shifted, "The ores and metals, as I said, you have no use for, nor any way to recover them. Several are useful in the design and construction of spacecraft, which you are not doing."

"Truth," he agreed. "I would see us climb to the skies," he admitted.

"You will do so in time, once your artisans believe that we simply have more advanced tools; that we are not zarroji that can wave our hands and a feast appears. We buy, and eat, the same foods in the market that you do. However, we simply have more experience in building those tools. It is the same as a master baker teaching a new apprentice; once your iron-workers figure out how to build that breech, I am certain they will apply that knowledge elsewhere, possibly somewhere we have not. I have never said we cannot learn from you."

"Truth," the King agreed again. "Truth." He sat back on his couch, thinking. "I will discuss this with my Council, and we must discuss the values of waste, loading wagons and such. For now, unless my Council sees a difficulty I do not, you have my agreement. Can you stay, as my guest, for three additional days? We may then discuss those values, and fair trade."

"I am honored to accept the hospitality of the King," Roger said, and bowed. The King nodded and waved, and the next person came forward as Roger's demonstration materials were removed.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, December 26, 2002: 10:08 (GMT)  
Firstday, 16 Secundus, 163, 17:21 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's office:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Let's get this started," Christine said as the others settled into chairs. May Branstone shut the door, taking the last chair at the conference table as the Governor opened her binder, asking, "The location?"

"Hidden from even orbital observation," Mr. Kent said. "We have the GPS coordinates, and it's a fairly good size facility. It should be plainly visible, but we don't even have shadows on the ground."

"They have built up quite a bit of stock, and Yuki was taking regular shipments to inject into the normal planetary supply chain," May said. "Useful seeds and fertilizers, if there's some way of keeping production up…"

"While keeping it hidden from muggles," Severus put in. "I appreciate a copy of the formulary, Ms. Laval. You, Bella, May and I are the Secret Keepers. Unfortunately, regarding the girls' minds, I am not a registered Legilmens, and reading minds is not like selecting a book from a shelf. In addition, I must be careful of traps, such as befell Ms. Fukuda. However, in her favor, she did back up the original personalities of the girls into a separate mental partition. This is presumably code-word keyed, so once that key is implemented, their mental processes will shift to that partition. Until then, they are bred slaves, shipped here from their home planet, which is indeed a slave planet, and has been for millions of years."

"What about running them through biosculpt, back to a human form?" George asked.

"I would not advise that. Their current mental bodily image is that of felinoid slaves. That is what they _know_ themselves to be. Changing that would unbalance those currently operative mental processes, rendering them a vegetable at best." Severus shook his head, "My current recommendation is to keep them as they are, and return them to the greenhouses so they may continue their work. They are physically healthy, I would issue 'new orders from their owner' (he finger quoted) to allow them more physical freedom until we may import a specialist to restore their minds."

"That's my daughter you're talking about!" Mr. Branstone shouted.

"No, Eleanor is currently confined in another section of that person's brain," Severus replied. "We must search for the key to unlock her cell. What would you do, Mr. Branstone? Would you take her with us back to Earth? You will then be importing a felinoid slave girl, collar number 11641. She will be obedient to you, but _she will be a slave_, not Eleanor. If you wish your daughter's mental return, no matter her physical form, we must obtain that key."

"I would suggest …" Mattie started to say, when Mr. Branstone pounded the table, thrusting back his chair, and pacing. "You don't give a bloody damn!" he shouted in the general direction of the table.

"On the contrary, we care a great deal, Mr. Branstone," Governor Sullivan replied. "This is, however, a situation where specialists are required. We shall need to obtain those specialists, which will require time. Would you have Mr. Snape muck about in her head when he has stated that he is not trained or qualified for this?"

"I will stay, and keep an eye on the girls," Granmere Laval said. "Mr. Snape, I will give you a letter of recommendation for certain persons I know. Please select the most appropriate persons; I presume transport will not be a problem?"

"No," Ms. Wayne replied. "Nor will fees and expenses." She looked at George, "Dr. Brenner, I presume you'd like to stay in Riverside until this is resolved?"

"As long as you add Yuki to your list," he agreed. "From what I've seen, she was an innocent dupe, following what she believed were legitimate orders."

"Which is something I'll need to sort out at home," Ms. Wayne agreed. She tapped her pen on the table.

Bella raised her hand, "I'll stay as their new 'owner', and assist Ms. Laval. What about the incoming slaves?"

"We need more information about them," Ms. Wayne replied. "Are they volunteers? Kidnapped? Brainwashed?"

"They are presumably volunteers, as the previous group was," Christine said. "I'll give Piotr a call, and ask him to pull a couple out for you to talk to. Assuming they're a legitimate program, then what?"

"Then … then they're intelligence assets," Ms. Wayne replied slowly. "If they're volunteers, and they're already in the pipeline, so to speak." She glanced over at Mr. Branstone, "Comments? Suggestions?"

"You're using slaves…"

"Be assured, Mr. Branstone, that I am no happier with this than you are. However, I am also in need of intelligence," Ms. Wayne snapped. "This is not a case where we can get it by simply picking up a newspaper or watching the news on telly. I must rely on agents in all sections of a society."

"Think of Cold War spies in Moscow, or Berlin, or Paris," Connie added. "The Soviets would run their spies, we would run ours. The difference is that we don't have a slave society, and only a single planet. Here we have multiple social systems, on multiple planets, and some have slaves, some don't. We need to train those people, and if some of them volunteer, I repeat, volunteer to wear a collar, that's different." She added coldly, "Doesn't this come down to consent?" She glanced at Mattie; then added, "That was what I found most irritating about Arthur; he expected the rest of the universe to conform to HIS morals and ethics, because He Was Right."

"Unfortunately true," Pomona added. "He's a good boy, but he has this rigid moral code, very black and white; there were no shades of grey at all. He once said that he would prefer the hotel girls die so he didn't have to enrich slaver scum. I, on the other hand, would rather save the girls' lives and watch the slavers hang later."

Ms. Wayne continued, "That being said, Mr. Branstone, if this is a legitimate operation to supply field agents to Imperial Intelligence; I will hold my nose and allow it. You may rest assured that I will thoroughly check this out; despite its odor, if legitimate, it provides a needed resource, and my duty to the Empire requires acceptance." She tapped her pen, "If, on the other hand, it proves to be a deceptive operation, like the one Yuki apparently got caught up in, you may rest assured that I will most certainly Not Be Pleased."

"And when she's Not Pleased;" Connie said, "Speaking as her roomie and Housemate, nukes ain't got nothing on her. She grinds her enemies to a fine powder."

"And mails them to Siberia," Severus put in.

There was silence for a minute when Ms. Wayne cleared her throat. "Moving on with the next two items. We'll be putting in Imperial Army Reserve units, and taking volunteers for the Imperial Army. That should add to the system's security, as will having the Alpha system available for naval exercises."

"I thought we didn't have engines," Christine said.

"We didn't have an engine plant, we bought a shipbuilder in financial difficulty, and shipped in additional manufacturing equipment," Connie replied. "It's being installed in the Archimedes Crater on the moon, and should be online by March, which means we can start turning out warships."

"Small ones at first, system patrol boats, corvettes, that will let us get bugs out of the process," Ms. Wayne said. "We'll do builder's trials in the Terran system; then have a post-shakedown cruise to here, where we can use the Alpha system for testing and war games. Once that's done, we can start deploying them to different systems of the Empire as we scale up to larger ships. Having ships conducting war games one system over should be reassuring."

Christine took a deep breath. "Yes, it will. There are some small moons that will make good command stations in the Alpha system…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, December 27, 2002: 04:13 (GMT)  
Seconday, 17 Secundus, 163, 05:00 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Greenhouses:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The slave once known as Yuki Fukuda, now simply the slave 91144, jolted awake when her collar activated a pain circuit. She spent a few seconds gathering herself, somewhat glad she was now awake, as she had been in a dream of once being a free male. '_That would be horrible_,' she thought to herself. '_I'm glad I'm a slave girl_.' Still, she remembered part of another dream, where she had worn a tight blue outfit that covered her breasts and compressed her waist, with silly high shoes. She had served there, only without a collar and belt. '_How ridiculous_,' she thought. '_Who ever heard of a slave without a collar? Masters wouldn't know who owned her_!' She settled back, lying on her belly, and waited for her First Girl to release her from the tube that secured her.

The slave once known as Eleanor Branstone, now simply the slave 11641, jolted awake when her collar activated a pain circuit. She spent a few seconds gathering herself, somewhat glad she was now awake, as she had been in a dream of once being a free female. '_That would be horrible_,' she thought to herself. '_I'm glad I'm a bred slave_.' Still, she remembered part of another dream, where she had voluntarily worn clothing, instead of at a master's order. '_At least that was a proper slave yellow_,' she thought, as the back of her cuffed hands felt the fur on her rear, and the stub of where her tail had been removed by her first owners. '_Before I earned my collar_,' she remembered, and settled back, lying on her belly, and waited for her First Girl to release her from the tube that secured her.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 28, 2002: 11:34 (GMT)  
Seconday, 17 Secundus, 163, 07:47 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

In the small apartment, a slave girl stumbled into the small dining area, yawning. Nicole looked up, irritated, and said, "Another dream of Master William?"

"Yes…" the other girl, 11319 sighed happily, plopping herself in the other chair. Nicole picked up her tea, blowing across it for a minute; then said, "This is perhaps why you did not arise in time to perform your morning functions. I also note that you have cuffed yourself, again." She took a sip, "Did he not say, on his last visit, that he did not wish a slave, but a mate? A free female? Yet you persist in thinking yourself his slave. Continue on this path and you will lose him, or perhaps you wish to stay a slave."

"Freedom is not what I had thought it would be," she blushed and admitted after a minute. "I confess, the habits of the collar are difficult to break."

"Yet we must," Nicole semi-agreed. "I confess that I never was a good slave, I fought my collar, I despaired that I was bred to the collar, of the masters-designed body I wore, I was jealous of those fortunate enough to be born male. I did not wish to be a bred female slave, yet that is what the Source planned for me." She sipped her tea, "I have perhaps benefited more than you from the instruction of Terrans, although I confess to still dreaming of myself in the arms of Master Frank. Yet I know he would not take me as a slave, but as a free female." She leaned forward, tapping her room-mate's bare left breast. "That is what you must learn, here, in your heart, regarding Master William."

11319 looked down, then across at Nicole. "I confess I cannot conceive of myself as anything but a female."

Nicole grunted softly, admitting, "I … I also have had those thoughts, I discussed this on Master Frank's last visit." She had a slightly dreamy look, "… walking along the beach with him …" then shook herself. "His opinion was not that I disliked being female, but that I had a strong need to control my life, which I did not have as a slave. I have considered this, and believe he is substantially correct. As a slave, I must seek permission, as a free female I may do as I decide, and therefore must accept the benefits and consequences of that choice. It is easy to say that, but the … reality is different."

"Master William has said the same. I confess I am not happy with his desire to create a bond with other females; I want him to myself. However, I can understand the logic, and I am, I believe, an attractive female. I have never wanted to be male, I am happy to be female."

"I think it was not so much a rejection of my female form, but the lack of control," Nicole said. "We must admit, we are designed to be attractive collar meat, and those designers did their work well."

"Truth. As I said, I would not object to being a privately owned slave. I am an attractive female, and the size and weight of these (she jiggled her breasts) can be an irritant."

"Precisely," Nicole agreed. "I confess I prefer to go clothing-free, or only with a skirt, as many of us do, for one reason it disconcerts the males (she grinned)."

"You are such a slave!"

"It is enjoyable to tease the males," she agreed with a naughty smile. "Is that perhaps why you have not chosen a name?"

"Quite possibly," she replied. "I am not certain. Some have been proposed, and I did not fight my collar, as you did." She chewed her lip, "… and yet, I would also dream of freedom when I waited in my hotel room. This is substantially different than that dream."

"Truth. This is reality, however. I also note that star-rise is upon us, you have not eaten, had a sonic or suction, and are not ready to report for work. Were I your mistress …"

"This girl begs forgiveness. I shall do your turn at the clothes-washing tonight in compensation. This girl requests her wrists to be uncuffed, so she may make herself presentable for Papa Otto."

* * *

Aggie looked up from her datapadd as John entered the bar, and yawned. He shook his finger at her, "Don't do that, it's infectious. Soon everyone will … (he yawned) … be yawning." She laughed, and poured him a cup of tea. "I never really realized how much chip work there was to running a business _and_ a town," she confessed. "Now, instead of heading to bed, I must be about, on duty as the town of Brazos' financial officer. I am fortunate that Anita is now mayor and must do things such as the town log and the daily report to the Governor." She topped up her own tea, idly bouncing the tea ball in her (large) mug.

"Things I do not miss," he agreed, cupping his teacup in his hands. He regarded the petite, green haired former captured slave, "How go things?"

"You miss it, don't you?" she teased. "Allison struggles to take care of both K'ren's duties and her duty on the Town Council, but I think it good for her. I would like to move more bred girls, pardon, little sisters into the government than there are. Currently, they are mostly low-level, drivers, cleaners and office workers, but it is still early days." She snorted, "Six months ago they were facing death by being eaten by a monster. My own collar was comparatively easy, and no, I will not speak of that," she said, raising a hand.

John grunted, "We're getting them all settled down, named and all?"

"Some … some still use their numbers, I don't think they're ready for a dark collar yet," Aggie admitted. "I can see that to some extent, wearing a collar myself. In any group, there will be some that want to keep the security of their collar, and slavery, and would cross their wrists if they could. There is social pressure to 'be free', and their ideas of what 'freedom' is doesn't match what they are experiencing." Aggie dunked the tea ball again; then sipped from her mug. "If it were politically possible, I would say keep them slave until they ask for their collar."

"We'd never stand for that, the Queen wouldn't. She doesn't like collaring the criminals on the road crews."

"And the Queen is in Riverside, I've heard," Aggie replied, taking a swallow of tea. "The other solution would be to create some sort of crime that would require our keeping them as slave, or at least as close as that would come." She raised a finger, "I know."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, December 28, 2002: 12:32 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Donaldson flat:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"I think I've got everything," Gene said as he checked his bags. Ev looked on, "You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be," he replied to his wife. "The cab comes to take me to the airport, and then the flight to Eunomia, where I meet Mike Bulstrode, my wizard, and board the _Taalah_."

"You'll email us?"

"As soon as we hit dirt on Tosul," he replied. He looked around again; Warren grabbed his tool kit and binder of software, saying, "I'll take this downstairs to wait for the cab, you two say your goodbyes."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, December 29, 2002: 13:22 (GMT)  
Terran system, Eunomia, **_Taalah_**:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Mischa Shenberg entered the flight deck, with S'ana; the ship's First starting to stand from the command chair. She was waved back; "Greetings, Captain. We have loaded most cargo, and our new Comm officer is signed aboard. He is on the base, having final briefings. His specialty cargo is aboard and secured, as is the equipment for the Tosul offices. We expect that passenger within a day." She passed a datapadd as Mischa took the vacant Comm chair, settling back to study the information.

"Thank you. Any questions or problems?"

"I question the presence of slaves in the stasis tubes, Captain."

"I did too," Mischa replied. "All I can tell you is that we are contracted with a slave house on Tosul, where we will be installing an espionage package; then delivering them to Windfall." Standing, tea was offered and fetched. "They are volunteers, intelligence agents. As you know, a majority of planets have a slave caste or society. In order to penetrate that caste…"

"We would need slaves of our own," S'ana said, fingering her own collar. "That makes sense, from what I have learned of the Terrans it sidesteps that moral objection. What of purchasing the model seventy series slaves?"

"That, I don't know," Mischa replied. "We will leave some at our offices on Tosul, some we take to Windfall. How that's decided, I don't know. We then move on to Eta Orionis, buy up some hotel slaves, make certain our own slave equipment is the latest available, and on to Windfall to off-load. Are our navigation charts up-to-date?"

"Mistress S'rat has stated they are," the First replied. "Mistress S'rat, as our Second, is making her own preparations on base. She is expected back at fourteen hours."

S'ana turned as the entry slid open, "I have returned," S'rat said, then nodded. "Greetings, Captain." The tall, beautiful woman wearing a dark collar and ship's grey tunic and skirt over her slave belt moved to the vacant Engineering station and perched on the edge of the chair, brushing aside the 'tail' she wore as she did so. Mischa studied her, she radiated sexual appeal, and no wonder; she had been designed and bio-sculpted to do so.

"I am informed," S'rat said calmly, "An additional thirty-two tanked slaves will be on-loaded for processing on Tosul, and then tran-shipping to Windfall. Appropriate additional tungsten will be credited to our ship's accounts. Please recall, Captain, that when we arrive in the Tosul system, all Enhanced personnel, free and slave, must be declared to the Portmaster's office." She tapped her collar, "Including myself."

"Thank you," Mischa replied. "I assume that you will have totals of everything that we can transmit to the Portmaster?" S'rat nodded delicately. "What else?"

"If you so desire, Captain, as Second and a free female, I will deal with the slaves," S'rat said. "Aside from that, we must concern ourselves with …"

* * *

Mike (formerly Millicent) Bulstrode concluded his briefings, packed up his bags, and left for his new ship. He hadn't met all his shipmates, and was looking forward to doing so. A rather square-set young man, he had not been a pretty, or even an average looking girl, but was actually a decent looking bloke. He made his way to bay 48, where pallets of stasis tubes were being loaded and secured with other cargo. He stopped to look at his own cargo, then dropped his kit in his quarters, checked his mail, and made his way to the flight deck to check in.

"Hello, checking in," he told the Second Officer, an absolutely knock-em-dead bird named S'rat. She looked up from the datapadd she studied from the command chair, nodded politely, "Acknowledged, Comm Officer Bulstrode. Our guest is aboard, name of Donaldson. Please introduce yourself; he will be working with you on Tosul while we conduct other business. I believe he is in the common room, but his quarters are across from you, two down."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and went off to find the bloke.

* * *

"Donaldson? I'm Mike Bulstrode, Comm Officer," he said to the fellow who had a large diagram spread out on a common room table.

"Gene Donaldson, supercargo," he said with a smile as he stood, offering his hand. "I understand we'll be working together. What's your IT background?"

"Not what you have, just a few college courses. I'm supposed to install some special kit, and we'll see if we can shanghai some girls for the grunt work." He motioned to the plans, "Looks like a big job, but I do understand we'll have some girls permanently assigned to our offices to help you out there."

"I'm not there permanently," Gene replied. "I go in, install, troubleshoot, and back to Earth."

The deck quivered, and Mike looked at the ship's clock. "We'll have to sort it there, mate. We've lifted off."

* * *

"This is a section-by-section and floor-by-floor plan of our building, all six floors plus the roof," Gene said as he moved his pencil over the blueprint sheets laid out over his quarters' floor and his desk. "We have satellite antennae installed there, as well as wiring pulled to each of these boxes (sheets changed), which just needs to be installed and tested. However, since I don't know the local contractor, I brought along enough wire and equipment so we could do it twice over if necessary."

"Makes sense," Mike said. "How many girls do you think we'll need?"

"Four to six," Gene said. "I understand some of them will be stationed there, others we'll be taking with us to Windfall. The cabling and such for my kit, the satellites, and the connection to the planetary network come in … (he changed sheets) here, in the second sub-basement. We then have fiber run from this room behind the lifts to these closets here, here, here, and here on each floor. Now, because twisted-pair cables have a maximum length of three hundred feet, that means the girls install the boxes in the walls and test back to the closets. We test back from the closets back to the sub-basement, install any secondary equipment like printers, and set up things like VLANS**(3)**."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, December 30, 2002: 08:35 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham, Wayne manor:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Vito pulled up to the big wrought iron gates, rolling down the window. "Got a pickup ta take ta the airport," he told the cop. Behind the gates, three of the large hellhounds waited, tails wagging, all nine heads with lolling tongues.

"Yeah. Wanna wait a minute, see what the hounds do?" the cop confided. "Those are network executive types about their trashed news truck. I don't see how they can blame Ms. Wayne, it ain't even on her property."

"Lawyers, they'll figure out a way," Vito said as the doors opened, and the massive dogs bayed and started to run after the expensively-dressed executives. Those executives took off running after one dog turned over their rental car, one female executive started to run, stopped, and pulled off her heels. She didn't get far, being cornered by one hellhound, who started to sniff her – thoroughly. She screamed in fear; and was picked up by one of the female dog's mouths, who ran off to play with her new toy.

"Shouldn't you be, like, trying to save them?"

"Do I look like Animal Control?"

* * *

Vito pulled up under the overhang, one of the Morton daughters waited for him, talking to her Mom and Dad. Her other brothers and sisters hung about, he popped the trunk, and the two brothers started to load luggage. The younger one came by, passing him a fifty, and said, "About six of us will be going to the airport tomorrow. This time good for you?"

"Yeah, see ya then," he replied. His older brother slid open the door, then whistled sharply. "Got a flight to catch!" One last round of hugs, and she was buckling her seatbelt. "Okay, I'm ready, Vito!"

"Good." He drove down the long driveway, beeped his horn at the gate, and drove carefully around the hellhounds. "Was one of them eating that lady?"

"That weren't no lady, that was a TV network executive," he replied. "Came to see about the trashed TV truck. So where ya off to, young lady?"

"Corfu by way of the LEO station, I should be in Athens by noon. Oh, I'm looking forward to this!"

"Hold on, how ya … " he leaned on the horn, "Learn ta drive, ya idiot!" he yelled. "Anyway, how ya gonna be in Athens in four hours? Ya can't even get to Atlanta that quick!"

"We take a shuttle up to the LEO station, then another one down to Athens," Elena replied. "Orbital mechanics, don'tcha know. Like taking a couple of city buses. Up, wait around for the next flight, then down. Half an hour each up and down, maybe another half hour or so waiting around the terminal, twiddling my thumbs. I got some music to listen to, although my sister Julie said I should learn to knit. Anyway, once I get to Athens, I call in to the transport office, because there's STILL only one flight a day from Athens to Corfu!"

* * *

(1) DI: Drill Instructor; the common name for the sergeant who instructs new recruits into the mysteries of military life.

(2) Second Artillery: The PLA troops in charge of strategic missiles (ICBM).

(3) VLAN: Virtual Local Area Network – a way to create a separate, private internal network without extra cabling or equipment.


	9. 1 15 January 2003

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter IX: 1 ~ 15 January 2003  
Wednesday, January 1, 2003: 06:40 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Kings Cross station:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Superman lowered his personnel pod to an open space, beating out an approaching Mini. He waved as he unsealed the hatch, calling, "We'll just be a minute." Turning, he said, "Mr. and Mrs. Branstone, thank you for your company, I've enjoyed traveling with you."

"There were certain … times when I wasn't happy to be there, but on the whole, I appreciate your patience with us, Mr. … Superman," Mr. Branstone replied, shaking the Man of Steel's hand. May skipped around, snapping a photo of her parents with Superman. She shook hands also, "Thank you for your help, Superman."

"My pleasure, May, and study hard in school," he advised with a smile. He waved to the onlookers, checked to make certain all the luggage was unloaded (it was), sealed the hatch, and took to the skies to the applause of the small crowd. Luggage was picked up, trolleys were taken, and people went into the station.

Julie found a public access terminal across from the reconstruction of Platform 9 ¾, and wrote:

_To: Mom  
From: Julie Morton  
Date: 1 January 2003  
Subject: London arrival _

_Superman just dropped us off at Kings Cross. We'll write when we get to Hogwarts.  
Julie_

* * *

In the first year compartment, May and Emma were greeted by their year mates, and May neatly redirected her friends pleas to 'tell all' by leading them into conversation about their own Holiday. She glanced at Emma, and resolved to talk to her best mate when she could.

* * *

In the second year compartment, Little Bill Morton sat with his possible-maybe-if-he's-lucky-potential girlfriend, Ami Bones. She hugged him; offering her sympathy about the death of his brother. Feeling guilty about her assumption of Arthur's death, he promised himself to talk to her later in private.

Changing the subject, he said the Hellhounds were just overgrown puppies, and Ami asked about the Horsemen. "Tell us about them."

"They're okay," he replied. "They didn't expect to get Christmas presents, and Jesu didn't seem bothered by snow…"

"Jesu?"

"Jesu of Nazareth. He really didn't like how his name got changed over time. You should have seen some of the poker games …"

"Do you think Hagrid will want some of the Hellhounds?"

"From what Professor Harry said, he's already had one, Fluffy. What you didn't see on the news was their using one of the TV trucks as their own fire hydrant …"

* * *

In the third year compartment, Julie and Tomas shared a look, deciding not to tell about the nights they had gone out 'Bat' with Mrs. Wayne and Ms. Hawking. Instead, they talked about how they had sat in on the decision-making meetings, and what 'really' was discussed …

* * *

In the fourth year compartment, Connie found herself the target of hugs. She talked about it for a while, finding out that while she was off-planet, Lois Lane, world famous (and feared) reporter for the rival _Daily Planet_, had completed her Mom's last story for her, and it had been syndicated internationally. She sniffled as she read the story in the _London Times_, with the byline:

_Special for Beth Koslowski (_New York Times_) by Lois Lane (_Daily Planet_)_

_This story is compiled from Beth's notes; she was tragically killed by a Red Chinese terrorist in New York on 16 December while researching this story. I've finished it for her daughter Connie, and in Beth's memory.  
Lois Lane _

_Wayne and Morton: The new Terran Empire? _

* * *

In the fifth year compartment, Mattie was the target of group hugs regarding Arthur and admiration of the Army uniform she wore. Charlie and Sprink updated her about their relationship, while Anne Bundy asked about Alfred's return, saying that an installation was in place at Port Oldridge on the moon, and she had this idea for using holograms for computer memory …

* * *

In the faculty compartment, Pomona, Severus and Aurora greeted Harry and Ginny, and nodded to Minerva. With a lurch, the train started, and with a gimlet eye, Minerva poured each of them (Harry passing his to Severus) a shot of single-malt. "You look like you could use this more than I," he commented.

"Indeed," he replied. "Thank you."

"You have Miss Wayne in your house," he said with a grin. "Nothing against her, you understand, but she must produce an additional headache or two, as Prince Harry did for me."

"Or his grandmother, I am given to understand," Minerva said.

"While Elizabeth graduated before I assumed the Headship of Hufflepuff, I must assume she was like Miss Wayne," Pomona replied, holding out her own glass for a refill. The bottle floated over to her as she continued, "I am both grateful and appalled at what I saw off-planet," she continued. "There are both good people and appallingly evil ones out there, and I must say, her reporting of this is substantially accurate."

"As I have said," Aurora agreed. "I noticed this arrogance while I watched Miss Wayne duel one of the planetary Assemblymen. He had struck both her and Governor Sullivan, drawing blood, and she accepted his challenge. I didn't see how, as Empress, she had a choice." She accepted the bottle to refill her own glass, passing it back to Minerva as Ginny asked, "She killed him, didn't she?"

"She fought defensively;" Severus replied. "She also had the benefit of tutelage from War, one of the Four Horsemen, and she did not strike a mortal blow. Instead, he bled to death after refusing her offer of medical aid." He accepted the bottle back, pouring a refill; and then passing it to Ginny. "She could not decline his challenge, the upper classes of that planet's society at least require adherence to a strict honor code. Slaves and females, which to the Traditionalists regard as the same; do not have honor, as she both fought for herself and defeated him, while suffering injury, she has created precedent."

"Mr. Kent has video of the whole affair," Pomona added.

"I see," Minerva said. "With the death of Mr. Morton, I wasn't certain she would be on the train. I have had to arrange a replacement tutor for Mr. Morton's class, and the elves would not pack up his things, but wouldn't explain their refusal. Instead, they simply cast a stasis charm."

"Arthur's not dead," Aurora explained, summoning the bottle. She gunned the shot; then refilled her glass. "He took some of that Chinese poison, but she got to him in time, and he's in a Kryptonian stasis tube. Unfortunately, even the Chinese don't have an antidote; the poison works too fast." She played with her full glass, "Apparently he took a partial dose, not a full, lethal one. He's in a tremendous amount of pain, but Superman took a sample of the poison to his Fortress, and she gave another to a hospital ship to analyze, as well as the planetary hospital on Windfall."

"Foolish child," Severus grumbled. "I told him to carry a poison kit…"

"He was wearing dragon-skin armor, Severus, and apparently didn't think it necessary," Pomona replied. "He had it in his kit in the hotel…"

"Where it did him no good whatsoever," he said. "Foolish child," he repeated.

Changing the subject, Harry said, "You don't seem perturbed that Miss Wayne has killed someone …" Ginny interjecting, "In self defense, it seems. You didn't seem too exercised when Harry went Death-Eater hunting."

Minerva commented, "As I was not when you went hunting your seventh year, Mr. Potter. I will want to view the video myself, but as we have three direct witnesses, all of whom state it was self-defense, I am satisfied for the moment." Changing the subject, she added, "As I said, I was somewhat surprised when she got on the train. I think we shall need to trim back her schedule to the minimum necessary in order to allow her time to attend her duties with the Empire. The alternative would be private tutors, I fear."

"I feel we need to have her here," Harry interjected. He transformed to Shadow, his black panther form, and with a swipe of his paw at the door-latch, he left. When he returned a few minutes later; he resumed his human form as Miss Wayne found a seat.

Pomona offered her a shot, which she politely accepted, sipped once; then held in her hands, "I presume you're discussing me?"

"We are," Aurora said. "We are considering your schedule vis-à-vis your duties with the Empire."

"I would rather not drop out," Miss Wayne commented. "I recognize that I need to complete my education, and the school environment is also valuable to me." She grinned, "I like you people. However, that's not the only reason. I have been sadly neglecting my duties both to the Empire and to Arrowhead. That leaves me very few options, the only one I saw were private tutors, as there are really no 'classes' (she finger-quoted) on how to rule an Empire, much less an interstellar one. All on-the-job training."

"The royalty classes on Fridays aren't helping?" Severus asked.

"Meh," she replied, waggling her hand. "The problem is that Beatrice and Harry grew up as royals. While my own background, coming from a wealthy family helps to some extent, there are still considerable differences. There's also the US versus UK social differences." She played with her glass, finally setting it aside. "In the UK, you're used to the whole concept of class differences, aristocracy, and having a royal family. In the US, that's one of the things we wanted to get away from at the time of the Revolution. The prevailing social concept there is that someone from the lower classes can climb the ladder and raise themselves by their own bootstraps, and we've seen it happen. In the UK, that concept is rather foreign." She sat back, "One thing Bea told me, here, she walks down the street, or goes into a chippy, and everything about her is dissected and analyzed, from her makeup to her clothing to what she buys to eat. It's then splashed over the front page of the tabloids, along with tons of speculation and gossip. That wouldn't happen if her father had been a bricklayer."

"It happens in the US," Professor Harry replied.

"If you're a recognizable public figure like me," she agreed. "And it wouldn't be to the same extent. If I went into a fast-food place, there would be some 'Wow' factor, maybe a few autographs, but that would be it. If I went to use the ladies', it would be totally unremarkable, whereas if Beatrice did it in London, they would crowd in and speculate about her digestion. That's what I mean about differences." She glanced at Crystal, then added, "One thing that draws attention is the extra security that gets put in place, the police standing around, the helicopters, all that."

"Yet you have your own brand of royalty in the States," Ginny replied.

"We do," she agreed. "I'm not dissing the British, but pointing out a cultural difference. I don't think Her Majesty was aware of that when she suggested the class, and it has proved useful, but not to the extent I think she was considering."

There was some silent consideration; then Minerva cleared her throat. "What we were discussing," she said, "was trimming back your schedule. The difficulty there is the statutory requirements for both the GCSE and your OWLs." Miss Wayne nodded, and Minerva continued, "For instance, we can drop the PE requirement, as you will presumably be continuing with your morning runs. We can similarly drop the Intro to Business course, and Care of Magical Creatures."

"I suggested that Hagrid teach things like farm tasks, milking the cows and caring for muggle farm animals, what came of that?"

"I do not know, I shall ask," Minerva replied. "The second thing I was considering was issuing you a time-turner. This will allow you to attend courses at the same time you commute down to London and take care of Imperial business." Miss Wayne nodded and sat back as Minerva continued, "However, I will insist that you receive adequate rest, I will go by what Poppy and Narcissa have to say regarding your health. If they feel the need to adjust your schedule; we shall do so."

"They have always felt I should sleep the entire day, but there's too much to do," Miss Wayne replied. "As long as they don't go overboard, and allow for emergencies. For instance, having Saturday and Sunday as 'rest' days to sleep in…"

"We shall negotiate a suitable schedule," Severus put in. "You mentioned other reasons to stay at Hogwarts. Might one of them be that common touch?"

"Yes. That way, I can still maintain contact with the ordinary working bloke, even if it's at one or two steps remove." She glanced at Ginny, "I had a proposal for you, I'd like to sit down with the two of you later and talk about it. You've heard of Imperial Research and Survey?"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, January 1, 2003: 10:15 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, LEO station, international concourse:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Elena found a public data access terminal, and swiped her credit card:

_To: Mom  
CC: Julie (school), Bill (school)  
From: Elena Morton  
Date: 1 January 2003 _

_Subject: LEO arrival _

_Just to let you know I've arrived in orbit; next comes the flight down to Athens, and then waiting for the government puddle-jumper to Corfu. Anyway, I'll write when I can. _

_Elena_

She hit 'Send' and logged off, giving up her terminal to a tall blonde in an Army noncom's uniform. She asked, "Know where the Imperial Army liaison office is, Sarge? I need to check in."

The blonde gave her an Eye, then said in a British accent, "'alf a minute, mate, I'm just shooting off an arrival report to m' family. Navy?"

"Yeah, but I need to run through accelerated Basic before I can get back on a flight deck."

"We only save two weeks over the worms, but we're spared the Mickey," the blonde replied, and clicked 'Send', then signed off. She picked up her barracks bag, Elena hoisted her sea bag over her shoulder, and they went in search.

* * *

Elena stood in line and watched as the blonde stepped forward, dropped her bag as she braced with a British-style salute, and said, "Senior Sergeant Toni Whitloe, reporting as ordered!"

The LT behind the desk returned the salute; then keyed his terminal. "Whitlow?"

"Whitloe with an 'E' at the end, sir. Whiskey Hotel … "

"There you are, Sergeant." There was a rattle of keys, another rattle of a printer, and he reached down to tear off a form. He taped a torn corner on, folded the sheet in thirds, and handed it across. "You're checked in. The Greek government has added a second flight in concession to the demand, but that's still only two flights a day using a seventy-seat aircraft. There's about two thousand waiting in the Athens airport, and several hundred more up here. The hotels here in orbit are full; you can sleep in the waiting room."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, and he continued, "Next?"

Elena stepped up, "Ensign Elena Morton, reporting as ordered!"

"Mofton … You heard what I told the Senior Sergeant, Ensign?"

"Yes, sir. It's _Morton_, sir; Mike Oscar _ROMEO_, sir."

"There we are … a bit of off-world experience, and officer's aide as well, Ensign. Very good, but are you willing to sweat in the mud with the Army?"

"Sir, if I wasn't, I'd have stayed flying for Greywolf."

"Point. You've got a blood mark coming, too. Seen the elephant."

"Yes, sir," Elena agreed grimly. "It wasn't pleasant, sir. I used my knife, and watched her die."

The LT grunted, the printer rattled, and her pass was printed out. "I notice the Senior Sergeant is waiting. Welcome to LEO station, Ensign. Next!"

* * *

"This is bloody ridiculous," Sgt. Whitloe said as she saw the crowded orbital concourse. People slept or occupied themselves in chairs, and sat against the walls and floor-to-ceiling windows with their bags. A number were in uniform, Elena stopped and held up her phone, snapping a photo. She grinned at Toni, "I have an ace up my sleeve, Sarge." She emailed the photo; then dialed a number, "Aunt Lois? This is Elena Morton. No, I'm fine, ma'am. I just emailed you a photo of the LEO station international concourse. Apparently the majority of the several hundred people here, and another couple thousand in the Athens airport, are bottlenecked because the Greek government hasn't laid on any large planes to get to Corfu." She waited, "No, ma'am. Apparently they think two flights a day, up from one, of a small seventy-passenger puddle-jumper is sufficient for almost three thousand people to get to Corfu." She grinned at Toni. "Yes, ma'am. Yes, ma'am. Happy belated Christmas, ma'am. Enjoy! Bye." She stowed her phone, gave Toni an evil smile, "We'll see how long that bottleneck lasts once she calls the President of Greece and starts to ask questions …"

"That was …"

"Lois Lane, of the _Daily Planet_," Elena replied. "She's probably the most feared reporter on Earth, and an in-law through my brother and Mattie. I spent Christmas in Gotham."

"You know the bloody Queen of Space?"

"My sister-in-law." Elena gestured, "Let's claim some wall, and I've got a deck of cards…"

* * *

"Hey, Beaver, what y' studying?" Chantal looked up from her laptop, as Tex dropped his duffle bag next to hers, claiming a seat.

"Hey, Longhorn! How was your Christmas?"

"Not bad, not bad," he admitted as he reached down into his duffel. Pulling out a hat, he plopped it on her head, over her MIT ball cap. "There, a proper ladies' ten-gallon hat. Now, with some decent jeans and boots, y' can walk down a street in Amarillo or Waco an' not be stared at like some damn Yankee."

"An' mah turn around," she replied, reaching into her own bag. She tossed him a blue and gold baseball cap, "There. It's the West Virginia Mountaineers. People that actually _work_ for a livin', darlin', as opposed to punchin' cattle and lettin' the horse do all the work."

Tex chuckled, "Good one, darlin'." He settled back, "I do hear the fishin' is right good up there in the mountains, but that ain't what you're lookin' at, Beaver-girl. Want ta talk 'bout it?"

"Th' clan had a long discussion," she replied. "Asteroid mining. You know Pigeon Breast ain't what we'd call rich…"

"Tiny little town in West-by-god-Virginia? Y'got to be pullin' mah leg, sweetheart."

"S'truth," she replied. "Drove all day ta' Charlestown, only branch o' Gringotts in th' state of West Virginia, four hundred miles each way from Pigeon Breast, but we got us a mortgage on our rock an' ship an' equipment we need." He nodded as she continued, "The town, and the McCoy clan, well, we decided ta negotiate a settlement with th' McCoys' …"

"Hold on there, dear. You actually have a feud going, like the legends have it?"

"Well, we're negotiating with the McCoys', Mama is, as neither clan is rich, but that's what I'm workin' on, they're proposin' a supply ship, a general store, to service the different asteroid claims." She tapped her laptop, "Trying ta think of everything they might need…"

"Well, give it over, Beaver-girl, an' let a second set o' peepers take a look," he offered. "Since we got a couple hours or so ta kill before our flight leaves for Mars …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, January 2, 2003: 22:56 (GMT +2)  
Terra, Corfu, Imperial Army training barracks:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"A GI party? They have to be kidding," Elena complained as she cleaned the sinks in the head.

"Well, the builders did leave it rather messy," Toni replied from where she worked on the showers. Being somewhat taller, she had the shower stall, while others in their platoon cleaned the barracks bay, the upstairs classroom; the duty office and scraped paint off glass. Others repaired what they could, including misaligned electrical outlets, while others worked on policing the grounds outside. Still to be done was waxing and polishing the floors, then moving in bunks and lockers in the bay, and tables and chairs upstairs. "Cheer up, we'll be done by midnight, then we've the luxury of sleeping in until 04:30. You're in the army, now."

"At least we don't have to deal with the mickey of how to bathe or balance checkbooks," Elena agreed.

"Or how to shave like the blokes do. Just PT and then a nice, relaxing five kilometer run," Toni commented. "Of course our Sergeant will find something to complain about. Re-clean the mirrors, mate, you've got streaks. Polish them with your shirt, we're all girls here."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 3, 2003: 07:54 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Classroom 17, 'Royalty class':  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Beatrice plopped down next to Mattie, asking "How were your Holidays?"

"Could have been better," she replied, looking up from her 'To Do' list. She sat back and took a gulp of coffee; Bea's eyes were drawn to her left hand. "How did that happen?"

"Sword fight, if you can call it that," she replied. "On Windfall; one of the Traditionalist blowhards decided he was going to take over, as Christine and I were 'mere females', which to him were no better than slaves. He picked up Christine by her collar and threw her across the room, and backhanded me, drawing blood. I accepted his challenge, and gave his body back after he bled out." She shrugged; then leaned back in a stretch. "I've got to do a 'State of the Empire' press conference tomorrow, but first I need to use the video comm to call the Moon and Mars." She nodded toward the screened off area where the equipment was, and where Anne was at the moment.

"Well, tell me, as I need to go talk to Mum and Gran about that."

"Bearing in mind that I need to get Anne's report…" and Bea nodded. "There are currently fifty-three associated or colony worlds in the Empire. Parts of this are classified, their ears only." Beatrice nodded again, and Mattie continued, "Communications – we had several networking companies come in to see if we can improve bandwidth. Right now, it's like we're using modems, we can send email, but things like video or even photos take too much of the available bandwidth."

"Mum remembers dialing in on her computer, that 'whooshing' sound they'd make. So much easier now."

"Remember that a lot of that's going over fiber, which we can't do between planets," Mattie reminded her. "Think more along the lines of a wireless laptop that absolutely cannot lose the connection." Beatrice flashed a quick grin, shaking her head, "Sorry. I was thinking that would be a great amount of wire between planets."

"Especially when they're in opposition, on either side of the Sun," Mattie agreed. "We've gotten some preliminary circuits for testing, they're somewhat expensive, but they also allow for future upgrades like encryption modules and daisy-chained FireWire." She shrugged, "Economy of scale. We pay more for a thousand of them than a million consumer devices. Anyway, we'll be doing some testing between here and Eunomia, and our field installation on Tosul, which is a star system about a week away."

"That still boggles my mind," Beatrice admitted. "Our having offices hundreds of light years away." She heaved a great sigh, "It just doesn't seem natural, somehow. What about the shipyards on the moon and in orbit?"

"We've got designs and detailed building plans for civilian and light warships, we're building up stockpiles, what we need to do is to start bolting them together." Mattie plugged in a small holo projector, calling up a file and pointing out features with a pencil. "This is our orbital assembly dock. Hexagonal base; which has housing, part and supply warehouses, with some zero-gee manufacturing and assembly. Notice the arms radiate out from the junctions. Each section of the hexagonal base is a kilometer long and a hundred meters in diameter, with a six-way junction. We mate the different modular assemblies to either a transit module or a junction." She moved a control to rotate the image, "Each of the transit modules is two hundred fifty meters long by twenty meters in diameter, with independent life support."

"So if something happens, you only lose pressure on that one transit module," Bea nodded. "It looks like a spider."

"I think it's more like a crab; myself," Mattie agreed. "The Warsaw design bureau did this, the only real suggestion I made was to make the junctions six-way. The personnel designs have housing, dining, and recreation, and twice the number of life-pods of the designed personnel load. This way, if someone has off-station guests and they have to evacuate, there will be room for them." She grinned, "Remember the _Titanic_."

"I see…" Bea mused. "How can I get one of these holo-things?"

"Happy late Christmas," Mattie replied, pulling up a bag from the floor. "There's three of them for you, your Mum and Gran. They have USB connections to your computers, although three-dimensional images are a different file type. I burned a CD with my report and the images, it's in the bag." She changed the file, "This is a manufacturing module. It's essentially one big empty cylinder with hemispherical ends and lots of connections inside for power and data, and brackets to mount stuff to the walls. Parts bins, equipment mounts for robots or whatever. Pressure and cargo locks on the ends, so work can be done in zero-gee or not, as necessary." She grinned, "We can also chain these together if a process requires more room than almost three hundred thousand cubic meters; we can accommodate that."

"That doesn't seem like much," Bea said.

"That's a good sized factory building in two dimensions, but you have to remember to think in three dimensions," she replied. "Think of an auto assembly plant if that helps, only this conveyor belt can have robots working on something from top, bottom, and sides." She changed slides, "This is the illustrated plan for one of our updated docks, with a _Town_-class frigate, the _Alwernia_. Whoever is doing the ship lists must be US Navy, the FFG designation is a guided-missile frigate, but a lot of the names are Polish and Eastern European. The first letter of the ship's name determines which generation, or flight, she is."

Beatrice nodded, "Looks like a bloody Star Destroyer."

"To some extent," Mattie agreed. "Someone in Warsaw is a definite fan, but this actually works for us. We want our ships recognizable, and I think she looks more like the Concorde airliner. The ship's island is to the stern, just above the flight deck." Bea nodded; the after-part of the white ship was roughly wedge-shaped with several rows of lit decks, connecting the hull (where the engine spaces were) with the two thick delta 'wings'. The extreme rear, the fantail, was a sheer white 'wall' with the ship's designation (FFG-001) and her name (_Alwernia_). The body of the ship was hexagonal, with a tapered 'nose', and lit compartments along her length.

Using her pencil, Mattie gestured at parts of the hologram. "Access control is through this T-shaped module, which has hundred-meter ClearSteel™ pressurized sections and more junction modules. The pressurized sections go out to the control room for the dock, and to the boarding tubes for the ship. The beams here are also one hundred meters long, which means we can simply extend or contract the dock by adding or removing sections."

"More likely you'll have particular docks stay at one size or another."

"Probably," she agreed. "They arch down at about a forty-five degree angle to clear her wings and island, then down straight. The support beams are where you mount the electrical, data, and tractor emitters. You'll notice the boarding tubes are in zero gee for personnel and supplies, as well as the open supply hatches for work pods."

"Those pods are …"

"Both manned and remote controlled, they're remote controlled from the control module at the end of the main boarding tube. There's a backup control room in the T-module." She changed slides again, "We're starting small to gain experience, and right now we've got builder's plans for both commercial ships and light warships, although they do have artwork for larger ships. This is a _Continent_-class escort carrier, the _Australia_, and this is the heaviest ship that I have artwork for, the _Royal_-class Fleet BattleStar, the _King Augustus_."

"I would switch the two; there are more Royals than Continents. Someone has too much time on their hands."

"I agree, but as long as they turn out what they're supposed to, and it works, I'm not going to complain too much. Besides, the artwork is good PR. However, I can see the carriers more than the BattleStars; those are bound to be expensive." Mattie threw down her pencil, "Maybe in a few years we can build the BattleStars as fleet command ships. Nodal fleets, so an individual system might have up to destroyers, while the nebula or cluster might have battle cruisers and up in their fleet. However, a BattleStar is overkill against pirates. It's sending a dozen aircraft carriers and the Tenth Fleet against a dozen pirates in outboards off Somalia."

Beatrice nodded, "Well, 'B' comes after 'A', so perhaps I could get a ship?" She grinned, "What of the commercial ships?"

"Those are more lightly built, without all the redundancy of a warship," Mattie replied. "For instance, the colony ships are named after port cities, like Antwerp. Those have general cargo, but also specialized berthing for farm animals as well as colonists. More shuttles than an equivalent general cargo ship might carry, with rough field capability. That's something else; we have different shuttles, think more along the lines of helicopters than cargo jets. A supply ship, _Stevedore_ class, has very minimal passenger accommodations. A ship might take an occasional passenger from point A to point B, however, that's not their primary business. They'll dock at Titan's orbital refinery, collect things like methane, oxygen, and air, and offload food, supplies…" She looked up as Anne came out from behind the screen, "How are things?"

Her chief scientist sighed, accepted a cup of tea, and smoothed her long skirt as she sat. "Mixed," she finally decided to say. "There doth be a knot in the fabric with the equipment we hath purchased on Tosul." She cradled the hot mug of tea in her hands, taking a sip; then continuing. "The equipment was part of an estate sale, the works, buildings and the working slaves hath been previously inherited by the healer whose estate we did'st purchase. He paid minimal attention to them, the business did'st unravel, leaving the care of it in the hands of a factor. Said factor, being free and not properly motivated, did'st the minimum required to earn his pay. Most importantly, he allocated the funds intended for maintenance to providing his liege with prime slaves to experiment on."

"Experiment on? Please continue," Beatrice said.

"Thou art familiar with the 'Chase Slave'?" Anne asked, finger quoting. "They doth be extremely intelligent, clever and beautiful bred slaves. The healer woulds't adds to their Enhancement by replacing body parts with modifications, and due to his position as head of the Tosul Slaver's Association, with the latest equipment from Eta Orionis." She took another sip of tea, "They dids't have annual competitions for the most 'exotic' slave. (She finger-quoted, with her free hand.) The fair side of the weave is we doth have information on the programming and construction of the collars and Enhancement kit. The knotted side doth be we own fifty-nine extensively modified slaves from this competition, amongst who doth be …" she took another sip of tea, "… mermaids."

Beatrice blinked, "Mermaids?"

"Aye, the estate doth include a large home on an island, the healer enjoyed watching his hand-crafted slaves perform aquatic dance. They are modified so they doth be able to work underwater." She waved a hand, "Gills and such, they doth now be intelligent fish. The other, less … exotic slaves include the house slaves and those he used in his private surgery as assistants, as well as the manufactory slaves." Anne took a larger gulp of her tea, finishing the mug. She rose to refill it, also topping off Beatrice's mug. "The manufactory equipment for ships we doth be interested in is older, in need of repair and maintenance. That is what we doth have in Archimedes Crater. However, we doth retain licenses to buy newer equipment, and can'st also purchase spares and maintenance information. The question is to upgrade or buy new, funding and of course what to do with the assorted slaves."

"Where are the slaves now?" Mattie asked, as she poured another cup of coffee. She leaned against the table as she fixed it.

"The ones that came with the equipment doth be in stasis tubes; in storage in the allocated area in Archimedes. Others remain on Tosul, in the factory spaces and in the manor-house, in control of the factor." She sipped tea, "We doth also need to determine proper work areas, flow of materials …" Anne waved her hand, then sat back.

"Hmfh," Mattie grunted. "Where is the _Taalah_? A few days out of Tosul?"

"I doth believe so, however, she doth be a smaller ship, and these are large machines. They woulds't not fit, as I doth recall, the _Taalah_ is a smaller ship configured as a slave ship. They are also planning to stop at Eta Orionis to purchase slaves for transshipment to Windfall."

Mattie glanced at Bea, "You know about that." The princess nodded, "What about selling the fancy house to buy new kit?"

"We don't know about the real estate market on Tosul, and something like that house might come in handy. We also don't know about how the equipment scales for larger or smaller ships, interconnections, source material tanks …" Mattie waved her hand, "I might have our guys from Tokyo that have been working on our own version of a replicator go out there. Same thing with inertial compensators and jump drives." She shifted, "There's that company on Mars who was working on a drive of our own, what about them?"

"They doth completed several test runs to Tau Ceti, Epsilon Indi, and 61 Cygni, all G or K stars within fifteen lights. They doth be working on a larger version with an environmental system to support mice and a cat or monkey, which they intend to send to Vega, a type A flare star. That doth be at twenty-five lights, the star being ins't the middle of a flare cycle, they wished to test the shielding. They doth be planning on a model that doth be able to fit into a patrol boat sized ship, for manned testing."

"With a backup engine, of course," Beatrice commented.

"Of course," Anne agreed, raising a finger, "It doth be too early for a public announcement of this, or the difficulties we doth have with the Tosul equipment. On the fair side of the weave, we can'st use the slaves and the knowledge of the equipment for other purposes. For instance …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 3, 2003: 11:08 (GMT)  
In convoy, **_Taalah_**:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Six bells had sounded for the forenoon watch, when Mike and Gene, accompanied by S'ana, the First Officer, rang the chime for the Captain's Cabin. They entered, Mike and S'ana bracing to attention, "Reporting as ordered, Captain!"

Mischa waved them to seats, "S'rat has the conn?"

"Mistress S'rat has the watch, Captain," S'ana agreed as she knelt. Mischa looked at her, "You can, if you wish, take a seat."

"I prefer not to, my slave belt makes that uncomfortable."

Mischa grunted, "This is a briefing to bring all of us up to speed," and pointed at Gene, "You first, Mr. Donaldson. What's this mysterious kit we're installing, and have installed on my ship?"

Gene hesitated, "Captain, some of this is highly classified. Begging your pardon, even I'm not informed how it works, just how to install it with Mike." The younger man added, "Captain, its rated security is 'Wizard'. That's the same reason we haven't been able to tell you about the class seventy slaves, some of them had a particular … skill."

S'ana glanced at them, "If my presence …"

"You'll stay," Mischa said. "In the event of something happening to me, you're to take the ship to Windfall." The Captain turned, "What I'm about to tell you is secret, but as First, you need to know it, and I have orders to that effect. We have, in our population, genuine zarroji, which I understand have something to do with the communication equipment. You will not discuss this with anyone on the ship without my presence. If necessary, I will free you in order to make this happen."

"I …" S'ana hesitated. "I … obey, Captain. I wish to stay a slave, for reasons you know. If I must be freed, may it be with a dark or removable collar?"

"I'll discuss it with you later. For now, continue, please."

"Skipper, as I said, I don't know how it works," Gene said. "All I know is that it cannot lose power for even a millisecond. That's why we have batteries and redundant power supplies, and why you need to connect the ship to ground power immediately on landing." He glanced at S'ana, "This is the latest version, it's field-upgradable with that proviso. New versions of the equipment are hot-swappable. Aside from that, the installation of the equipment on Tosul is a simple building LAN with a connection to the local Internet and comm links for satellites and ships in the system. I've got extra equipment in case I need to correct the contractor's mistakes."

"The only thing I need to do is to make sure a stasis field spell is operating on the kit in warp," Mike said. "I've got an alarm if it dies, we drop back into n-space and I try to re-establish it. If I can't, we head back to Eunomia, as that means the kit is fried and needs replacement."

"And the slaves?"

"The seventy-series slaves that we have, apparently some of them have the zarroj gene," Mike replied. "I'm supposed to blindfold them, and have them wave a wand with their dominant hand. If they produce sparks, they've got the gene, and I note the colour of sparks and the collar numbers…" He looked at S'ana, whose eyes were wide. "That is what Master Arthur was doing …" she whispered. "I might be a zarroj?"

"It's a recessive gene, only about one in a thousand have it in our population," Mike replied. "We can test you, privately, when we get to Tosul. We blindfold the slaves in order to keep them from trying to influence or copy each other. However, we've gotten twelve to fifteen percent positives in WorkForce bred slaves, predominantly the seventy-series slaves."

"And they are cheap, disposable slaves…" S'ana whispered to herself; then laughed. "Oh, master, that is … deliciously amusing. I shall of course keep this secret, but I desire to assist you when you test."

"And the girls that don't test?" Gene asked.

"We can either keep them here on Tosul as part of our guild, or ship them on to Windfall," Mike replied. "Depends on the numbers, but remember, S'ana, this is covert. We'll need to figure out a reason for buying the slaves that make sense to the Slaver's Guild."

"They are cheap, disposable slaves, master. You are buying them in quantity for resale to various companies on Windfall to use in experimentation. Chemicals, drugs, weapons, their end use does not matter. This is the same reason you are buying the hotel slaves, once we return to Windfall, there is a constant demand because those experimental slaves are consumed in the testing." She shifted where she knelt on her knees, "Masters, slaves are animals; it is commonplace to use them in product testing, both as assistants and as test animals. Indeed, the only question likely to arise is why we are not purchasing slaves bred specifically for this purpose, as certified virgin, uncollared slaves are sold for religious sacrifice."

"This doesn't bother you?" Gene asked.

"Now … more than it did, master," she admitted. "Before, as a free female and member of the Slaver's Guild, slaves were only objects to be sold. There are different categories; different breeds and purposes, but slaves are still objects and animals, nothing more. Now, master, I wear a collar, I am that animal, I have been raped and bred, Enhanced and … yes, it does bother me. Still, I am safer in the ship's collar than with a dark collar and as a free female. It seems contradictory, I know. Yet who would do the work required if not slaves?"

She took as deep a breath as her Enhancement allowed, "Masters, to continue. I would also pick up other slaves as 'special orders' (she finger-quoted), such as Healers." She shifted where she knelt, "Masters, the government on Windfall has purchased and ordered a number of Enhancement kits, I would buy Healers, med-tanks and collaring stations. The planetary Slave Control Agency and the Traditionalists wish to collar and Enhance every female on Windfall, that is your reason. You are filling a government purchase order, which is why you should also acquire another five or ten thousand Enhancement kits." She fluffed out her hair, "With proper negotiation, those kits can be acquired with the Healer-slaves and other equipment as an incentive."

"And the slaves in stasis tubes we're supposed to Enhance and set with espionage packages?" Mischa asked.

"The same, Captain. That order is from the Security Ministry and the Traditionalists, who have gained power, the slaves are for local surveillance of the population. They wish to keep that power," S'ana shrugged. "I had my own certifications in the Spacer and the Slaver's Guilds renewed; I can choose good slaves for you and with your permission, do the negotiating, but as a slave, I cannot sign the titles and make the transactions. That is what Mistress S'rat has agreed to do; I will work with her as I hold higher Guild ratings than she does."

"And all Enhanced slaves need to be declared to the Portmaster's Office," Mike commented.

"Free, Enhanced persons as well, master. Like Mistress S'rat. I have that list for you, master."

"Skipper," Mike asked, "Once Gene here doesn't need me, I assume a day or so, I'll work with S'ana to take care of these slaves. I assume we'll base out of our building?"

"Reasonable," Mischa said. "We've got a capacity of around 1500 slaves, so keep that in mind. We may need to divert to Windfall and drop a load of slaves there before we go on to Eta Orionis. Anything else? Thanks for coming, and S'ana, stay a minute."

* * *

"You've got a look in your eye," Mike said, stepping aside in the passage as two crew-slaves passed by. They flashed smiles at the two men, and Gene shifted to follow them in their short smocks and tiny skirts, the ship's uniform. Shaking his head, Gene replied, "Hearing about slaves and actually interacting with them is different, and I'm still working out how to do it. Damn, some of them are …"

"Good looking birds? Even S'ana, who's old enough to be my auntie, is a looker, and these girls are bred for their looks and their brains, and they know they're attractive."

"And uninhibited," Gene added.

"They are bred that way, masters, and I must thank you, master, for that compliment," S'ana complimented as she approached. "In return, they are wondering when you shall choose one to take, and which ones will be chosen."

"Won't happen," Gene replied, holding up his hand and touching a ring on his fourth finger. "I'm married, and it would be a violation of my oath to do so. I'm a 'look but not touch' guy."

"As for me," Mike said, "There's a girl back home that … well, it wouldn't feel right, it wouldn't be professional, especially on my first flight on a new ship. That puts me in the same category."

"They shall be disappointed, and will strive to entice you," S'ana warned with a grin. "They are bred and trained for enticing males, so you must be firm. You are both good-looking masters, and there is a great deal of wagering on who will crack you first, and I confess I am tempted myself, masters."

"You aren't alone in temptation," Mike said. "However, as I said, 'look but not touch', and I hope that includes helping out the new bloke."

"Of _course_, master," S'ana purred, wrapping herself around the two, then giving them a naughty smirk and slinking down the passage. She turned to look back at a hatch, smiled lasciviously, then laughed and straightened up. "You have been warned, masters," she called; then opened the hatch.

"Lord, have mercy," Gene breathed, adding, "Good luck, man, you'll need it."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, January 4, 2003: 10:07 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Imperial building, ground floor conference room:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"You're good with that?" Mattie asked, and Ginny replied, "Yes, certainly." She grinned, "Not having to go through nine months of pregnancy and labor? Definitely, and it helps out a child."

"Then we'll go and meet Mrs. Cole at the Stockwell Orphanage after the press conference." Ginny nodded, and Mattie left to circulate. Molly quit watching a pan of chicken and moved closer to her daughter, "What was that?" she asked quietly.

Ginny replied, equally quietly, "Mattie received an inquiry from the Stockwell Orphanage; an infant was left with the name 'Renee Bianca Wayne'. A red-headed infant and that happens to be the same orphanage Tom Marvolo Riddle was in…"

"You don't think … you said 'Renee' …"

"Yes, it's a little girl, with bright red hair, about six months or so. Ron hasn't been seen for several weeks, but Renee was left on December twentieth. They're using June 20th as Renee's date of birth, and I need to call Harry…"

"Yes, yes, of course…" Ginny dug her mobile out of her purse, moving off, as Mattie made her way back. She raised an eyebrow, and Molly nodded at her daughter, "Ginny was just telling me about Renee. If it is Ron, and how would we know?"

"I'll have Poppy join us with a sample of Ron's blood. We can do a DNA match, and remember Lucius Malfoy is now a succubus named Lucille. She could have run into Ron in a pub somewhere, if he was recognized, that would fit Lucille's sense of humor."

"And desire for revenge," Molly agreed. "If she is, then what?"

"I'll have my Aunt Sheila join us, she's a solicitor, and if Ginny and Harry agree, they can start the adoption process for Renee," Mattie offered.

"Eef not, William and I shall," Fleur stated. "The babe, she will not grow up without family!"

"Good enough for now," Mattie said. "I find myself thinking about my own family, but for now, we'd better get going." She moved to the podium, tapping on her water glass, "People, please find a seat, I'm somewhat cramped for time today. I would first like to ask the courtesy that you not ask about the deaths that occurred in New York last month. That's still … (she closed her eyes briefly) … very painful, and the information is for the family members only."

She took a deep breath, "Thank you. I'll start with a brief overview of the state of the Empire; then we'll have questions." She waited as the various journalists found seats, "Let's start with ships and personnel. We've accepted the first training classes in Corfu; these are primarily previous military personnel, so we don't need to teach them how to brush their teeth." There was a chuckle, and she commented, "Those of you with military experience will remember from your own Basic that I'm not kidding." She took a sip of water, "Moving on, we purchased a small shipbuilder on Tosul that was going under financially. While that was good from the viewpoint of licenses and so forth, there were problems with the management and personnel, and the equipment was out-of-date and needed maintenance and repair. We've gotten what we can shipped into Archimedes crater, while the builders in Copernicus continue to build modules for both ships and the orbital shipyard. That will have assembly for ships as well as zero-gee manufacturing. I have also been authorized by my Regent and the Regency Council to confirm the open secret that we have and produce antimatter." There was a babble of shouted questions, and she held up a hand, "Questions later, please, and no, I'm not going to say how we make it."

She stepped back, sipping from her water glass. "Currently we have fifty three planets or associated worlds in the Empire, I would like to break these down into a few categories." She waited a minute, "The first one is what I call Protectorates. These are inhabited worlds whose dominant cultures are what I would classify as high as feudal. These are city-states whose local governments are roughly two to five hundred square kilometers, with a technology of wrought iron or bronze; wooden sailing ships and carts with animal power, and who worship assorted gods, like the ancient Greeks. We generally keep a discreet monitor through small robots, like false birds, or have established an observation post as the local shaman, witch doctor, or so forth. In orbit, we have a small supply station, with an on-planet base over-the-horizon from the main settlements. We currently have eight of those, where we are enforcing a non-interference directive."

She refilled her water glass, "Moving on, the next category is what I call Medieval. These are planets whose tech base is roughly the 1500's. They may be a colony that has back-slid, or one that's native to that world. However, they know there's something on the other side of the sky, because they have telescopes. We're more open with them, generally there's something to trade with them, and yes, Ms. Lane, we do try not to exploit them." There was a chuckle, and she continued, "Generally, we'll be honest with them, we'll live among them, eating their foods, using their transport to ship things, and anything that's too high-tech we'll hide from them. We'll buy land and use local labor to build our castles. Their technology is the basic forms of carbon steel, ships with multiple masts for their sails, steel plows, and gunpowder cannon on those ships and their local castles. We do arrange a 'don't piss us off' demonstration for the locals, though, to keep things peaceful."

"Meaning what?"

"We'll arrange demonstration firings, mortars on a flock of sheep, for instance, or high-explosive shells against a sample stone wall, like a castle's, built in a field. We make a holiday out of it with free food and drink so the local thieves and highwaymen can get the word also. That way, if one of our convoys of wagons is going through deep, dark woods, we're not harmed, and by extension, anyone else we're with." She took another swallow of water, "Arrows versus machine guns and grenades, they can generally get the picture. We can generally get the local king to declare an amnesty; in that case we'll hire them. Business, and thus tax revenue, generally increases with our presence." She took another sip of water, "We can also introduce things like regular hygiene, soaps and bathing, and keeping the animals healthy so they'll produce healthier foods, and chemical refrigeration to produce ice for sale. There are twenty two of these worlds."

Drinking some more water, she continued, "The third category is what I call Modern. I'm including our colony worlds among these twenty planets. They are technically where we are, mid to late twentieth to twenty-first century. Chemical fuels, electric distribution, communications. These also are planets where they are already part of another political entity. In that case we have set up commercial, diplomatic and trade relations with them."

Taking another gulp of water, "Last but certainly not least, are the Advanced worlds. We're associated with three of these, where we have some form of embassy, trade office, or other facility. Their tech is somewhat higher than ours is, things like med-tanks are routinely available, and there's a lot of orbital industry. Questions?"

Lois Lane stood up, "You said you're trying not to exploit the workers. Could you clarify that, please?"

"Certainly, let me give you an example. On several planets of the Medieval category, they have open-pit or drift mines, in which they simply dump the tailings on the ground or in a body of water after they extract what they can. We're buying those tailings, which usually have ore we can use, but the locals can't, otherwise they would have already done so. Two metals would be tungsten and aluminum; others are gold and silver. We are also selling to the local kings or princes genetically engineered bio-remediation plants for those mine dumps, with the warning that the ground and water is poisoned. They will generally claim the land so a peasant doesn't plant a field of wheat there. The plants can be bred by the local farmers; they don't have to buy the plants from us. We gain value for those ores, as this is a much cheaper way for small quantities of metals than setting up an orbital extraction works, in addition to gaining the local king's favor, the locals gain by selling their trash, and by recovering valuable land, local transport gains extra business, we all come out ahead."

"If you're recovering valuable minerals you're cheating the locals."

"If they had a way to recover them, they would have used those methods, Ms. Lane. Don't forget, to these people gold is just a shiny rock. For a while in the 1800's aluminum was more valuable then gold. They're more concerned with getting the land back in production for crops. I'm sure they think we're idiots for buying their ore waste, but we've told them why we're buying it. In some cases the local king has bought aluminum and zinc, or brass strips from us in order to have different coinage, and we've showed their blacksmiths how to produce higher-pressure coin presses instead of a hammer and die, but they've taken that little bit of tech and gone on from there, for instance into new fruit presses for wines." She took a gulp of water, "There are a lot of potential exports just in beverages such as beers and wines, foods like fish and meats, but a lot of these places are very small scale production; maybe a few hundred cases of wine a year."

"On the other hand, that would drive up the price per bottle tremendously," Lois commented.

"True, let's move on. Mr. Kent, welcome to this side of the Pond! What was your question?"

"Ms. Wayne, I'd like to know about …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, January 4, 2003: 12:38 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Stockwell Orphanage:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"This is Mrs. Cole's office," the eldest of the three girls said. She and her two silent partners had simply accepted them, and led the way when they asked where Mrs. Cole's office was. "I'm Margo. You going to take someone home with you?" There was a definite hopeful edge to her voice.

"Maybe," Mattie said, taking a seat on a worn plastic chair, and collecting the youngest girl into her lap. "There was a baby girl that came in with my name on a note, that's why they called me." She bounced the youngest in her lap, "Funny, I don't remember being pregnant," she confided with a smile.

"You could be. You have boobies," the middle child declared, boosting herself onto Mattie's other leg. "That's Agnes; I'm Edith, although I don't like my name. Mrs. Cole says I'm a tomboy. She's four, I'm six, and bossy Margo is eight."

"I'm not bossy!"

"No, of course not, dear," Sheila said, scooping Margo into a hug. "You just watch out for your sisters. That's not bossy at all." Margo sniffed in agreement; then asked Mattie, "Are they dropping you off? Have you been bad? Is that why you're missing a finger?"

"No, I got in a fight with a bad man, that's how I lost the finger."

"Her being bad, though, is debatable," Crystal said from the corridor door. The office door opened; and a grey-haired older lady came through the door, paling and dropping into an awkward curtsy, "Milady Wayne, I didn't know you'd come …"

"Well, we need to resolve this …"

"Wait, you're … what's this 'Milady'?" Margo asked from Sheila's arms.

"Margo, you've seen the news, Milady Wayne is the Queen of the Terran Empire…" Mrs. Cole said.

"No…" Margo turned in Sheila's arms, "You're joking."

"Nope, I'm her Aunt Sheila," and started to point, "That's Crystal by the door; Narcissa is the tall lady with blue eyes and straight blonde hair. Ginny is the younger redhead with straight hair, Molly is her mum with the curly red hair."

"And you must be Mrs. Cole," Molly said, looking into her eyes. "My, you're just like Albus described you." She sighed, "I must sit down and talk to you, dear, I'm certain you could use some help in the kitchen. Why, I don't know how you muggles do it …"

"Mum!" Ginny started, embarrassed. "We're here about Renee, the infant?"

"Well, of course! Why don't we move into my office? Girls, you can …"

"I'm fine where I am, ma'am," Mattie said, settling both girls more firmly on her lap. Her tone was clearly, 'I'm not moving, and neither are these girls.'

"What's a muggle?" Margo asked.

"Someone who's not a witch or wizard, dear," Narcissa said calmly. "I brought the proper kit to test little Renee's blood, we think she's someone who may have run afoul of a succubus." She turned as she answered Margo's unasked question, "A minor class of demon, dear."

"They're real?"

"You need to watch the news, Milady Wayne is the one that melted down Manhattan when her husband was killed," Mrs. Cole replied.

"Really? COOL!" Edith declared. Agnes just wiggled closer into Mattie's arms. "Does that mean I'm a witch?"

"We don't know, magic doesn't usually appear until eight or ten," Mattie replied. "You think you can go fetch little Renee by yourself?"

"Yeah!" She scampered off, and Mrs. Cole looked after her, "American television is affecting her language."

"You do have two Yanks here," Crystal said, sighed, and sat down by the door.

"So does that mean I'm a witch?" Margo asked.

"We don't know, child," Narcissa replied. "Some have not shown their magic until almost eleven, the gene is a recessive one. On average only one in a thousand have it."

"I don't have it," Sheila Hawking said, waving her hand. "However, we can test Margo, can't we?"

Twisting a wrist, Mattie popped out a wand, handing it to Margo. "Remember, if you don't get sparks, that doesn't mean you don't have magic, it just hasn't come out yet. Okay?" She released the wand, "Swish and flick …" Margo nodded, biting her lip as she settled her fingers on the dark wand, and swished …

* * *

In the limo that Sheila was driving back into London, Mattie leaned her head back, "I may not yet be legally old enough to adopt those three," she told the roof. "That doesn't mean I can't be a sugar momma to those kids."

"No objections," Crystal said from the shotgun seat.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, January 8, 2003: 20:03 (GMT)  
Tosul orbital approach, **_Taalah_**:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Eight bells had struck for the first dog watch, as Mischa watched Mike Bulstrode talk to the system's Portmaster. He flipped a toggle and turned, "Captain, Portmaster confirms receipt of our list of Enhanced personnel, and we have clearance to dock at our facility there. I've also left a message with the watch desk for House St'fan, which is the slave house we're contracted with, for our account rep to meet us with a truck. Our agent, or enabler, T'awny, will meet us at our facility at six am local time. J'lal will meet us there; it's late night there."

"How long to get in and land?"

"A few hours," S'rat said from the helm. "We can arrange our orbits and timing to arrive about the sixth hour, which will give us time to offload the stasis tanks and have the slaves ready for acceptance by the slave house. At that time we can have the Portmaster's office inspect and tag our slaves, and we may proceed with business."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, January 9, 2003: 05:57 (GMT)  
Tosul, Terran 'field office', courtyard, **_Taalah_**:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"That must be J'lal," Mischa said from the command chair regarding the dark-haired beauty waiting for them behind the safety line. She wore a judicial collar and a white smock with a short skirt, both with light green diagonal stripes and the usual yellow trim and belt.

"It is, Captain," S'ana replied from the helm. She flipped switches; then waved J'lal in to attach the ground umbilical plate she held in both hands. Lights changed colors on her board, and she flipped more switches, "Finished with engines, Captain."

Mischa grunted, looking through the ClearSteel™ flight deck windows at the grey dawn. "Mr. Bulstrode, you have the comm remote, let's get to business."

S'rat rose as Y'ana from the Portmaster's office stepped back; she wore the free-person's ribbon sealed about her neck, under her dark collar. The ship's slaves (being slaves) wore sealed leashes with various colored tags on the neck rings; by planetary law all Enhanced persons (free and slave) had to marked as Enhanced. She brushed off her knees and went to assist their agent, T'awny who was waiting for the Captain. The two Terran males assisted in removing the slaves from their stasis tubes, as always, freshly uncrated slaves were confused.

T'awny watched the procedures, as she was not Enhanced; she wore only her dark collar. "You received our message?"

"I did," the former slave and current agent, confirmed. "We can add the appropriate licenses for the manufactory to the slave J'lal's Enhancement; the real estate market is somewhat soft at the moment. However, we can obtain bids for the building and land where the manufactory once was to finance larger capacity units. The estate's house, on the other hand, still retains slaves for maintenance and service." She glanced at S'rat, her datapadd clutched in her arms. "The previous owner had rather … unusual interests." T'awny turned to watch as a freshly uncrated slave struggled, trying to run; a ship's slave kicked the hooded slave's feet from under her. "Confusion; you do not know how long you have been held in stasis, and you do not know where you are. Even experienced slaves go through it when removed from stasis." She shrugged, "Most of the slaves at the home have been modified for an aquatic environment, removing their legs, enabling them to breathe underwater…" She waved her hand, "Somewhat unusual in that their previous owner implanted a secondary collar on their tails, where their ankles would be, just ahead of their fins. His reason is not known. There is also a quantity of medical equipment there, which has some value."

"My Captain has stated a wish to see the properties before making a recommendation," S'rat said coolly. She nodded with her chin, as Y'ana and the slaver's agent B'rlya assisted the two males in securing the untubed slaves in her truck. B'rlya slapped the lock on the slave cage at the back; then walked to them, joined by the two males and S'ana. "Mistress S'ana, the estimate is three days, perhaps four for those slaves to have the implants done and linked to their Enhancement," she said. "My master copied your message for me; he said you're looking for some seventy-series disposables?"

"As well as a quantity of other equipment," S'ana replied, and glanced at their agent T'awny. "Mistress, can you produce a quotation for price and delivery on that?"

"Certainly. The aquatic slaves at the residence will need to be placed in stasis tubes if they are to be transported anywhere. They can breathe air, but as their legs have been modified to fins, they cannot walk. They also wear feeding gags, I assume the logic is fish don't talk."

"Are they Enhanced, mistress?" S'ana asked.

"I do not know," T'awny replied. "We shall find out, but I would not think so, there would be no benefit to it." She shrugged, "Personally, I would not have modified them from Chase Slaves, who are usually sold with Enhancement. As I said, we shall discover the answer."

"Well," Mischa said. "As you said, we shall find out. Y'ana, thank you for your time today, we shall be seeing you again on our departure. B'rlya, thank you also, please contact S'ana with your quotations from your master and House St'fan." The slave nodded, and the two departed. "Mr. Bulstrode, you and S'ana will assist Mr. Donaldson today in installing that equipment, which leaves Ms. T'awny and Ms. S'rat with you and I, J'lal, to deal with the other items on our to-do list. Let's get to work."

* * *

"This is the equipment? It does not look particularly interesting," S'ana commented, as the wheeled equipment rack was uncovered. The building's computer equipment consisted of fiber optic cables running through overhead pipes into a single T-junction, where they emerged, bound together as a long snake that was curled on the floor. The pipe was attached to the back of the concrete elevator shaft; a single cable rose up into the darkness to the roof. A chain-link enclosure with concealing cloth panels wrapped around the two vertical racks, one for each side of the building. Power was more neatly done, with metal conduit emerging from a breaker box on the shaft wall, leading to power strips on those racks. With the exception of the cloth concealing panels, it looked like every other LAN Gene had worked on. He started to move the bundle of fiber optics as Mike took the cover off the cardboard box, pulling a three-ring binder out and checking the index. "Let's make sure everything's here."

"And that the power's compatible," Gene replied. "I need my meter."

* * *

"And the next step is to test," S'ana said from where she held the binder, a pencil behind her left ear. She looked up at the two sweating males; the short steel frame had been pushed behind the equipment rack and to the side, with various cables looping around. The incoming fiber had temporarily been coiled and hung from the fence links while Master Bulstrode looked up from neatly looping the equipment cables (without disconnecting them) at the rear of the taller right frame, using clear plastic ties and said, "Just a few more, then I'll need to find a broom to sweep up these clippings."

Gene asked, "S'ana, if you could pass me those two black cases, it's my portable computer and printer, and then find Mike a broom and a trash can to put the sweepings in?"

"Certainly, master," she replied, setting the thin book down and searching for, then finding the black cases. She passed them over; then went to find master's requested broom.

* * *

"And we have success!" S'ana heard with the two Terrans giving whoops of joy. She ran to them, broom and a flat pan in the large container banging against her legs. They were dancing around, a small silver computer open on the concrete floor as she appeared. Master Gene saw her, grabbed her and gave her a firm kiss as he bent her backward, then paused, "Err, S'ana …"

"Do not be concerned, master," she said with a smile as he brought her back upright and released her. "I understand. You are celebrating a successful connection?"

"Yes indeed," he replied. "I wrote my wife, err, my mate at work, and she replied!" He waved a sheet of paper at her, and she glanced at it. "Master, I cannot read this language."

"Oh, sorry." He took it back, then kissed it and put it in with his computer. "She replies that she's glad to hear I'm safe, things are well, and that she loves me, and it's only a few minutes after I sent mine."

"That is … amazing, master, but please, _please_ do not mention this to anyone besides the Captain." He blinked at her, "Master, a normal letter to the homeworld with a reply would have taken _DAYS_, not just minutes. It would have needed to travel by a fast mail boat, at a minimum of five days each way. You have placed yourself at risk with that message."

"Oh." He blinked at her; then nodded. "Thank you, S'ana."

"Now, masters, the day is still fresh. I will sweep up Master Mike's cuttings if you return to the ship for the other equipment to install." S'ana smiled and made a shooing motion, "Go on, masters. Let a slave work."

* * *

"Hmm," Mischa said, looking around the rather cavernous space. It looked like photos of an Airbus or Boeing plant that built large jets, with high overhead cranes on rails, and workstations in semi-circular bays. "This looks like ships were built individually."

J'lal whimpered. S'rat had gagged and cuffed her before leaving; apparently there were hard feelings there, which S'rat as a free female was exploiting. Now, S'rat backhanded J'lal before replying. "Each ship is built to the preferences of the owners. How else would you build ships?"

Mischa waved that off, "What if you wanted to build a really large warship?"

"It would be expensive, Captain. Each generator burns Fuel to produce power, and each generator is rated for a certain amount of power. A large ship would have a large generator, but they are generally not produced for large warships. A large merchant ship can use the power plant rated for a destroyer. That is generally sufficient for one's needs."

"And if I wanted to build say, a battlecruiser, or larger?"

"As I said, Captain, extremely expensive. You would be _YEARS_ paying it off, if not centuries. For the price of that one ship, you could buy twenty destroyers, or a pair of heavy cruisers. In my years in space, I have only seen one battlecruiser, which orbits Eta Orionis, the homeworld of WorkForce." She idly kicked J'lal, who whimpered again. "It is a logarithmic function; an increase of one size generator is equal to a nine-fold increase in cost for that generator. This is why you use the minimum sized generator, and run cargo holds at vacuum when you can."

"I see. What about the tools and equipment at those workstations?"

S'rat strolled over to the closest one, giving it a cursory examination. While she did, Mischa gestured for J'lal to examine another one; she scampered over to it. "I am not a ship-builder, but these look old and worn. Dispose of them." From her station, J'lal shook her head emphatically. Mischa nodded to her slightly, and made a slight gesture to return to him as S'rat poked at some tools. Mischa moved casually to a workstation, examining the tools himself. While they did look used, they also looked well cared for, as did the various terminals and testing equipment. Gesturing to T'awny, Mischa told her quietly, "I want the computers, workstations, tools, and so forth packed up and ready to ship out. Bare walls, but leave the cranes and building intact, and then we'll put it on the market. Were the workers slaves, or free?"

"I do not know, Captain. If the workers were slave, and available for purchase, shall I arrange that?"

"Yes, please." Stepping away, Mischa said, "I think I've seen what I need to. Let's go to the house and see these fish-slaves."

* * *

"Well, they're installed and powered up," Gene said about the various servers that were now installed in the left-hand rack. Mike looked up from where he was neatly looping and cable-tying the various cables, while S'ana had fetched in food and drinks for the three of them. She knelt, looking through the binder, and shaking her head. "What is next, masters?"

"We start linking the remote connections back here," Gene said. "Do you have some short range comm equipment that will let you run around the building and talk to us down here?" He gestured at the loops of incoming fiber cable from the rest of the building, "The installer didn't mark these cables, so we're going to have to figure out which cable goes where." He shook his head and grinned, "There had to be some screw-ups, but this is a fairly minor one. It adds some time in figuring things out, but is more irritating for sloppy work than anything else is. After that, we go from the local wiring closets to the individual network drops, we're going to need to test and mark each one."

"How is that done, master?"

"Simple," he said as he dug through a case. He held up a small yellow tool. "This has a light on one side, a sensor on the other. You plug the light in remotely, while we go from fiber to fiber seeing which one carries it to the sensor. We find the right one and label it on both ends, and plug it in to equipment."

"Like a tree's branches," S'ana nodded. "While you search, I install the … switch, you called it?" Gene nodded, and she continued, "Then from the ends of the branches back to the switch, and mark again."

"Correct," Master Gene replied. "That will take time, a day or two. We then do any repairs and random tests from the ends back here, to make certain they can see this equipment, and to get out onto the planetary network."

"By that time, we should have some girls here to install things like individual computers and printers," Master Mike added. "Gene will do some training while we ship out to Eta Orionis, and he'll set things up for the individuals." The ship's remote comm sounded, and he picked it up, "_Taalah_, Comm officer Bulstrode. Hello, Captain, how can I help?" He nodded a couple of times; then said, "We've got a successful installation, and we're working on the fiber links to the remote comm closets. After that, it's to the individual drops, and more testing. Gene … Mr. Donaldson estimates another day or so, and we should have some girls here for assistance and training by then." He nodded again, glanced at the other two, who shook their heads. "Anything for S'ana or Mr. Donaldson? Aye, Captain. _Taalah_ out." He disconnected and put the remote with their spare equipment. "Captain and the others are going to see the island house and the fish slaves, where they'll probably spend the night. The factory looks like a Boeing or Airbus plant, only set up for individual production. It looks worn, but the equipment looks like it's in good shape. T'awny, our local factor, will have everything packed up so we can have it shipped home, 'to the bare walls' the Skipper called it, and then sell the place."

"I'd kinda like to see those places," Master Gene admitted. He took a deep breath, "Let's get going on our part."

* * *

T'awny set the rented aircar down on the second parking pad, glanced sideways at the rigid, bound figure of J'lal, and told her, "Release.". The judicial slave relaxed from her Enhancement, whimpering into her gag, and T'awny leaned over to release her harness. "I told you I was a good driver," she said, and louder, "We're here; it looks like Master Fa'som arrived first. Remember, no jokes about his name, please."

"No matter how tempting," S'rat replied, working the hatch.

* * *

Master Fa'som, Mischa decided, was the image of the fussy, nitpicking solicitor. A small, extremely neat man, with a long nose and expensive clothing, he greeted them as if he was being billed for every second. Furthermore, he had a look of contempt for all three collared women, despite the fact that they all topped him by at least a head. For J'lal it seemed to be because she was a judicial slave, for S'rat and T'awny because they were _former_ slaves. While he didn't say anything along those lines, his demeanor spoke volumes to Mischa. "As it was such a long flight out, we're going to stay the night," Mischa informed the factor. "You can, if you wish, stay the night also as our guest. For now, I want to see this property, and these slaves. J'lal, you're with me, I want to see these slave quarters."

The judicial slave whimpered once, and the party split up.

* * *

"This slave is First Slave," the girl said, kneeling. "May this slave submit to our new Owner?"

"I represent them; I'm here on an inspection," Mischa replied. "On their behalf, I will accept your submission as representative of all the slaves here." The girl nodded, leaning forward, her head down and between her arms as she extended and crossed her wrists. "On behalf of the slaves of this house, I submit to our new Owners. Bind us, beat us, collar us, own us." Mischa glanced at J'lal, who gripped her left wrist with her right. He took a step forward and did so, and the First sighed in relief and sat back on her heels. "We are owned again."

"I am Captain Mischa Shenberg, I am addressed as 'Captain', no other way," Mischa said.

First nodded, "Yes, Captain, I will inform the other slaves. How may I serve?"

"We are considering selling this property; I understand the previous owner was high in the Slaver's Guild, as well as a Healer?"

"Yes, Captain, in the planetary Slaver's Association. My former Owner enjoyed his research, there are several modified slaves here, but his greatest pleasure was adapting chase slaves such as this slave into water-breathers." Involuntarily, she shuddered, causing the bells she wore to chime. "Does my Captain desire to view my former Owner's workshop and the slave kennels?"

"I want to see these fish-slaves," Mischa said, and First nodded, "Yes, my Captain. They use an implant, which uses sound in the ocean; we can use that to communicate with them. I shall summon them to the feeding platform, my Captain, but there is risk from the large carnivore in the bay." She pointed at the small inland bay, which contained a yacht; it was connected to the sea by means of a canal. Mischa nodded, approaching the shallow concrete platform, awash in only a few inches of water to allow the slaves to breathe with their gills while they were fed. "What do they eat?"

"Standard slave meal, mixed very runny, it is pumped in through … CAPTAIN!" Mischa turned and spun, the MP7 coming up and firing as the shark lunged from the water, the hollow point bullets going through the open mouth and up into the brain cavity. The shark twisted, trying to maneuver on the grass, and Mischa went around, changing clips; attacking from the side and firing into the head of the monster. He turned, the fish-slaves were watching, using their tails to keep themselves upright in the water. Every so often one would sink back into their concrete cavern through the opened feeding cage. Mischa waved at the house slaves, "Put it up on the concrete; let it suffocate. Use some rope to tie the tail to a roof post. Use a stick to poke the mouth to make sure it's dead; then clean up."

"Yes, my Captain," First said, and Mischa walked over to the watching fish-slaves. "Can you understand me?" The slaves nodded, and Mischa waved at the open grille. "Relax; send your First to talk to me." The slaves sank back into the water, and a minute later another slave appeared, flopping on her back, her bound arms preventing damage to the fin on her back. She wiggled a bit; slapping her tail in a ring in the grille's locking edge, her neck in a submerged ring, her head just above water. The rings snapped shut, and she turned to look at her new owner, her long red hair trailing over the edge of the submerged shelf her neck and shoulders rested on. First came over, kneeling behind Mischa and telling the other slave, "This slave as First Slave has submitted to our new owner, my Captain here. That is how we are to address Captain."

The First fish-slave nodded in her submerged neck ring. Mischa looked around, and First brought over a wicker chair, resuming her kneeling position in the grass. "Thank you, girl," and First, surprised, said, "You are welcome, my Captain. How may your slaves serve you?"

"First, we're going to ship the medical gear back to the mainland as preparation for selling this place. That means I want everything cleaned." The two slaves nodded as Mischa continued, "Second, I looked at the notes for what your previous owner did to convert you to fish. I am not a physician, a healer, and I understood about one word in twenty." Raising a hand, "As I said, I am not a specialist, these notes were written in a shorthand medical language. We will need to have our own specialists look at these, and probably do some physical examinations of you. I assume you wish to go back to a more humanoid appearance?" The Captain gestured at First, and the fish-slave nodded emphatically. "I don't know if that's possible, but we shall ask the specialists. Just looking at the sketches, I am pessimistic, it looks like he removed your hips and leg bones, and extended your central nervous system. Your leg muscles are larger and attached at different places, and you have more insulation. I've seen you moving your tail in ways you couldn't move your legs when you had them." The fish-slave's shoulders slumped, her tail pulled against the locking ring, and she whimpered.

"However," Mischa continued. "I have a proposal for you. We shall have some stasis tubes shipped in; you will join thirty or forty other fish-slaves in stasis. My suggestion is we have a lot of construction and maintenance requirements on our colony planets. You could do this with suitable training and equipment much faster than we can with submersibles and robots. Please discuss this with the other slaves while you are cleaning." The fish-slave nodded once as the Captain continued, "Your condition brings up another problem, we do not have adequate berthing for persons like you with different environmental requirements. For now, we would need to carry passengers like you in stasis tubes. I shall bring this problem to the attention of our ship designers, for that I thank you. Did you have any questions for me?"

The fish-slave whimpered, twisting in her neck ring and pulled at her arms. "Yes, it would be difficult without your arms. Release them, and the rest of her sister-slaves," Mischa told First. "How long have they been like that?"

"Since before our previous owner died, it is how slaves are to stay when not working, my Captain," First replied. "We could not do anything while the predator was active, so we would feed them while they lay in the grass, using portable equipment at night. We needed the predator-fish killed, but as slaves, we could not, and Master Fa'som did not wish to do so."

* * *

Mischa settled into the guest suite with a sigh, and set aside the documentation chips recovered from the 'workshop'. With the exception of First, every slave on this small island had permanent gags installed, as slaves were to be unseen and unheard. The mystery of the fin-collars was explained as well, they were booster transceivers for the collars and Enhancement, enabling the fish-slaves to be tracked (and ordered about) in the open ocean. A pressure sensor also prevented the slaves from diving too deep to escape the coverage of the orbiting satellites and their Owner. That it made them prey for a number of predators in that ocean was irrelevant; when one fish-slave was eaten; another was prepped for surgery to replace her. Glancing at where J'lal waited, kneeling in what Mischa understood as the 'House Slave' position, Mischa sighed again, then stood, "I guess I'll need to have dinner with the others. Go have your own, then report to First. I am not displeased with you; I just want to be alone tonight." She whimpered once and rose, waiting by the door.

* * *

Master Fa'som sniffed at the attitude of this Terran, but it was the client's wish that he follow the Terran's instructions. That had been documented by a letter, certified by Lantern Bank. He had to suffer through this Terran's apparent ignorance and mistaken belief that females were not equal to slaves… He sighed to himself, resolving to expedite things as much as possible.

* * *

J'lal pushed through the rotating entrance to the slave kennels, watching through the glass window as the fish-slaves swam listlessly about their concrete cavern. The feathers of their gills waved on their necks below their collars, while their arms were pinned back along their spine, palm to palm, which gave them a more streamlined shape. The lights of each slave's two collars gleamed in the dim, white painted cavern, and she wondered what they were thinking. '_What does it matter_?' she thought. '_We are slaves, and you, J'lal, through your own weaknesses, have put the collar on your own neck. These girls are faultless in that regard, they were only born; the Source decided their fate. To take a step up the Spiral, you must do what you can to assist them_.' As she was thinking, one of the fish-slaves noticed her, swimming up to gaze at her from the opposite side of the thick glass, her long red hair waving in the water's currents. The black mask that was sealed on her face contained a thin strap with a red plug that blocked the pipe that ran down her throat, her tail waved as she maintained her position. Her blue eyes gazed at her, seeing J'lal's own judicial collar and slave tunic, and glanced down at her skirt, the black steel of her slave belt, and especially her legs. The fish-slave's eyes blazed for a second with jealousy and rage; then with a flick of her tail, she was gone. She reappeared, swimming laps around the cavern at a high speed as she worked out her helpless frustration.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, January 9, 2003: 10:12 (GMT)  
Firsday, 26 Secundus, 163, 12:25 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, passenger docks:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Peter Morse smiled at the last passenger from the _Wagner_ started up the ramp, then looked at the girl huddling to the side, while one of Otto's girls stacked the mail on her cart. He motioned for her to approach, and she glanced back and forth, then slowly came forward, knelt, and pressed her head to the dock.

"You are not crossing your wrists to him, girl," the postal girl told the cowering slave. "Nor is he an Owner. State your business, he will not discipline you."

"Yes, my master," the girl started. "This slave is ordered to come to this location to open my masters' office of the Traditionalist Party, and to promote the benefits of my masters' Party."

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Peter asked. "You would be … 13085? You're the last remaining passenger from my list."

"Yes, my master, that is this slave's collar number," the girl replied.

11319 snorted, and Peter looked at her, "I notice you haven't chosen a name, either." He gestured, "Let me have your ticket, girl, then you can go on to your new home."

* * *

11319 grunted as she pulled the heavily laden cart up the ramp from the dock. "This is all your master's? Where's your bag?"

13085 nodded, "Yes, my mistress. This slave was considered adequately equipped with a single smock. This slave is to buy slave gruel and occupy the offices while promoting my masters' Traditionalist party." She resumed pushing the other end of the cart, and it tipped over the edge of the ramp to the main boardwalk.

"Assist me in delivering these packages to the postal office, and then you can go to Officer Ross' office to get the keys for your office."

13085 grunted, catching a falling package. "Gratitude. This slave hopes this slave has sufficient funds to pay the fees for Officer Ross' service."

"For what services are we discussing?" 11319 turned, "Officer Ross, this is 13085; she's here to open up the Traditionalist's office."

Jamie grunted, "What services am I offering?"

The slave 13085 dropped to her knees, "My master, this slave is to open the Traditionalists' office in this colony, this slave was apprehensive this slave had enough funds to pay my master for doing this."

"First, stand up," and the slave did. "Look at me," and she hesitantly raised her eyes to the irritated master. "Your masters assume that I am for sale, not only is that personally and professionally insulting, but it is also illegal. I am employed by the Town of Brazos, they pay my salary, and were I to take their offer, it would be a death penalty crime."

The girl shivered, collapsing back to her knees, and begged, "Please forgive this slave, my master! This slave did not know!" He bent and pulled her up, "I'm not blaming you, girl. I'm just insulted, and I wanted to tell you why."

* * *

"Your Terrans are different," 13085 commented as she finished unloading the cart.

"It is their sense of honor, I think," 11319 replied. "I am not certain myself. They want us to decide what is best for ourselves, not for others and not because we are slave and they are freeborn." She stood; then turned to flip the table she had assembled upright. "What about your comm terminal?"

"My masters decided that this slave would use 'proper' technology (she finger-quoted); this slave will write daily reports to be mailed to my masters. My masters assume that the Terrans are simply ignorant of the truth, this slave is to persuade them of the benefits of the Traditionalist Party." 13085 sighed as deeply as her Enhancement allowed, her skin already damp with sweat. "From what this slave has seen, the Terrans are not a receptive audience."

"I am not particularly eager to be Enhanced," 11319 commented as she continued to assemble furniture. She tossed the other girl's navy slave smock to the desk, adding, "While I have had Owners like what I have seen of the Traditionalists, it does not encourage me to submit to them. I confess that the transition from bred slave to free female is difficult, and not what I have anticipated, I do not wish to return to it. Why should I kneel and cross my wrists to an Owner like that?"

"For the security of a collar," the other girl replied weakly. "That is what this slave is to reply to questions like that. If not voluntarily, they seek to have it done to females by force of law."

"To Terran females?" 11319 snorted in disbelief. "I have heard enough of their history to learn they would not take this meekly. Do not forget that they are armed, and have encouraged their slaves, their females to also carry and practice with those arms." She waved a hand in the general direction of the town, "These are ordinary citizens, they also have military forces here that are much better armed, and the System Governor, Mistress Baroness Sullivan, is herself collared and Enhanced. They are under her command; the Traditionalists expect her to cross her wrists to them?"

"My masters expect to carry the votes in the planetary Assembly to force this action," the girl replied. "They also wish to write such laws as will force females into breaking them, and thus into a judicial collar. As a criminal, the slave would then be subject to other laws requiring all slaves and criminals be Enhanced for additional security." She shrugged, "One of my masters challenged Mistress Empress Wayne; she killed him on the floor of the Assembly, in the Challenge sand. Therefore, my masters are reconsidering, planning to force the Terrans by their own laws to comply with their plans."

"It would be better if …" 11319 turned at a knock on the open door. "Greetings! We are the office slaves for the Imperial office and the Assembly office; we came to welcome you to Brazos. How may we assist you?"

"This slave returns the greetings of her sister slaves, and is the slave for my masters in the Traditionalist Party," 13085 replied. "This slave inquires of her sister slaves; this slave was taught that Terran's slaves were not slaves."

"Technically you are correct," the girl wearing the light green smock of the Assembly replied. "I am not a slave, but am employed as the local contact for the elected Assembly-person. I am paid by the Town of Brazos; the physical offices are paid for by the planetary government. It is habit to self-refer as a slave, especially when there are no Terrans to take offense." She gestured at the still-boxed computer terminal and printer that sat on a table. "Do you require assistance in connecting this to the offices in Riverside?"

"My masters require this slave report by letter, instead of electronically," she replied.

"Oh, you are Enhanced," one of the two Imperial girls said. "All females are to be collared and Enhanced?" She adjusted her light purple smock, she was wearing a judicial collar, and an extensive set of brands could be seen on her left thigh. "I do not wish to be Enhanced, and so volunteered for this position."

"It is not truly a difficulty," her sister Imperial said. "This slave is wearing a red collar and is Enhanced, this slave's control and programming modules are held by the Slave Control Board. This slave has not been informed of what this slave did to earn a red collar, but aside from the speech restrictions, this slave is content with this slave's collar. This slave knows Brazos' Assembly-person is attempting to gain this slave's programming module, and to find out what this slave's crime was to earn a red collar." She shrugged. "Has the Traditionalist slave sought a place to live, and food for the table?"

"This slave has a limited budget, and is to assume quarters here."

The Assembly-girl shook her head. "This area is not designated for living quarters; your Owners would not like you to break the law. I have a space in my quarters, which you may share; you would be expected to split the expenses with me. If you are to write your Owners, do you have sufficient funds for the additional postage required?" The Traditionalist girl put down the box she was emptying, moving to a much smaller box and extracting a handful of iron spindles. "These are my issued funds."

Snorting, the Assembly-girl said, "That is the old currency, and will expire in two days. You have the rest of today and tomorrow to exchange that at a seventy-to-one ratio for tungsten coins. You may then buy additional postage for your reporting letters; the envelopes you buy only include postage for the local area."

"You need a job, one that will allow you to survive," 11319 advised. "Come, I need to return the cart to Papa Otto, you can ride with me and visit the bank to do your exchange, and then to buy envelopes and postage. Tomorrow you may report arrival and your financial situation. If your Owners increase your budget, that is useful, otherwise they cannot expect a starved slave to sell their ideas. Remember, your Owners are thousands of kilometers away, they cannot oversee every thing you do here."

"I will meet you at Town Hall, we shall look at the job postings there," the Assembly-girl said, and threw 13085 her Traditionalist-issued smock and skirt. "Let me lock up my office."

* * *

_Firsday, 26 Secundus, 163_

_My Master, _

_I report arrival at my post in Brazos, and have opened the office. I must report several difficulties. First, the local law enforcement person is not open to negotiation for his professional services. He took great offense when I asked, and informed me that this was not only personally, but professionally insulting, and a death-crime. _

_The second difficulty is that is not legal for me to reside in the office. I have sought another living place, and have arranged with other slaves to reside with them. However, there are costs involved in excess of the funds I have been provided. I have been forced to seek additional employment, and will be working for the local Town government. _

_The third difficulty is the funds provided are in the old currency, which expires at the end of the day on 28 Secundus. I have exchanged them at the official rate of seventy-to-one, but this has severely depleted my funds. As my master wishes me to write daily reports on my progress, this will be difficult, as my master has forbidden my use of the electronic systems provided, and thus must purchase those supplies to comply with my master's wishes. _

_This slave awaits and obeys her master's commands.  
slave 13085 in Brazos _

The girl finished handwriting her letter to her Owner, looked it over one last time, then folded and sealed it in an envelope with the correct postage. She smiled, and dropped it in the post-box at the end of the street.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 10, 2003: 07:07 (GMT)  
Tosul, Terran 'field office', courtyard, **_Taalah_**:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"The first of the disposable slaves are here, masters," S'ana said, entering the second-level basement where the dozens of fiber-optic lines terminated. Another problem had emerged, instead of just a single line, each of the twenty four remote wiring closets had _six_ lines run. While good in terms of redundancy, it simply multiplied the work of identifying them. In addition, for reasons unknown, a single line had been run to the roof, where it was exposed to the weather. This was something that Gene could fix, by simply running and terminating an additional five lines down the six floors of the building's elevator shaft from the roof. More problematical, the power was inadequate for the equipment that needed to be installed there. An electrician had already been called; and would supposedly be there that afternoon. "I saw the truck arrive with the first fifty slaves, masters, leashed and hooded as requested." She actually bounced a bit, "May I watch you test them, master?"

"You can help, we're at a good break point," Mike said, turning to a fresh page on his clipboard. "As First Officer, have you accepted them for the ship yet?"

S'ana tapped her collar, "I am slave, master."

"We'll both go, but remember, you're representing the _Taalah_," he reminded her, tossing her the folded tunic she had parked with their kit. "It's a warm day, and we've all been working hard, but appearances must be maintained." He grinned, "Go let Gene know while I lock up here, I think he could use a break too."

She returned his grin, "Of course, master."

* * *

20375 _knew_ she was going to die. She was minimally trained, and a disposable slave, why should her owners waste the time and tungsten on training a slave that was going to die in some horrible way? She wore the standard slave belt and collar, not even sandals. Now, she was cuffed; and wore a disposable gag and hood that was probably worth more than she was, and was linked in a slave coffle by a chain and collar. She assumed the Inspection position on her new owner's command. Hopefully, by seeing how obedient she was, she could earn a quick instead of a lingering death…

Gene watched the girls absolutely _snap_ at the slaver's quiet command, dropping to one knee, bending forward at the waist to align themselves with their upraised left knee. The slaver's delivery slave raised her eyebrow at Gene, "Are these slaves suitable, master?"

He waved a hand, "I'm a passenger, you want one of the ship's officers. They'll just be a moment."

"Of course, master." She resumed watching over the quietly trembling slaves, as did Gene. He couldn't help but see some of his son's classmates in them; they were about the same age of ten or so, although these slave girls were far more ... developed than the schoolgirls back on Earth. "Assuming these girls pass with the ship's officers, which of them scored highest in mathematical testing? I'll need six or so here."

"Master?" the slaver's girl asked in confusion. "These slaves are disposable, they can read signs and that is the extent of their education. There is no need to spend the tungsten on anything else. That is also why they are not clothed, shod, or Enhanced. Normally they sell for only 150 grams, but because they are bought in quantity, they are priced at 125 grams each."

"Ah, I see." Inwardly, he could understand the cold economics of the slavers, but if any of these girls were to have a life, they would need remedial education before they could even _start_ school. He wondered at the methods used to teach them to read, sure that they had not been gentle. "Thank you for that information, I was … misinformed." He turned as Mike and S'ana appeared, gesturing them aside. "Minor problem, they are illiterate slaves. They can read at a basic level and that's it."

"Oy, that's a problem," Mike agreed quietly.

"This surprises you, master?" S'ana asked. "They are disposable slaves."

"Talk to you later," Gene said, and gestured to the waiting slaver. "This is S'ana, First officer, and Comm officer Bulstrode." The eyes of the delivery slave flicked to S'ana's lit collar and Enhancement-designating leash, then to Mike. "Master, the first delivery of disposable slaves; please sign for them."

"One moment, please, master," S'ana said. "We must inspect the slaves first."

* * *

Gene closed the door to the ground floor room, one of the larger rooms that were bereft of furniture at the moment. It was designated as the security break room on their plans, and while S'ana was getting the slaves lined up to her satisfaction, Mike came over to see him. "How's this going to work?" he asked the young wizard quietly.

"I have a generic wand for this purpose," he answered just as quietly. "We find out the dominant hand, free that hand; then let the girls swish the wand about, and record the results. After that, I guess we take them downstairs to one of the slave cells. The lack of education bothers me."

"Me too," Gene replied. "I guess the plan to use some of them here goes by the wayside."

"The plan to keep some here, masters?" S'ana asked.

"If they can learn not only to read and write," Gene said, somewhat louder than he intended. "But also to do some basic math, we can do something with them beyond using them as targets." He shifted as the girls heard this and moved slightly from their kneeling, head down positions.

"Right, let's get this started," Mike said. "Those girls with a dominant left hand, please come to a high kneel, we'll ask for the right-handed girls in a few minutes. No need to lie, now." He watched as most of the girls rose to their knees, and grunted, "Makes sense, they're bred slaves." Raising his voice, he continued, "When I tap you on the head, stand, we'll free your hand, and test you. You'll wave a stick about; we'll record the results, re-secure your hand and move on. Once the lefties are done, we'll do the righties and anyone with a third arm." There were a few snorted chuckles, and he continued, "Don't worry, you can't fail this test, and relax, some of you have a sense of humour." He moved to the first, "Stand up, please."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 10, 2003: 07:45 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Classroom 17, 'Royalty class':  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Mattie looked up as Connie came in, heading to her, "Professor Snape asked me to give this to you," she said, then nodded and left to return across the hall to her Potions class. Unfolding the single sheet of paper, Mattie read the brief email:

_Professor Snape – _

_I'm the Comm officer for the _Taalah_, currently working on getting our Tosul offices up and running. Please pass this on to Ms. Wayne at your convenience. I have several things to mention to her outside the formal report she'll receive. _

_SS! _

_Mike Bulstrode _

"Hmm," she said, and passed it on to Beatrice, who asked, "Who's Mike Bulstrode and what's 'SS'?

"Slytherin Solidarity and he's a housemate that graduated a few years ago." She tapped her pencil on the desk in thought; then turned to her laptop, taking back the note to copy the email address.

_Hi, Mike! _

_SS indeed! What can you tell me, and what are you and your shipmates' recommendations? _

_Mattie Wayne _

She hit 'Send', and then sat back. "We'll see what he says."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 10, 2003: 07:50 (GMT)  
Tosul, Terran 'field office', classroom:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Mike's laptop 'binged' at him with new mail, but he didn't rush to it. Instead he continued his (very) basic math class, writing on the chalkboard. The fifty girls were riveted, despite what he had said, they were still convinced they were going to die in some gruesome way, and this was their only salvation. Below the Trade equivalent numbers, he wrote: 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

"Now then, I want all of you to copy that down. The two numbers are equal, above and below. The reason is that Trade is my second language, so when I get in a rush, I'll use the first numbers I learned. While you do that, I'm going to check this." He moved to the laptop, noted the reply, and cut'n'pasted his informal report. He had mentioned it to the Captain last night and gotten the go-ahead for the back channel. Above the report, he quickly typed:

_Cut'n'pasted from my report to the Captain, and his to the ship's log. I'm teaching a basic maths class now, addition and subtraction, as these girls can barely read signs, much less anything more. They're convinced they're going to die, any suggestions from that lot at HoggyWarts or Professor Vector? _

_Let me know, and SS!_

_Mike Bulstrode_

He got up, locked his laptop; and then moved back to the front of the classroom. It was small, cramped, and hot with body heat, but it was the only one they'd found which still had a chalkboard. "Right-o. Now, we're going to move to digits and how they're written. Please don't be afraid to ask questions, either. Now, there are fifty of you, which is written: 50. If there were five, it would be written: 5 and the ship has a capacity of fifteen hundred, which is written: 1500. Questions so far?"

"Master, you said 'fifteen hundred'. Can you …?" the girl stammered to a stop.

"Good question!" Mike encouraged. "What was your name, err, number?"

"Master, I am 20375," she replied, frightened. He smiled at her, "Don't worry," and wrote her number on the board. "We'll use that in a minute," he said. "To answer your question, we have either fifteen, counted a hundred times, or one hundred counted fifteen times. Let's do that, it's less writing," he said with a grin. On the board, he wrote:  
100+  
100+  
100+  
100+  
100+  
100+  
100+  
100+  
100+ = 900  
100+ = 1000  
100+ = 1100  
100+ = 1200  
100+ = 1300  
100+ = 1400  
100+ = 1500

"Notice where I drew the line," he said. "We add nine one hundreds (he tapped the board), but we're still not at capacity. We keep adding, bringing us to a thousand (he tapped again), but we're out of space, so we simply move one digit over and keep counting." He waited for them to follow it through; then said, "Since 20375 was brave enough to ask a question, we're going to use her number." He smiled at the girl, "If she's standing in queue, in collar order, and we want to separate one hundred girls like her, where should we stop counting?"

"Including myself and the other slave, master? It would be … (the girl chewed her lip as she thought hard), 20_2_75, master?"

"Excellent! This is known as subtraction, or taking away. If we're adding slaves, again one hundred, we would have?"

"20_4_75, master," another girl said. "Including the two ending slaves."

"Good!" Mike smiled at them. "Now, we're opening up offices here for the Empire, we'll need people here to take notes, answer the comm, that kind of thing. There are four above-ground floors here, so if we take one hundred of these fifteen hundred slaves for that, and we have fifty slaves in stasis tubes and another twenty-five specialist slaves, such as healers, how many will we load on the ship?" He waited; then wrote:

1500  
- 100  
- 50  
- 25  
?

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 10, 2003: 07:53 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Classroom 17, 'Royalty class':  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Hmm," Mattie said as she read over Mike Bulstrode's email. "Good and bad. The factory is described as being the size of one of Boeing or AirBus' plants for jetliners, but they build ships one at a time, to custom order. The place is also described as looking like the workers are cleaned up for a long holiday weekend, with hand tools neatly lined up. They never appear to have heard of an assembly line or robotics."

"Which matches what I've heard," Sprink said as she sat down with a hot cuppa. "It must take _months_ to build a ship if they're doing it in job lots and hand tools. Who is that, anyone we know?"

"Mike Bulstrode; he's on Tosul with the _Taalah_."

"Oh, he's dating Hermione Granger since she broke up with that bloody fool Weasley," she commented. "Always thought they were wrong, an' I don't have anything against the Weasleys, 'cept possibly that prat Percy." She gestured again, "What else?"

"Hand assembly of ships?" Mattie commented, shaking her head as she skimmed through the report. "This is a casual, informal report, although Mike did it with his Captain's permission. It's always good to have a back channel or two. Hmm. You know about the testing of the slaves for the wizarding gene?" Sprink and Beatrice both nodded. "First group of fifty girls, which were priced at 125 grams per, by the way, had four girls with an absolute flood of silver and green sparks, even a weak blue, while two others had red and yellow. That's six out of fifty, or twelve percent."

"'An our normal rate is one in a thousand," Sprink added.

"These are disposable slaves?" Beatrice asked.

"Yep," Mattie nodded. "We'll see if the rate holds, but these girls were apparently randomly picked from stock. What we do with them, they're barely literate, they can read signs, so having some of them as office staff is problematical, at best." She sighed, "Mike's teaching them basic math, addition and subtraction, with the hope that some of them can be used to help install equipment and stay as IT staff. They even discussed Enhancing them, but that wouldn't give them a basic education. Anyway, they'll be testing the cable installations and the back end servers. Got the information for Greywolf's people? They'll need to know who and what and where."

"Pass me Mike's email, I'll get it to him when I go into town tomorrow," Sprink replied. "What else?"

"Umm … the fish slaves are described as originally being chase slaves, long red hair, busty, high intelligence, but changed into mermaids from their rib cage down. They're wearing booster collars on the end of their tails, just above their flukes, where their ankles would be, and they can survive out of water, they can breathe air if they cover their gills. There's twenty or so at the island house, plus another dozen or so house slaves, also chase slaves, but the only approach to the island is by air or water, and they can't swim. There's a slave barrier at the water's edge." She took a gulp of coffee, "Apparently a shark got into their pool and ate several of the fish slaves before they could retreat into their common cell. That apparently looks like a concrete cave, painted white, and all they can do is swim in circles until the shark goes away or is killed, which the Captain did. They're going to put the fish slaves in stasis tanks for now, to join another forty or so they already had in stasis. The question is what to do with them."

"This brings up a point Gran made to me," Beatrice said. She reached over and pushed the laptop partially closed. "You (she poked Mattie with a finger) are above this. You are the Empress; your job is to decide policy and strategy, and to represent same to your Assembly and your loyal subjects. What we do with those slaves on an individual basis, or even in job lots, is not your concern. They are your staff's concern. You hired them to do their jobs; they are therefore Sprink's and Anne's and even the Headmistress' concern. They are not yours, except in the abstract. You (poke) Are (poke) The (poke) Empress (poke)." She held Mattie's eyes, then added, "You are in the same position that Winnie was in the Second World War. You have three areas of concern: Economic, Military, and Social. You have four time frames to consider these in: Long Term, Intermediate, Short Term, and Tactical." She drew a grid on a legal pad:

Economic Military Social 

Long Term Long Term Long Term 

Intermediate Intermediate Intermediate 

Short Term Short Term Short Term 

Tactical Tactical Tactical 

Below the grid lines she drew, Beatrice added: _Tactics == Strategy == Tactics_. Beatrice continued, "Think of it this way. In the War, Winnie's job was not to decide how to take the village; that was the subaltern's job. His job on the immediate, tactical time frame was to smooth out such problems as he could and make decisions on weapons to produce, based on his subordinate's recommendations. You'll find you listen to some more than others do. In the short term, up to five years, it was where to stop the advance in order to not bang into the Soviets. Intermediate was the immediate post-war period to 1965 or so, and long term was over fifty years, or after he was gone. You have to have a unified, coherent strategy, because the social, economic and military are all tied together. That does not mean a 'five year plan' (she finger-quoted), but goals and a road-map on how to get there." She sat back, "Gran has given you some homework: come up with a rough draft of the Empire's strategic plan for Monday, she wants you to be at her side, learning on how she spends the day and what she does all week." She turned to address her own bodyguard, "Simone, I'll need to see the Headmistress to arrange that." Pushing back her chair, she finished her cuppa and set it on the sideboard. "Shall we?"

* * *

"She's right, y'know," Sprink said after Beatrice had left. "Strategy is your job, getting our ships adapted to intelligent fish is mine." She sat back, cradling her cuppa in her hands, and indicated the grid. "That's going to change, we know. We also know it's not got to be complete by Monday, but at least have something in all twelve squares."

"Yeah," Mattie said, and sighed. "The end goal …"

"Prithee, _one_ of the end goals," Anne corrected. "That being the end of slavery in the galaxy; such being a long-term social goal. It hath been in place for millions of years, it shall take an equally long time to disperse. It doth be necessary to demonstrate the inefficiency and the negative economics."

"As far as the military," Sprink put in. "Why not use the slave girls? It helps with personnel, they're motivated; an armed military slave has to be one of a slave-owners' worst nightmares." She took a gulp of tea, "It's not like you, mate, to worry about an assignment."

"It's just not as … hands on, I guess," Mattie replied.

"Not as much fun, you mean," Sprink replied, and Mattie nodded. "Y'know this is something that has to be done, and as Queen, you're the logical one to do it. That doesn't mean y' can't put in something fun – make your birthday an Imperial Holiday, do something fun with it." Anne had fetched the teapot, and refilled Sprink's mug, along with her own. "Aye," she put in. "Elevate a commoner, commission a ship, pardon a prisoner, commute a death sentence 'twere it to be done on thy birthday." She sat, once again smoothing her skirt, "Others doth be improving the lives and growing the economy of the Empire. Thou mays't consult with others, this be what is known as a 'living document', it will change over time; as long as thy shalt remember the long term goals, the other time frames will be in alignment."

* * *

"I must say I am not particularly happy with this plan," Minerva said. "We were planning on issuing Miss Wayne a Time-Turner, which would require her to return to Hogwarts each evening. However, I can see the benefits of Her Majesty's plan," she concluded. She glanced at Beatrice, then over to Crystal. "Extended, that would mean at least a month off for you and your baby, as she travels to the different world capitals and sits in with the different world leaders. I want you to visit the Infirmary before you leave, dear. You're not looking at all well."

"I … thank you, ma'am," Crystal replied. "I can get someone else from SO-1 in to cover for me."

"What you need to do is have a Regiment of Imperial Guards, cloaks and all," Beatrice said with a grin. "All of them properly loyal to the Imperial Throne." She cleared her throat, "I was only half-joking, by the by. We do need to develop our own in-house Imperial institutions, instead of borrowing from other Terran agencies. That causes divided loyalties, but it is still early days."

"Hopefully we shall have time to develop those institutions," Minerva replied. "For far too long, we have gone brother against brother on this tired old world, and I take your meaning of loyalty to the Throne instead of loyalty to a particular Emperor. I give you the Praetorian Guard as example of a kingmaker." She took a sip of tea to collect her thoughts. "I for one would like to see her cease wearing the Imperial Army uniform," she mused. "While as Queen she has the legal right, I am certain I am not the only one who believes she has not earned the right to wear it; she has not going through Army training. While we are due, along with other Inverness area schools, to host an Imperial Cadet Corps unit, that has not happened yet, and will not happen until the start of next term in September." She leveled a glare at Crystal, "I was not happy to view Mr. Kent's video of her sword fight, she could have been killed!"

"Neither was I, ma'am, but she specifically ordered me not to intervene, the same as Mr. Kent. She needed to do it for political reasons." Crystal sighed, "There are times when that may be necessary, I don't have a good answer for you, ma'am."

"Very well," Minerva sighed. "I wish I could speak to your Gran about this proposed course of action, after all, _I_ am the one who will need to deal with Mrs. Wayne…"

"Ma'am, I can take you to see her at Buckingham if you'd like. Let me give her a ring first, though."

"I'll take you up on that; let me tell Callista I'm leaving the school."

* * *

"I had not considered that," Queen Elizabeth said reflectively. "You are right; we do need to consider her education. I was planning on having her spend a week here, to get an idea of how we handle matters and then move on to other capitals, Berlin, Warsaw, Moscow, and Tokyo, Quebec and then to her good friend Uncle Fidel in Havana for the same reason, then back here." She took a sip of tea; then glanced at Beatrice and her mum. "I must say, Bea, your plan to spend the summer taking Basic in Corfu … I don't know…"

Beatrice glanced sideways at her Mum, "Gran, I've been talking about the IR&S with Mattie, she needs someone she can trust to be the public face, the 'white' side at least. Astrographic surveys, that kind of job. Believe me, anything having to do with covert ops, what the Yanks call 'HUMINT' I'm not ready to deal with. It sounds fascinating, but I'd want to spend some time at Vauxhall Cross **(6)** before I accept."

Her Majesty grunted and turned to look at Minerva. "The problem, of course, is the timeframe. I would also like to have an Heir Presumptive lined up; with Mr. Morton's disability that presents a problem." She took a sip from her own teacup, "Headmistress, I understand you are receiving resistance from the Ministry regarding the Time Turner. You shall receive one, along with an instructor in its use from the Ministry, by tomorrow. Sunday, Miss Wayne shall report in business wear to me at eight am sharp, and will be with me each day until five pm; transporting to and from by floo. This shall continue until Friday next, the seventeenth at which time we shall evaluate her progress."

"That would be entirely acceptable, your Majesty," Minerva said.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 10, 2003: 07:56 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Langley, Central Intelligence Agency:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The door opened; as an officer was saying "… the OOD** (1)** says…" he looked up and shouted, "Attention on deck!" as he leaped to his feet and braced to attention. Rear Admiral (upper half) Petra Buell James, US Navy (detached) gazed coldly on her outer office staffers, before saying, "Well, Lieutenant Brahms, what did the OOD say?"

"Begging the admiral's pardon, but I don't think she'd find it funny, ma'am."

"Oh, really?" She glided to him, the only Marine (and male) in the room, and said, "I have a great sense of humor, Lieutenant. See? (She pointed to her mouth,) I'm smiling. Now finish the joke, Lieutenant."

"Er, yes, ma'am. The OOD says, 'That's not my Gunny** (2)**, that's my Ma Deuce** (3)**!'" There were some stifled snickers; Admiral James said, "Ha. Ha. Very funny. You should take that to Vegas, Lieutenant. Now that we've all had our chuckle for the day, let's make productive use of the time we are paid for. The only reason I don't have you up on charges for Conduct Unbecoming, Lieutenant Brahms, is that it is not yet 08:00 and the workday has not yet begun." She jerked her head, striding into her inner sanctum, followed by her flag lieutenant, Ensign Juliette Andrews, who carried the Admiral's briefcase.

"God, does she need a fu…"

"I heard that, Lieutenant Paulson!"

Inside the office, the Admiral, a thin woman with pale-brown skin and a regulation short hairstyle inspected her desk as the coffee machine's timer clicked on and started to gurgle. She wore a perpetual frown; and was known as a humorless 'by-the-book' micromanager and martinet. Her previous command was SPECWAR Group Two at Little Creek Naval Base. While she stood and started to go through her overnight correspondence, Ensign Andrews arranged the Admiral's briefcase, poured and fixed a cup of coffee, as the Admiral preferred it, and wished again she could transfer to some other command, a wish shared by the outer office. Unfortunately, the Admiral had brought all of them with her to Langley, and was not interested in the desires of subordinates.

The Admiral grunted, finally smoothing her Navy-blue uniform skirt and sitting. She took a sip from the coffee, told Ensign Andrews "Dismissed," and turned to her workstation as the door clicked behind the Ensign. While she waited for the machine to boot, she used her crypto key to unlock her phone, reaching for the first file in her in-basket and slitting the security tape. Her face eased out of her perpetual frown, as she examined the listing of personnel transferred to the new Imperial Research and Survey agency.

Nodding to herself, she considered the names of Directorate of Operations personnel. '_All Omegas, all square pegs, wild men, cowboys, and free thinkers that I can get rid of from my agency, perfectly legally_,' she judged. '_I reformed the SEALs, cutting their ammunition budget despite their cries of_ 'maintaining proficiency'. _One team, just one, went through more small arms ammo in one month than an entire division of Marines in a year. Well, that won't happen to the DO under my watch! There is A Book for a reason, and they will by God follow that book to the letter_!' She read on in the file, considering what would happen to them as a background brief she and her like-minded colleagues in other agencies had received at a meeting in Berlin. '_I have a tasking from POTUS; he wants 'full cooperation' with the new Empire; who needs to penetrate all levels of a foreign planet's society, while maintaining physical control of those agents. Biosculpt into slaves and then Enhancement does that, with a bit of mental reprogramming. I do like the thought of some over-muscled James Bond type with an excess of testosterone becoming a mind-controlled slave girl_.'

She had a nasty little personal smile. '_It's a win-win situation_,' she told herself. '_The Empire gets their experienced personnel; I get rid of my problem children. I just wish I could do that to some of my critics from Little Creek that said I wasn't suitable to wear the BUD/S. I was, after all, their commanding officer, which gave me the legal right, so the hell with them_.' Reflexively, she glanced down at the golden badge on her uniform, and smiled. '_Perhaps…_' and she shook herself. _So, a black girl from Selma, Alabama isn't good enough for their little MALE clique? I've graduated from Annapolis, did my sea time, did my command time, and this is my 'joint' time; despite the family thinking I should stay home, live in the projects and pump out little black babies from some MAN. Well, I'm a god-damned two-star admiral, the first black woman to wear the Budweiser badge, and to hell with everyone else. I've got The Book behind me_.' She paged through the file, then tapped her intercom, "Ensign, I want a copy of file 02-154128." She didn't hear the Ensign's reply of "Yes, ma'am," as she went on to read another file.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 10, 2003: 13:22 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, LEO station, International concourse:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Thomas Madison was somewhat worried. He had received personal, verbal orders from the DDO **(4)** of the Agency to travel to Athens for some off-world TDY **(5)**. The new Empire's IR&S would provide a suitable disguise and briefing, he was to take two night's worth of clothing and nothing identifiable. However, he had not received a false passport or any other documentation; instead he had been told to use his real name and documents. Any funds would be reimbursed, and while this was unusual it wasn't without precedent. He had to keep his receipts, like for any other business travel.

While this was his first time using orbital transfer, he had to agree that it sure beat hell out of hours sitting in a 747. '_The airlines are furious_,' he thought. '_Not without reason, now they've got all those long-haul airliners they can't make money on, and they can only boneyard so many of them, or convert them to freighters_.' He looked around the concourse, and while the view from orbit was spectacular, he recognized too many people he had worked with all over the world. Over there was 'George' from Tokyo, sitting across from 'Maria' from the BND, who was reading a newspaper, and 'Felix' from KGB next to her. George looked at Thomas, smiled and made eye contact, then glanced at the empty seat next to him. '_What the hell_,' Thomas said; then made his way over.

"Small world," George said, tossing his overcoat on top of 'Felix's' heavy fur.

"Ain't it the truth," Felix said, sounding like someone from the South Side of Chicago instead of Moscow. Maria folded her newspaper (_New York Times_, Thomas noted.), and tossed it on a pile with several others. "I've noticed Pak, from Seoul," she said in a perfect Texas drawl. She was blonde, blue-eyed, and looked like she had tried out for the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, instead of being at Oktoberfest wearing a dirndl. Thomas nodded, "Jean-Paul, from DGSE just came into the concourse. George, want to do the honors?"

"Why not?" he asked, and a minute later, another heavy coat was added to the pile, and finally Maria broke the ice. "I assume we all have tickets for Athens? That we have detached duty there?"

"And we are all highly trained, experienced and skilled operatives who have worked with and against each other," Felix said.

"Too right," Nigel, from MI-6 commented, joining the group. He held a cardboard carrier of takeaway tea, and handed them round, finishing with his own. "I will not take offense if you do not partake," he said, sipping his own. "I have not added anything except the usual tea-things, lemon, sugar, milk, and the like. I hope I remembered everyone's preferences correctly."

"Spot on," Maria said, now sounding like a Brit. Felix raised his in salute, "Bang on, mate," with a Cockney accent. "Could use a bit of vodka, but we can't have everything." George nodded, "Too true," he agreed. He took another gulp; then set his paper cup on the carpeted deck. "I have not been briefed on any operations in Greece," he said carefully. "I was also ordered to use my actual travel documents and real name."

"We are to be met by the local IR&S station chief," Jean-Paul agreed quietly. "I am aware that DGSE has not had the best relations with Miss Wayne, but I was under the impression that your parent agencies had much better relations with the Empire."

"True to the best of my knowledge," Nigel confirmed. Maria nodded, "BND as well. CIA?"

"We're supposed to extend 'full cooperation' by order of POTUS," Thomas agreed. "KGB?"

"We as well," Felix agreed. "IR&S will provide us disguise material and transportation off-planet. My understanding is that we were to …"

"…provide training to the Empire?" 'David' from Mossad asked, joining them. He set his own cup of coffee down, tossing his coat on the pile, and joining the others. "Interesting group," he commented, as Pak from the Korean NIS joined them, his coat almost toppling the pile. "Sorry," he said with a smile.

"Perhaps it's our legendary paranoia," David said with a grin. "I can't help but notice that not only are we all experienced, but we have all run 'rogue' ops, which have landed us in the proverbial doghouse with our various Powers That Be." He raised his hands, "I'm not naming names …"

"You will be, sir," a station cop said; his sidearm out and aimed. "Hands on your head, all of you."

"But I'm a hostage!" Maria tried, and burst into tears, "Thank God you've arrived in time!"

"Nice try, Gretchen Klaus of Munich," the cop said. "Hands on your head, we know you're all dangerous terrorists, you're wanted by the Greek government." He jerked his pistol, "Back to the office for search, or we can do it here, in the concourse."

"Wait a minute, we have rights…" Thomas started.

"Thomas Madison, from Augusta County, Virginia. Arms dealer and drug runner, Interpol and the FBI have multiple warrants out for you. As for rights, you only have international, nothing like in the US or Europe. My patience is running out, come quietly or in a body bag, all the same to me." He took a step back, jerking his pistol again as they conferred with their eyes, then Thomas stood, took a few steps, and was handcuffed and quickly searched. Maria/Gretchen stepped forward, raising her hands and extending them out. As the officer started to search her, she screamed and shouted "RAPE! RAPE!"

"How DARE you!" Nigel shouted, and a fight broke out. The local station cops were severely outmatched by the lethal, highly trained agents, all experienced martial artists, who were however trying very hard not to kill the cops. However, they had no space experience, so when the emergency bulkheads closed and the riot gas triggered, all they could do was fall asleep like everyone else in that section of the concourse.

* * *

Miklos looked through the window in the concrete wall as lab techs tended to the unconscious bodies. They were covered with sheets, strapped down to gurneys, with various IV bags and other medical paraphernalia attached. He turned as his boss said in Greek, ("One hundred twenty three of them, Miklos. We'll bio-sculpt them over the next few days, then ship them up to Eunomia.") He actually rubbed his hands together, ("We're expecting more of them, all rogue agents and troublemakers. We'll finally have a peaceful world. Let me know when the first ones are done, I want to inspect them personally.")

("Yes, sir,") Miklos replied, and his boss left, not knowing his own troubled thoughts. '_If the governments of the world can get rid of their dissenters as easily as this_…' he worried, watching as a blonde was wheeled out through a double door. '_What about those true terrorists that aren't going to be as easily captured? The ones like the hijackers in New York. Sometimes we need people that don't go by the Book_ …'

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 10, 2003: 13:59 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Pigeon Breast, WV, Earl's copy & print:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Hank McCoy pulled open the door of the copy shop, looking for the preacher. He saw Rev. Lovejoy talking with one of the Evans women, and started to leave, when the Reverend saw him and called, "Hank! Please join us, we were just discussing you." Not having any choice, Hank knocked the snow from his boots, and went over to them. Nodding, he said, "Ms. Evans, Reverend. What 'kin I do for you?"

"No need to fulfill the stereotype of a backwoods hillbilly, Hank McCoy," the Reverend said. "I know you and Linda both graduated from the community college." He waved a shiny CD, "The Evans clan has taken a mortgage on an asteroid claim, a ship and the means to work that claim, and they offer the McCoys a peace settlement." Hank eyed Linda suspiciously, and the Reverend continued, "You know Miss Chantal Evans has been working for the Empire on Mars. When she came home for Christmas, she proposed this, and I've received this CD from her."

"What does this have to do with us?" Hank asked.

"It's simple," Linda replied, leaning against a table. She regarded Hank, a short, muscular fellow with dark hair and enormous sideburns, "There are right now several hundred independent asteroid claims, each worked by families scattered throughout the Belt. That number is increasing, and when they need supplies, they bring in a load of ore to one of Ms. Wayne's smelters and trade. What we're proposing is a modification of a supply ship; you would bring a General Store to them, instead of their waiting to travel back to Earth orbit. If they need something, they would send you an email, you would also have things like methane for fuel, air, water; they would sell you things like their processed sewage for sale on Mars."

"We would buy their s…"

"As fertilizer, dry pellets, and whatever else they might want to sell you. Chantal was saying there's a lively market in what she called 'garage bands' selling music, instructional videos …" She waved a hand, "That's something for you to decide."

Crossing his arms, Hank regarded the two. "That ship's bound to be expensive, and while I can fix things like boilers, gas and diesel engines, I don't know about spaceship engines or computers."

"You wouldn't," Linda replied. "Fix computers, that is. The Guard would load a CD of claims and their coordinates into a locked drive when you visit their Titan base, you couldn't extract them, you would just pick from a list of claims and the computer would calculate the course. Your helms-people would need to take some classes from the System Guard in higher math and navigation, and your ship's engineers would also, so they can fix the drives, and also so they can go ashore and fix a claim's machinery. That's something else you'd have available for sale – parts and service."

Hank nodded slowly, "I can see that. The Belt's a big place, though. Would we contract with these people?"

"Up to you," the Reverend said. "However, I understand there are some rather isolated claims, away from the mainstream, so to speak. You might want to start with them, but remember they always have the option of going in to orbit. What you're selling is convenience …"

"And someone who _isn't_ kin to them," Linda said. "You can also carry some passengers, like from one claim to another, or whatever develops." She held up a hand, "One other thing to remember. The Guard has certified people as young as twelve, if they can do the job, their age doesn't matter, or if they're a boy or girl."

"Humph," Hank grunted. "If these computers go down on me, that's a bad thing."

"There are three different computers for critical things like life support, navigation and engines," Linda replied. "They all have to agree, if one doesn't, you go back to Titan or Phobos, one of the Martian moons. If that happens on a claim, you'll have a sealed replacement that you screw in, one of your people gets it going, and you return the bad one to the Guard."

"The engines?"

"Same," Linda replied. "You have some of your people that are certified by the Guard to certain levels. The reactors are sealed units, good for fifty years, they're installed by the shipyard; or when the claim is put in, and they're monitored remotely by the Guard. You might need to ship in some helium or fix some plumbing if there's a leak, but that's all."

Hank grunted again. "You got plans I can look at?"

"Right here," the Reverend passed him the CD, and a folder of freshly-printed drawings. "The ship can be configured to some extent, depending on what you want to carry and offer. A machine shop, fresh meat and dairy, vegetables from Mars, or if you want to invite shoppers in to a particular deck…" he waved his hand. "That's for you to decide. There's also information from the Gringotts branch in Charlestown on a ship mortgage and the Guard requirements for helm and engineering certification."

"And what does the Evans clan get out of it?"

"Peace here, paying off our loans and mortgages here, and being one of your customers," Linda said. "There's a lot of money to be made up there in space, Hank. We're putting some back in the Education Fund, and some to help out our neighbors here in Pigeon Breast. If that means some of us go off-planet, then we do."

Hank grunted, considering. He had purely hated working the coal mines, and was almost glad when an injury took him out. The settlement had allowed him to open his machine shop, and with the attached garage, helped him feed his family. His daughter had expressed an interest in it, he had resisted it as not suitable for a girl, but … He frowned, tapping an impossible-to-clean hand on the counter, thinking. "What about schooling?"

"Correspondence courses," Linda replied. "There's a German university branch on the moon, and those places with kids are using the British home-schooling courses. When the kids finish those, they get a British high-school equivalent degree called a GCSE. There's good communications, Chantal said she had gotten video calls from Earth when she was on Deimos. Everything's synchronized with GMT, in London. Other star systems…" she shrugged. "We're not concerned with that."

"Yeah," Hank agreed. He tried to think of other questions; then nodded. "I have to be getting back to the shop. Ms. Evans, I purely do appreciate the gesture, even if we wind up not taking it. I'm inclined to, but we'll have to have a family meeting to decide." He offered his hand, and she shook it; then addressed the Reverend. "Reverend, would you be available for that meeting, in case there are other questions?"

Reverend Lovejoy shook his hand, "Depending on scheduling, of course. I can't promise I'll have the answers, though."

"Fair enough. Thank you again, Ms. Evans, Reverend," and Hank McCoy headed for the door with his folder and CD.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, January 11, 2003: 07:47 (GMT)  
Tosul, Terran 'field office', roof:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Okay, that's got that one," Gene called down the trap door. Below him, and behind him on the roof, were some of the slave girls, formed into a 'bucket brigade' to get satellite antennae and equipment up the access ladder for installation. That ladder ran up the back of the elevator shaft, to one side Gene had installed pull strings through a piece of three inch conduit, another set of girls were busily running cable from floor to floor through other conduit and testing connections. The concrete block elevator shaft extended up about ten feet above the roof, painted white. These girls, though they didn't know it, had all tested well with Mike's wand, the proportion seemed to be holding between ten and fifteen percent having the 'zarroji' gene.

"Master, I don't think this last will fit through the hatch," the girl at the top of the ladder told him. They had rigged safety 'harnesses' with string (which was actually quite strong nylon) to their slave belts and the ladder. One thing all these girls seemed to know was knot-work. Gene had insisted that all these girls have at least sandals and a tunic when delivered; something that the Terrans in the ship's crew thought they _would_ have.

"Okay," Gene said, digging through his tool kit and pulling out a tape measure. "See what the maximum opening is, and what the largest dimension is on that crate." He took a step back, the girls on the roof were busily unpacking other crates, he called, "Make sure you keep things from the different cases together."

"Yes, master," they replied as he stretched and walked to the roof's parapet. A few meters away, one of the roof air conditioners started with a clunk and a hum. The building stretched away to either side, the tar and gravel surface gradually curving to the north and the street entrance, while to the south where he stood, behind the building he could see the docked _Taalah_, the woods surrounding the former school's playground, and a service elevator that went from ground level down to the two basement levels. A truck pulled in to the parking lot, with a long, low cage in the back, towing a cage trailer, inside he could see hooded slaves. He turned as one of the girls called, "Master? We have a solution."

"Good, let's hear it," he replied, walking back to the hatch.

* * *

Mike Bulstrode sat at a wooden picnic table under the shade of some mighty trees, studying his laptop. To his right, S'ana studied a datapadd as she leaned against one of those trees. "I do not know, master," she admitted. "To accept the maximum number of slaves, we shall need to make one trip from here to Windfall, another from there to Eta Orionis and back to acquire the hotel slaves."

"Then we do;" Mike replied, somewhat distracted. The Captain had wanted the manufactory slaves and the 'estate' ones, as well as the 'disposable' slaves, and the 'special order' slaves and assorted equipment to maintain their cover story. A Slaver's Guild tech had come by, upgraded and relicensed their on-board equipment, and Mike was due to go with S'ana and Gene to visit the slave market when the Captain and the others had returned. He was somewhat looking forward to it, but that wouldn't be for a day or so, due to cleaning, packing up the medical equipment and shipping everything (including the mermaids and the house slaves) back. They were fortunate that one slave was rated as a Prime Healer, and had been the assistant to the former owner. All together, that meant that only about a thousand 'disposable' slaves could be accommodated on the trip back to Windfall. He looked up as he heard a truck enter, most of the land vehicles were battery powered antigravity, and were fairly silent, but this one was apparently older, and used tyres, which crunched on the gravel.

"Ah," S'ana said, putting her datapadd on the table. "Let us see what we have. These should be some of the slaves we had customized." Mike saved his data, tidied up his assorted papers, and went to join her.

* * *

The slaver nodded at Mike, glancing at and ignoring S'ana. "Gentlesir," he nodded politely. "I have a consignment of slaves to deliver, please sign for them."

"One moment, please," Mike replied with a small smile. "We're expecting several batches, including slaves we've had customized. Which are these?"

"Gentlesir …" the slaver said, flipping through his datapadd as S'ana inspected the slaves through the chain-link enclosure on the towed cart. "All these slaves are the ones you've ordered customized and bio-sculpted with Enhancement. Some are ones you've delivered to us, others are from a … manufactory."

"We did not order the manufacturing slaves bio-sculpted and Enhanced, master," S'ana said. He glanced at her and snapped "Silence, slave!"

"S'ana is the ship's First Officer, and much more highly ranked in the Slaver's Guild than I am," Mike replied calmly. "I also count her a friend, despite her collar. Why were the manufacturing slaves' bio-sculpted and Enhanced when we did not order them to be, and were we charged for these procedures?"

S'ana shot a quick smile at Mike. "How long have these slaves been in here, master?" S'ana asked. "It is a warm day, and some are showing signs of dehydration. When can we expect the other slaves you will be processing for us, master?"

"Err…" the slaver said, flipping through his datapadd again. "I do not know when the slaves were loaded; it is usually about the fifth hour. The delivery office arranges that. The client notes have instructions to biosculpt and Enhance all of your slaves to your specified profile, the work order does not contradict this, therefore you were certainly charged." He looked up, satisfied. "The charges stand, Gentlesir. Will you accept delivery now?"

"The manufacturing slaves were part of an estate sale, as were other slaves that you'll be handling," Mike replied. "Please update those client notes to state that only specific groups are to be bio-sculpted and Enhanced. Does that profile also include the physical implants, like eyes and hearing, and the mental information?"

"It does, Gentlesir," the slaver said, sitting at the table and working on his datapadd. He looked up after a minute, "There. Your client notes have been suitably modified, your name, Gentlesir?"

"I am Comm officer Mike Bulstrode. Our Captain and others are out of town at the moment inspecting the property we've bought, we expect their return in a day or so."

The slaver made additional notes, "The implants and biosculpt cannot be reversed without charge, as your instructions were not specific. However, the mental data can be partially or completely changed with suitable programming." He sat back, "As these are espionage slaves, you will wish for them to perform their intended function while maintaining the appearance of a common bred slave. Programming a particular code word will enable or disable access to those memory files, use of the programming module will allow the slave to self-terminate in the event of capture, or you can punish or terminate the slave anywhere on the planet through the tracking circuits in her collar." He smiled, "I understand these slaves will be used to monitor your government's political opposition. Program blocks have been placed to prevent the slave from betraying your actions, the allowed information is available to the slave through suitable use of the programming module; and the slave cannot become angry or feel the need for revenge on her new owners. Thus you can safely arrange her sale to your government's opponents, only arranging a way for her to transfer her information. A small transceiver is also included, thus she can be programmed to simply walk by a point where you have a remote unit. In a shop or stall in the public market, for instance. She won't even know when she's transferring information; she will simply pause for a moment or two as she is waiting for traffic; or to cross a road. Updated instructions can also be passed to a group or specific slaves by that same method."

"Interesting," S'ana commented. "Previous memory is not affected, master? This can be fitted into slaves that are already Enhanced?"

"Yes," he almost-snapped at her. "Memory is divided into certain sections, your master may allow you access to some or all through the programming module and the Enhancement circuits. Slave." He turned to Mike, "Your slave needs discipline."

"I will so advise the Captain," Mike replied. "Your notes state only those slaves specified will be bio-sculpted or Enhanced?"

"I know there were some that were being worked on, I don't know if your changes will affect them," he conceded. "Therefore one other group might be shipped to you, it depends on the timing. Will you accept the slaves now?"

"As soon as S'ana inspects them," Mike replied.

* * *

Connecting the programming module to one of the espionage slaves' collar, he looked through the interface; then asked the kneeling slave, "Can you hear me?"

'_This slave hears my master_.' Mike read on the screen.

"Who are you, your self-identification?"

'_This slave is slave 10181, my master_.'

"Do you know what 'Rome' is?"

'_This slave does not recognize the term 'Rome', my master_.'

"I see," and Mike made several changes in the programming interface. "Your identification, and identify 'Rome', please."

'_Steven Murchison, of CIA, and Rome is a large city on the Italian boot. What's going on_?"

"You'll be told later. Who is slave 10181?"

'_My cover identity, I volunteered for this to get my career back on track_.' The slave struggled a bit, '_Damn, I'm really tied up, help me out here_.' Mike made another change, "Do you want to be untied?"

'_Only if my master wishes_,' the text came back on the screen. '_I should not have asked, master. Please forgive this slave_.' Mike reversed his previous change, "Steven, how do you feel about your biosculpt and Enhancement? Angry?"

There was a longer pause, then '_Surprisingly not, it feels so … right. I am my master's slave girl, this is no different from other disguises I've had in the past; except this one feels … natural. I can feel the fur on my skin, the slave collar and leash on my neck, the slave belt with my hands cuffed behind me, and it feels … natural; normal to be bound and kneeling. I know it's not politically correct to say that, or think that, but I can't lie in my own mind_.' Another pause, then more text appeared, '_At the same time, I can become 10181, the bred slave, and Steven is behind her, whispering suggestions on what to do. It's almost a split personality_.' There was another long pause, then more text, '_So give. What's going on_?'

"You've just been delivered from the slave house, I chose you at random to see if they did their jobs right."

'_Different planet, right_?'

"Yes, Tosul, we're about a week from Earth." Mike paused; then said, "I'm new at this. Any suggestions?"

'_Well, we're to penetrate different parts of a society, and I've drawn the slave girl section. I would suggest making me just another collared slave, without the giveaways of Enhancement's forced speech. No 'this slave' and 'my master', leave the Enhancement card up the metaphorical sleeve. I assume there are others like me_?' There was a pause; '_10181 agrees with me, for what that's worth_.'

"Interesting, that's what I'll recommend to our Captain. For now, I've made some notes on the settings here, and I'm going to change you back to the default. Anything I can do for you before Steven goes to sleep?"

'_Nothing major, thanks for letting me talk a bit. G'night_.' Mike checked his notes; then undid his changes, resetting the slave to 'default'; then unclipping the programming module and the interface cable from his laptop. The slave's collar lights stopped blinking; he stood and said, "Acceptable. Let's get this done."

* * *

On the roof several of the slaves had assembled the various antennae, carefully following the printed directions. Two of them had climbed on other slaves' shoulders, tying ankles to elbows with the 'base' slaves cuffing themselves securely. When asked, Gene had been informed that their ladder was too wide, flaring at the base, and therefore too wide to fit through the roof hatch. These girls installed the metal brackets and poles on the corners of the elevator shaft. All Gene had done is say 'These need to be assembled and installed,' and the girls went to work, they were bright and creative, once they were reassured and encouraged. '_Now if their base education can be improved_…' Gene thought. '_There's several months before Hogwarts starts, I'll work on that. However, the ship bought them, and therefore Windfall owns them. I'll talk to the Captain, and maybe even email Governor Sullivan_

.'

"Master, we think the first one is ready for installation," one of the girls said. "We have gone over each step several times. Do you wish to inspect?"

"If you think it's ready, I believe you. We'll find out when we connect it," Gene replied. "Let's get that done now. How do we connect it?"

"Thank you, master!" she said, surprised and pleased. "The assembly is for connecting to satellites in a … syn … ch … ro … nous (she pronounced the word) orbit. I do not know that word, master."

"It means the satellite's altitude and speed are enough to keep it above one point on the surface, not faster or slower. It's a good place for communication satellites. Our messages then go from that satellite to others to get where they need to be. Let's get it in place and hooked up to link with that satellite; we've got two others to go. The next one is the link to the weather satellite."

"Yes, master!"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, January 11, 2003: 07:51 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts area roads:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"… I see," Remus said to Mattie, and paused to think as they ran. They were going slower than their usual pace, it was freezing and the roads were covered in patches of treacherous black ice. They were trying a different route from their usual one; these roads were up some fairly steep grades with sharp drop-offs and incredible views. "Have you considered…" There was the squeal of tires, and a van swung around the bend, hitting a large patch of ice as the driver saw them and swerved to avoid them. The van spun sickeningly, the driver white-faced with terror as he tried to maintain control, his wife with her hands over her face as the van slid across the road and with a bang, through the guardrail. It paused for a moment as the wife screamed in terror, the kids in the back waking up; then ground forward and over the edge of the cliff.

'_Wingardium Leviosa_' Remus cast, his wand tip quivering with the strain as he struggled to hold the van in midair. "I'm not strong enough …" he gasped. "Help me out!" Mattie took a couple of steps and grabbed his elbow, "Tap into me," she whispered. Seeking her magical core, as he'd done before with others, he found … his hand torch and Albus' campfire strength next to Miss Wayne … she was a blast furnace, and he felt yet more power available in reserve. He remembered Minerva saying the Guardian at her third year Leaving Feast claiming she tapped the energy of a planet, and he now believed her. As his wand steadied, the van slowly climbing up the wall of the cliff toward the road, he also realized that unlike Albus, he could see her thoughts, feel her worries and self-doubt hidden behind her usual cheerful façade.

'_I can hear you, too_,' she communicated to him. '_You're the one saving their lives, I'm just an innocent bystander, and that's what I'm telling Tonks. No more of this 'aw, shucks' self-depreciation, Remus John Lupin. You're a good man, why won't you believe what people tell you? Now float the van over to that gravel area, and we'll see why they were on a supposedly cleared road_.'

'_Yes, your Highness_,' he thought to her as the van floated down to the gravel, and he got the image of a blown raspberry before she let his arm go. With a crunch of gravel, the van settled down, a police helicopter hovering nearby and watching. The van that followed their runs came up the road, parking on the shoulder, as an ambulance pulled in front, the driver throwing the vehicle in park as the paramedics piled out.

As Remus and Mattie arrived, the wife was just finishing a screaming fit, while the driver was bent over the wheel of the rental van, clutching it for dear life and shaking like a leaf, saying "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God…" They stood back and let the professionals do their jobs as additional police arrived. The wife broke away from the paramedics, staggered over to Remus and clutched him in a hug, sobbing, "Thank you, oh thank you…" He awkwardly patted his back as she sobbed on his shoulder, while the husband had parked himself on the ground, ignoring the patches of snow that soaked his trousers as he shook. Mattie faded into the background, quietly giving a statement to a police officer as the rest of Hogwarts' running team caught up with them. They watched as the husband stood, still with the shakes, bracing himself against the rock face; taking a few deep breaths, then making his way to Remus, offering his hand and a quiet "Thank you."

Remus was becoming distinctly nervous, looking for Mattie to point people to, and she cast a disambiguation spell on herself to hide. '_Why didn't I think of this before_?' she wondered as she leaned against the rock wall, watching one of her favorite people be treated like the hero he was. '_You don't need spandex to save someone's life_,' she thought.

"You don't have to hide, Mattie," Bill Morton said quietly. "We saw what happened; Professor Lupin's a good man, I'm glad to see he's getting some recognition."

"I just wish he could build up his self-confidence," she replied, dropping the first spell and casting a glamour spell on herself. "I don't want to take away from him, and if I'm recognized …" She sighed, "I guess the run's over for the day."

"Yeah," Bill replied. "There's too much ice. I should have brought Hank's football cleats."

"I don't think they'd fit you," she said, when the police started herding the family toward their van. One of the sons stopped, "Our van's busted; we'll need to hitch a ride into town with you. Where are we, by the way?"

"Outside Inverness," Bill replied, and the son commented, "You sound like an American. We're from Binghamton, in New York."

"Columbus, Ohio."

The son took a deep breath, "Hell of a way to wake up from a nap, with your mom screaming and the van floating in midair. What is going on, and who are you all?"

"Blimey, this is the Hogwarts running club, we're doing our every-other-day forty-five kilometer run," Sprink said. "We're training for the April marathon in the States."

"She means the Marine Corps Marathon in DC," Bill clarified, and held out his hand. "Bill Morton."

"Dan Roberts," the son replied, shaking Bill's hand. He blinked a few times; then shook his head. "I thought I'd heard that name before, somewhere. Anyway, y'wanna come with me, we'll get Mom and Dad a tranquilizer and find a hotel."

* * *

"Oh, geez …" Dan said later to his brothers and sisters, pointing to his laptop. "The one girl said they were the Hogwarts running club, and the guy's name was Bill Morton." His sister Karen yawned, "Yeah, so what?"

"So … fan girl, what about the Queen of the Terran Empire is within a few miles of this sleepy little Scottish village?" Karen yawned again, and he shut down his laptop in disgust.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, January 11, 2003: 08:19 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Stockwell Orphanage:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Thank you, dear," Sheila Hawking told the child, who nodded once, turned, and ran away. She took a better grip on her briefcase; then knocked on the door. "Mrs. Cole?"

"Ms. Hawking! Please, come in, come in! Won't you have a cuppa?"

"So Ms. Wayne wishes to be a benefactor of the Orphanage," Mrs. Cole said over her teacup. She eyed the American solicitor; then nodded. "For a bit of free publicity, no doubt. You'll pardon my cynicism."

"On the contrary, she wishes NO publicity, nor is this a tactic to improve her chances of getting those three sisters, or to aid Ginny Potter's effort to claim her sister. You can inform your second, but no one else. Any publicity, press releases, or whatever that mentions her will invalidate this agreement." Sheila tented her fingers, "Are we agreed?"

"Then we should invite in my second, if we're going to be drafting an agreement." Sheila nodded, and Mrs. Cole picked up her phone, dialing a number. "Margaret, could you pop in for a moment or two?" She replaced the handset, sitting back and sipping her tea. After a minute, a middle-aged lady rapped once on the glass and entered, smoothing her skirt and taking a seat. "Margaret Boyle, this is Ms. Sheila Hawking, Miss Wayne's personal solicitor. Miss Wayne wishes to be a benefactress of the Orphanage, but does not wish any publicity."

"None? Pardon my saying so, but that's unusual in a politician," Ms. Boyle commented.

"Perhaps in a politician, but Mattie doesn't think of herself AS a politician. If you call her that, it's rather insulting to her. She thinks of herself as a businesswoman first," Sheila replied. "Secondly, her family has a long tradition of public assistance without the public hearing about it. Her grandparents funded some of the first free clinics in Gotham City; her parents provide financial support and educational funding for the children of slain police officers. Indeed, if her name, or reference to her, appears in any publicity or press releases coming from this orphanage, it will invalidate the agreement." Ms. Hawking took a sip of tea, "Is this understood?"

Both women nodded, and Ms. Hawking made a small check on her legal pad. "I notice the land to your north, south, and west is available. Would you be interested in it?"

"With what funds?" Ms. Boyle asked with a harsh laugh. "We're struggling to service the note we've got!"

"Ah. As to that, it's handled. We're on friendly terms with a few bankers; you'll be getting a letter in the mail regarding that." She took a sip of tea, "Antrum Development has bought your note, and the property around you as a tax write-down. You'll find your new lease arrangement much easier to handle, so I repeat my question. Would you be interested in that property?"

"I would think so, if the lease is something we can handle," Mrs. Cole replied.

"Can you handle £100 per parcel, per annum?"

Mrs. Cole blinked, and Ms. Boyle's jaw dropped. "Four hundred quid per year? Do you have any idea what London real estate is worth?"

"Indeed I do, I have a townhouse in SoHo," Ms. Hawking replied. "Shall I assume your interest?" Both women nodded, and she made another check. "Property taxes will of course be handled by Antrum, as long as the property is used for charitable purposes, and you do not turn away any child."

"Of course not!" Mrs. Cole replied with a bit of heat. Ms. Hawking nodded once, moving on. "The building itself, the last structural inspection I could find was in 1944. When was your last inspection?"

"1944, we took a bomb in the Blitz," Mrs. Cole said after a minute. "Thank God it didn't go off."

Ms. Hawking smiled to herself. "Then that shall need to be handled, along with the reconstruction and installation of a modern air conditioning and heating plant." She reached down to retrieve a tube of architectural drawings; Ms. Boyle jumped up to clear a side table for them. Both she and Mrs. Cole assisted in unrolling the large, bound blueprints. The drawings showed a triangular building, stretching through three city blocks north to south, with pedestrian bridges connecting to the western parcel. Ms. Hawking tapped the drawings with her pen, "As you can see, we could not eliminate the streets, so walled parcels and bridges became the solution. The western parcel contains the kitchens and dining rooms, playground, including a soccer pitch, infirmary, and classrooms. While this building (she tapped the drawing) is being rebuilt, your temporary administration offices will be here. The northern parcel is the boys' dorms, the south the girls'. When this building is rebuilt, it will have the administration offices, main entrance and classrooms on the upper floors."

"Vegetable garden?" Ms. Boyle asked.

"Where you please, of course," Ms. Hawking replied. "Moving on, Antrum has also been in talks with the Church of England, one of their smaller orphanages is rather dilapidated. They will be moving their staff and children here, and will sell Antrum that property for redevelopment into office space. I understand the Empire is interested in that, for their IR&S agency." She tapped the blueprints, "You can look these over and let me know of any changes you wish."

"So we're to have Church religious instruction?" Mrs. Cole asked.

"They will be available, as the Catholic Church runs quite a few orphanages in the States," Ms. Hawking replied. "However, they are not mandatory, nor are conversions to the Church of England. I'm sure we all want these children to grow up with a strong moral code, but if they come in with another belief system, we're not going to try to change it. Is that understood?" The other two nodded, and she continued, "We are also looking into some of the younger slave girls coming in. They are generally somewhat literate, but will require additional support in acclimatizing to life here."

"How young; and meaning?"

"Young as in eight to twelve Terran years old, and meaning they were raised as slaves, and think of themselves that way. They can generally read and write, and do simple math, but are accustomed to going about in sandals and a smock, at most. They will speak Trade, and follow the Source to a greater or lesser extent." She leaned against the table, "Several of the Church's instructors have picked up Trade, and it's not a particularly difficult language, slightly pidgin at times, although there is a different alphabet and numerical system. Think of a girl coming in whom only speaks Arabic; she'll have to learn English and British customs, but it's not an impossible job. If you have staffers that are good with languages, we'll arrange for them to take a few college courses."

"You mentioned the Source …"

"A religion, good deeds move you up the Spiral when you reincarnate, to a higher form, bad deeds move you down. It is rather sexist, I think, but it is widespread through at least the local cluster of thirty-one galaxies. You'll see girls making the Circle of the Source, left hand and counterclockwise." (She demonstrated.) "There are different degrees of belief, as some people here are more religious than others. However, it is something you need to know about, and practice toleration. As I said I find it sexist, as the lower forms are female and bred slave, the higher forms are male and freeborn." She moved back to her seat, taking up her legal pad again, as the other two also resumed their seats. "Uniforms; I've noticed the children don't have them. At Stockwell School, we'll arrange …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, January 12, 2003: 07:45 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Buckingham Palace:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The fire flared in the subterranean room, and the guards turned. One of them, a ghost named Brumly, moved forward as a small figure stepped out, setting down a case and dusting off her suit. A guard recognized her, "Hallo, Ms. Wayne, and welcome to Buckingham." He raised a brush, "Allow me, ma'am."

* * *

"Miss Wayne! Come in, we're just having a last cuppa before we go to work," Elizabeth called. Mattie moved over to her, the Queen nodded once in approval. "You look very nice, dear. I don't think you should wear the Army uniform until you've been through Basic training, it's not right."

Mattie made a face, "I like the uniform; it's comfortable and looks good."

"True, but public perception does play a significant role in what we do. We can ignore it, for good and sufficient reason, but that will cost political capital." A servant poured coffee as Mattie sat; she nodded her thanks. "I am aware that you do not have a high regard for politicians, you regard yourself as a businesswoman." The Queen took a sip of her own tea, "Nevertheless, for better or for worse, you are a politician now. Politics is perceptions and understandings, a balance sheet, if you will. The basic principle is that if you control the terms of the debate, you have the advantage. If your opponent needs to defend his position instead of you, you've won. You must control the information, including that public perception, in order to limit your opponent's options in order to get what you want."

"So… having good intelligence on your opponent will help to persuade him."

"True, but you also want him to be willing to work with you in the future. Yes, you can humiliate him, grind him into the dirt, but a better, long term strategy would be to persuade people to support your project; they will have a price for doing so. You must have, or be able to generate, sufficient capital to meet their price. It may be as simple as a public appearance, in which you give a speech in support of their pet project. They in turn will back your project, a simple quid-pro-quo."

"Even if I personally don't agree, ma'am?"

"Yes. If you have a strong opposition, you may refuse, but you will need to find alternate means to achieve your own project. This is no different from your opponent, he or she has a goal, he may not like working with you, but in order to achieve that goal, he must do so." She sipped her tea again. "Public perception, although as Empress, I understand you've designed things somewhat differently. Your design allows you to be the focal point, the strong monarch. This will allow your opponent to blame you while he cooperates, which has a downside in a negative perception for you. There, you must build, and keep building a positive public perception while your opponents chip away at it." She sipped her tea again, "Remember the example of the French Revolution, and the public perception of the King and Queen. The public cheered when the King and Queen were guillotined. Your best tactic would be to appear on the side of the common citizen, to share in their hardship. During the Blitz, my father was glad to be bombed for that reason; his quote was 'Now I can look the East End in the face.' You must be their greatest advocate, pressing for full employment and a full belly."

"Hmm," Mattie mused, sipping from her coffee cup. "I think I mishandled the Traditionalists on Windfall…"

"You did, although they have a revolting political and social philosophy. I do not see how you can find compromise with them, although a male might be able to. I understand you wish a Loyal Opposition, I would look into the discreet founding or encouragement of a third or fourth political party, possibly similarly conservative, but with acknowledged civil rights." She took a sip of tea, "One that comes to mind would be a feminist party of some sort. The majority of the population there is female; let the hard-core male conservatives have their Traditionalist party, the more open-minded men perhaps in a business, commercial or family oriented party."

"The old 'man is a breadwinner, wife stays at home' type party? It would be nice if I could simply order the Assembly…"

"That way leads to autocracy and a short lifetime for the Empire," the Queen replied. "While I am personally not in favor of this, one suggestion from my political office was to go easy on the absolutist ban on slave ownership, to give a transitional period; turn a blind eye. This will allow the family or small business to have a few slaves, but to ensure their health and good treatment. For instance, have a traveling medic come by every so often, check the slave's health and well-being, serve as an advocate as well as recording their ownership. Tax rates can be adjusted on slaves as well as on the purchase and installation of machinery, depreciation on both."

"Hmm," Mattie said. "There are reports of collared girls preferring to stay in their collars, to remain slaves…" She took a sip of coffee, "I even know of one or two like that, they want to stay slave." She took another sip, thinking. "Perhaps as a term-limited period of, I don't know, five years. At the end of those five years, they can walk, or they can cross their wrists again, or they can petition for their sale, but it would be their choice." She grimaced, "It's not something I would do, but …"

"Indeed. It takes all kinds."

"Hmm … Referring to taxation, if I need to increase the basic withholding to, oh, six percent …"

"The taxation committee in your Assembly will have a price, both for themselves and for their planets. This may be a military base, a supply contract …" she waved her hand. "That is the job of your Whip, to make the deals, to be your advocate in the Assembly." She took a sip, "You must always be aware of the balance of your account regarding that public perception. The population will have a short attention span, but they can be used to bring pressure on their Assembly-person. You will thus find yourself doing quite a bit of traveling, at least at first." She leaned back in her chair, sipping her tea. "For myself, I find that several of the younger Royals enjoy that kind of thing, I am reserved as the 'big gun'. However, you must reinforce with them that no matter what they personally think of the message they are promoting, they must follow your line. If they deviate, or make private deals, it risks defeat of at least that program."

"It's a house of cards," Mattie replied.

"To some extent," Her Majesty agreed. "Which is more important for the Empire, the successful completion of the project; or the satisfaction of one of your children's egos? You will in time know which of your children are suitable for which tasks; as I said, some enjoy the travel and speech-making, others will be horrible at it. Encourage them to pursue other careers, including military service. You will not enjoy success with every project; there will always be bumps in the road." She waved her teacup, "For instance, buying and bringing the shipbuilder from Tosul. A fortunate discovery, obtained at a good price. However, the lack of maintenance on the equipment is a difficulty that needs resolution. That is one such bump. Resolving it will take additional time and resources, but it can be done. Not all projects will go smoothly, my experience is that no matter how well planned and researched, there will be a greater or lesser amount of bumps. Some will be show-stoppers, at which point you cancel the project and tot up the cost." She took another sip of tea, "How are you with my homework project?"

"Difficult, I don't know if I should start with the long-term or short-term."

"Work from the middle. I worked up something myself, shall we trade?" The Queen extended a file folder; Mattie dug hers out of her case and traded. They both sat back, sipping from their mugs as they read. "A good start," the Queen judged. "Your economic policies …"

"I'll need to sit down with Mr. Griplink from Gringotts to see what he suggests," she replied. "Ideally I'd like to have the funding be transparent to the end user, the ordinary citizen. That will probably mean some sort of tariffs or fees to fund growth; a hidden tax."

"A good start," the Queen judged, putting down her cup. "First a stop to freshen up, and then we're off to the office. Buckingham is large enough that I have a mental separation between 'home' and 'work'. You must find such separation; this allows focus, even if it is only a floor away. However, placing it in a garden setting, as the Oval Office is, would be too distracting for me, yet a good view is also vital to allow the mind to shift to neutral while you consider a problem. I find a good fire is relaxing in the winter, as ruling monarchs, we are never truly 'off duty'."

"Like a ship's Captain."

"Precisely," the Queen replied as she disappeared behind a door. A steward materialized, discreetly offering Mattie another.

* * *

During lunch, the Queen asked, "How are you doing the Time-Turner? I assume you have received it."

"Actually, ma'am, we haven't yet. The Headmistress was going to travel to London to meet with the Minister, although we have worked out a plan. Monday, my Hogwarts self, we're referring to her as Mattie Alpha, will be in classes. She'll put on the school uniform and leave our dorm after we twin, while my other self, Mattie Beta, will change into a business suit and floo here from Professor Snape's office, as I did today. Alpha will stay out of the dorm, doing her homework and such in the library or in the Great Hall until we meet back in Professor Snape's office at seven pm and fuse again. We'll take a sleeping potion so our memories will merge, and do it again the rest of the week. That's why we're both wearing a white turtleneck leotard and leggings, as apparently the fusion does a job on any non-common clothing." She grinned, "I don't want to spend more money on clothing than I have to, Beatrice finds that unusual. She said I don't have the female shopping gene."

The Queen chuckled. "How did you enjoy your Christmas shopping in your new environment?"

"It wasn't nearly as much fun, there's something about the crowds and the atmosphere, and I do miss Arthur…" She sighed, "He's safe for now, even if he's in pain, and work toward a cure is progressing, although not fast enough for my taste."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, January 12, 2003: 18:48 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Severus Snape's office:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The fire flared green, and a small figure stepped out, setting down her case. Severus extended the brush to her, asking, "How did your visit with the Queen go?"

"Quite well, I believe," she replied. "I learned a lot," and she turned at his gesture, allowing him to clean her back. "Thank you," she added as she accepted the brush, hanging it on its nail.

He grunted, offering her a small vial of a swirling black potion. "This is the sleeping potion agreed upon. Cindy the elf will clean this business suit and assist you in donning one tomorrow, as well as casting a ward on your bed. Tonight, eat all of the meal she brings you; then visit the loo; drinking this potion." He handed over a reddish vial. "It will completely evacuate your bladder and bowels as well as reducing your body fat, necessary preparation for the sleeping potion and the longer duration of the time-turner tomorrow. Shower, then Cindy will have another potion for you." He sat back, tenting his long fingers. "The elves and goblins have each contributed customized body armour for you, Ms. Koslowski, and Ms. Bundy. This has been approved by your parents and guardians; I have already briefed Ms. Koslowski and Ms. Bundy. As this armour is not easily removable, other arrangements have been made for your bathing and dressing."

"Sir? This is the first I've heard of this."

Severus grunted again. "The type of assault on Mr. Morton was used in the design. I am informed this armour is proof against large caliber firearms and other projectiles as well as spells or the injection style attack. The reason for two of them comes from the different styles of the elves and goblins. The elven armour will cover your entire body and serve as a base layer for the goblin armor, which is primarily your torso. You'll wear both for the added protection and for political reasons; I am informed that it is extremely comfortable and lightweight. Your other wardrobe is being adjusted to take the armour into account."

Mattie took a seat. "Connie and Anne have been briefed?"

"They have, and as I said, your wardrobe has been adjusted to fit your public persona as Empress. Cindy the elf will be available to help you dress as well as for any wardrobe changes necessary during the day." He sat back, "Your public relations firm has been consulted regarding this, their target demographics and so forth. I personally do not agree with this, but I recognize their expertise, and my personal taste in clothing does not apply here, especially to a young woman."

"I have a bad feeling about that," she replied.

Severus shrugged. "I am not the person to consult regarding fashion. If you are not happy with their choices, they are the ones to consult. I would at least give them a try for a few weeks." He sat up, indicating the potions. "While you are out of the castle, do not drink anything but ice water; do not eat anything. You will continue this procedure while you are going through this. Poppy or Narcissa will be here to examine you each night."

"Yes, sir, and thank you."

Severus grunted. "I am not in favor of using a time-turner, but I agree, it is the best compromise available. We still need to work out the methodology of your visits to other capitals, international floo every day would be difficult, but may be the only solution." He raised his wand, "Now, as your new armour is spell-resistant, will you allow me to remove the curse on the brand you wear on your thigh?"

She sighed, "It won't remove the brand itself? I do want to keep that as a reminder."

"No, it will not." She nodded, turned and lifted her skirt to allow him access to her left thigh. In a moment, it was done, and he motioned, "Off with you, now," and he tapped his wand on the door to the Slytherin common room.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, January 13, 2003: 07:48 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Buckingham Palace:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The fire flared in the subterranean room, and the guards shifted. Two of them, a ghost named Brumly and another ghost; that of a young woman, moved forward as two young women stepped out of the fire. Brumly recognized one of them as she set down her case, bowing and tugging his translucent forelock, "G'morning, milady, and welcome back to Buckingham. May I ask who your companion is?"

"This is my chief of staff, Ms. Koslowski, Mr. Brumly. She'll be coming in with me this week."

Another (live) guard tapped on his computer terminal, then nodded to himself. "She's authorized," he called to Brumly. "Welcome back, Milady Wayne, and welcome to Buckingham, Milady Koslowski. Lady Delacroix will be assisting you today." The ghostly lady-in-waiting curtseyed deeply to the two young women as she eyed their short-skirted outfits. "Milady Koslowski," she murmured.

"Lady Delacroix," Connie acknowledged with a small nod as she eyed the full skirts and tightly-corseted antique dress of the ghost. The ghost accepted the brush from Mr. Brumly, raising it and asking in a murmur, "May I assist you, Milady Koslowski?"

* * *

"This is the East Gallery," Lady Delacroix said as she floated next to Connie. She turned as the tourists behind the velvet ropes called and whistled at the attractive young women. "Let's go do some PR," Mattie said as she turned and smiled, waving as the security people formed a ring around them. "Got a Sharpie™?" she asked.

"Yeah, but why would they want my autograph? I'm no celebrity." Connie replied.

"Once you're photographed with the Empress, you will be," Crystal replied. "No closer than a meter, please."

"Yes, ma'am," Mattie replied. She stopped short of the rope line, smiled and said, "Good morning, everyone. I'd like to introduce Lady Delacroix of the palace staff (the ghost curtseyed), and my own Chief of Staff, Ms. Koslowski." She accepted an offered guidebook and uncapped the Sharpie™ with her teeth, putting the cap back on with two fingers of her left hand. Some one asked, "Why is Lady Delacroix so pale…"

"I am a ghost," she replied, floating forward to the questioner and offering her hand as Mattie continued to sign autographs. Someone else asked, "Ms. Wayne, what happened to your hand?" Someone thrust a guidebook at Connie and startled, she signed it.

"Got in a sword fight on one of the Imperial planets," she replied casually as she held up her gloved left hand that was missing the small finger. She used the black gloved hand to return the autographed guidebook and accept another as she continued, "There was an attempted coup against one of my System Governors." She used her right hand to return the guidebook, accepting another as she held the pen. She shrugged, "I have to support my people, and for various reasons, I lost a finger, he bled out."

"I still say we should have hung the body on High Street as a warning," Connie added as she accepted another guidebook to sign. "It isn't a nice galaxy out there, people, and we need to provide a warning or two."

"He was going to be a martyr anyway," Mattie replied. "We'll increase the garrison, and we've got intelligence work going on."

One of the young women in the audience said, "I love your new outfits, and your hairstyle, Milady Wayne."

Connie snorted, gesturing to her own short mini-skirted outfit and knee boots. "I like being taller, but five inch heels?"

"You need to get used to them," Mattie replied, then brushed back her hair with her left hand, "I don't think you want to meet my hairstylist just yet. This is an Atlantean style that Lady Death showed me, it's from their ruling class, and Connie's is for a government minister."

"Atlantean, as in Atlantis?"

"Yes, when the island sank about fourteen thousand years ago. She showed me several styles when she and her … colleagues came to visit in December." She accepted another guidebook, "They were interesting house-guests, although I would have liked a different method of … inviting them, shall we say." She returned the book as Connie took another, who added, "The poker games were interesting…"

"Oh, yes," Mattie agreed, as Crystal said, "Ma'am, we need to get going."

"Okay," Mattie agreed, finishing one guidebook and stepping back to groans of disappointment. She waved to the tourists, turning and walking off.

* * *

Queen Elizabeth stood, offering her hand, "Welcome back, Ms. Wayne, and you must be Ms. Koslowski. I must express my sympathies on the death of your mother."

"Thank you, ma'am," Connie said with a small bow from the waist as she took the Queen's hand. "It still hasn't quite sunk in, but…" she drew a shallow breath.

"It is, unfortunately something we shall all have to face at one time or another," the Queen acknowledged. "Please sit, there is coffee, tea and ice water on the sideboard, and we shall get started. I'll go over my own relationship with my staff here; I understand your position as Chief of Staff is more along the American line than as a Prime Minister."

"Yes, ma'am," Connie replied. "As I understand it, it's solving problems, keeping track of the Empress' schedule and who sees her, running her staff, that kind of thing. We haven't seated the Imperial Assembly yet; my understanding is that when we do I'll also be representing her political interests, along with an Imperial Whip in the Assembly."

"A blend of the presidential and parliamentary systems, with only one chamber in the Assembly," the Queen mused. "I see why you have combined the positions of Head of State and Head of Government into the Imperial Person." She sat back, sipping her tea, "With a unicameral house and multiple political parties, it will be necessary to form coalition governments. The reigning Imperial Person thus gives continuity, as one minor party can break a coalition, forcing a vote of No Confidence and the formation of a new government by the Prime Minister."

Connie had gone to the sideboard, fetching a refill of the Queen's tea and two glasses of ice water. "Ma'am, I've been thinking about this. Each planet in the Empire will nominate Assembly members, who will be members of their own, home-grown political parties. I think it will be a while before those larger parties emerge; the first few sessions I think will be organizational, setting up permanent committees and so forth, the individual Assembly-persons will be finding ideological agreements which will form the 'Imperial parties' (she finger-quoted)." She smoothed her skirt as she sat, "Ma'am, I think it will be more likely that any coalitions will be based on deals and arrangements with the individual members in order to move legislation."

"At least at first," Mattie added. "We've drafted an Imperial Constitution, which can be amended, although it will be difficult to do so." She took a sip of her ice water as the Queen nodded. "For instance, the Crown, meaning myself, may propose a budget to the Assembly, as well as their own. Under that Constitution, the Assembly must consider and pass a budget every year, and send that budget to me. I have three options with each bill, I can give assent, I can return it for revision, or I can veto it. The Assembly must pass, and I must give assent to at least that budget bill before they can vote to dismiss themselves." She took a cloth napkin from the stack on the table, folding it neatly into a square and resting her condensation-beaded glass on it. Shifting in her seat, she continued, "I've seen where Congress will adjourn to go home and campaign without doing their job of passing legislation. This setup prevents one or two politicians from stopping the entire business until they get what they want."

"The difference, ma'am, is that in the Assembly even with a no-confidence vote, it doesn't bring down the government while elections are called," Connie put in. "By law, every Assembly-person has to stand for re-election in their home district, and they have to sit out at least one session every five years. That keeps the seniority system constantly updating as they win or lose elections."

"Assuming of course those elections are fair and honest," Mattie put in. She raised her left hand, "That's what happened on Windfall, the Traditionalists tried to game the system and the vote on the planet's Basic Law. They're going to redo those sections of the election where fraud occurred, since fraud and corruption in government office is a death-penalty offense."

"That one guy simply spared the government the cost of a trial and execution," Connie said. "The Governor mentioned the evidence she had, once they had formally taken office, and the Traditionalists went along with it. They weren't happy …"

"Life is full of disappointments," the Queen commented. "I had two concerns, the first with a successor; the second with judicial review of legislation."

"As far as a successor, I'm not ready yet to be a Mom," Mattie replied. "Crystal will be putting her fetus in a stasis tank, she's not ready either, and I said that her kid will be eligible as an Heir, along with the ones from Arthur and me. I want genetic diversity, so Charlie and Sprink's kids will also be included in the pool. I can't adopt those three sisters yet, not until I'm eighteen. By that time, some of the initial problems should have been worked out and a solid foundation for the Empire will be established."

"And the judicial review?"

"I think either a separate committee in the Assembly; like Parliament has, or a separate division of government, like the US does. It doesn't say in the Constitution, although …"

* * *

The fire flared green in Severus' office, and the two young women stepped out. Severus turned from his computer, asking, "How did your session go?"

"Very well, sir," Connie replied as she accepted the brush from Mattie. "I really need to pee, and these boots are nice, but we need a more powerful cushioning charm. My feet hurt."

"Mine are too, and I think the skirts should be longer. I hate to think of what Anne was going through today, wearing a miniskirt, instead of the floor-sweeping length she likes." Mattie added. She raised her arms and spun in place, "I like the style, sir, but it's more for going out to a club, or for a secretarial position, instead of a high government office."

"I would agree with you," Severus said. "However, this style is what tested best by your PR agency."

"I wonder what demographic they used," Connie said. "Is it safe for us to meet our twins, sir?"

"Both of them are in the library, studying. Miss Bundy is with your personal elves in the dorm; she has already merged and is sleeping. Go take care of your personal business, informing the elves of any changes; then send your twins a note." He tapped the door with his wand; then twitched his fingers. "Unless there is anything else to discuss today, go ahead. I shall look in on you later."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, January 14, 2003: 11:09 (GMT +2)  
Terra, Corfu, Imperial Army training:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Morton, you're next." Elena nodded and stepped across the line to face the training bot, which faced away from her. In order to pass this part of her training, she had to score with her (sheathed) short sword on one of the red 'fatal' panels or four of the yellow 'injury' panels. The bots had up to four arms and were ambidextrous, with a variety of weapons. This was part of the close-quarters combat training; she wore a light overall, which would show weapon strikes with the same yellow and red. This particular session was for the short sword, others had been for various firearms. There were various degrees of difficulty, as different alien species were tougher in hand-to-hand or had various natural forms of armor.

The bot spun, holding a long bazooka-like weapon known as a 'capture gun' and a neural whip, both of which were used by pirates and slavers. With her sword in her right hand, Elena chopped at the whip arm, scoring on the yellow injury panel, which flashed, deactivating that arm. She spun, giving a kick on the lower torso, which forced the bot back on its wheels as it brought up the capture gun, bracing it with a lower arm. Elena chopped with her sword at the upper arm, getting another disabling yellow as the bot's lower left arm took the neural whip, slashing at her with it. She turned; blocking the whip's painful electric charge with her sword, then pivoted and took out the lower left arm, scoring another disabling yellow, turning again, chopping the lower right arm as it came up with a reserve weapon, a needler. An upward chop and another yellow, the sword then rested against the bot's upper torso, she used a key word, "Surrender!" of the bot, who backed off, then charged her. Flicking her sword against the bot's neck, she hit a red panel, which flashed, disabling the bot.

"Not bad, Morton," the training sergeant said. "Why didn't you kill it when you could?"

Resting her sword point down, Elena replied, "I thought a capture and interrogation might be good."

"Good point," he conceded, and jerked his head. "You pass. Nicheyev, you're up," and he reset the bot, which revived, turning its back once again.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, January 15, 2003: 06:52 (GMT)  
Tosul, Capital city slave market:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Her two masters saw her as they stepped off the city transit bus and joined her as S'ana knelt under a tree, her wrists cuffed behind her. "This slave greets my masters," she said quietly. "Please remember that this slave is slave, and you must ignore this slave. If my masters see a slave they think would be useful, they may ask this slave, and if my masters wish, this slave will negotiate the purchase. This slave may also model any clothing or restraints my masters wish."

Mike gestured her up, and she gracefully rose as he looked around. "I know you said you were going to be the Enhanced Slave for us, but I didn't expect …"

"This slave is using the default speech patterns, my master," S'ana replied. "This is a large market; my master may wish to clip the end of this slave's leash to my master's belt; otherwise this slave may become separated from my masters." She moved to look at a large oval sign with a red 'You are here' dot. "May this slave suggest moving to the right, where ship's slaves might be reviewed; then moving through the central supply market and partaking of half-meal, and then if my masters wish, looping through the domestic, manufacturing and scientific sections before returning here for the transit stop."

The two men studied the map; then Gene nodded, "Sounds like a plan. Let's do it."

* * *

"Hmm," Mike mused as he saw the dozens of different slaves bound in display devices. "WorkForce. I've heard of them," he continued.

"One of several large slave houses, my master; that specialize in bred slaves," S'ana commented as she knelt behind him, her leash looping up to his belt. "They occupy the planet of Eta Orionis, my master." She stood, following him as he walked closer. Most of the slaves on display were collared and belted, secured kneeling on a rotating platform under a translucent awning to protect their skin, their wrists held to the side by a bar that was connected to a pole-mounted neck ring. Each platform was then mounted on a larger platform with several others, so the slaves' heads were about shoulder height as they knelt. Gene stopped before one young slave, asking her, "Why aren't you collared like the others?"

"Master, I am a certified virgin sacrifice slave," she replied, lowering her head as much as she could. "This model slave is available in different ages and skin colorations depending on my master's needs. Buy me, master," she concluded, as Gene took a step back to study the sign mounted on her disk. He grunted and moved on.

Mike was standing in front of a gorgeous red-headed slave, who was saying, "My master, this slave is a model 128 chase slave. This slave is designed to be released and hunted for my master's sport, and is designed for high intelligence, creativity, and cunning. This slave is enhanced with strength, stamina, a rapid healing ability, a biological and digestive system able to tolerate a wide range of animal and vegetable proteins, as well as a high tolerance for pain to enhance my master's pleasure when this slave is recaptured and punished. Visually designed for attractiveness and high recognizability, this slave is designed to enhance any ship or households' decor. Buy this slave, my master!"

"What about as ship's crew?" Mike asked. "Can you do that?"

"My master, this slave is Enhanced and may be programmed for any position in my master's crew, and will warm my master's bed at night. Please, my master, buy this slave! Please!" She glanced at one of the slaver's agents, and shifted in her shackles. "Please, my master, please buy this slave! This slave's price is marked down …" she looked again at the slaver; then whispered, "My master, if this slave is not purchased today, this slave will go to the overstock pens; this slave does not wish to die. Please, my master, please buy this slave," she whimpered. She shifted again, the leash Enhanced slaves were required to wear ran down her front and between her breasts, locked to a ring on her small circular platform. Mike turned her about, examining her back and her ankles that were locked in shackles welded to the display post. The neck ring and wrist bar was padlocked to the display post; he reached and adjusted her hair, freeing it from the neck ring. He turned her platform around again, then used his portable comp to check her left thigh and her data implant, studying her penalty brands. He grunted; then stepped away, motioning to S'ana. "I want her," he said quietly. "I don't want to look like an easy master, though, or an inexperienced owner," and he passed his comp to her. "Think you can get me a good price?"

She reviewed the data, "Oh, yes, my master," she smiled. "May I examine the slave?" He waved her over, and S'ana strolled to the nervously watching chase slave, calling to the slaver, "My master, please unlock this slave. My master wishes this slave to examine this slave."

* * *

35031 breathed a small sigh of relief as she followed her new master. Her master's consultation of the other slave was a positive sign of a bearable collar, as was his desire to clothe and buy footwear for her. She knelt as he examined slave accessories, he had surprisingly good taste and knew how to coordinate clothing and jewelry, she thought, as he decorated the other slave. For now, she simply enjoyed the soft sandals he had bought for her. "Your turn," her new master said, and gestured for her to take a seat, discussing her with the merchant. The other slave, S'ana returned with several different styles of slave tunic, which she held up to the new slave, waiting for her master to finish his conversation. He nodded, the merchant moved over to her, "Tilt your head back, girl," and of course she did.

* * *

"What's this area?" Gene asked as he saw the various slaves bound in what to him were torture devices.

"Public discipline area, master," the serving slave answered as she high-knelt, placing their drinks on the table. S'ana and the new slave were with other slaves, being fed and watered. He turned to look, asking, "Why are they gagged?"

"So their screams will not disturb masters' meals, master," the serving slave replied. She swallowed nervously, "How may this slave further serve masters' needs?"

"I need to buy an education slave, for training other slaves," Gene replied. "Where would I find one?"

"With the professional and scientific slaves, master," the girl replied.

* * *

"Wait a minute, I have a hunch," Master Gene said, pausing to look over a small slave house. There were about forty to fifty slaves displayed in the sun, and he moved over to talk to the grizzled older slaver who walked about. S'ana saw them discuss things briefly; then he guided her master to one older slave, whose gag was unbuckled. Her master talked to the slave, obviously a captured slave instead of a bred slave; then he nodded, moving to a heavily chained male slave and removing his gag, tucking it through his collar. She watched him move to a third slave, speak to her, then move back to the others, replacing their gags as he waved S'ana over.

"I want those three slaves," he told her. "They are brother and sisters, and I think we could use all three. They're wearing the older style Enhancement, which we would need to upgrade so they could accept the Terran language data. I get the feeling this is not a particularly successful slave house, the slaves look malnourished." S'ana nodded as she eyed the slaves with a professional eye. "I agree, master. Shall I negotiate for you?"

"You're slipping, S'ana," he grinned. "Using 'I' instead of 'this slave'?"

"Forgive this slave, my master," she said with an equally small smile. "This slave shall negotiate for my master."

* * *

"I think we did bloody well today," Mike said as they waited for the city transit bus. To the side, their five slaves waited with other slaves, all five gagged (something S'ana had wanted) and neck-chained to her.

"Agreed," Gene replied as the bus turned a corner, and they stood, the trailer where slaves rode already full. They watched as it waited at a traffic signal, people getting ready to board and the slaves standing behind their waist-high fence. (More to mark the area than confine them.)

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, January 15, 2003: 19:50 (GMT)  
Deimos, shuttle bay:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"You sure about this?" 'Tex' asked as Chantal strapped herself into the much larger test ship. She wiggled, getting comfortable as 'Egg' connected various things.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she replied as she accepted her suit helmet from a (reluctant) Tex. "Worst case, I use the backup engine to go to P'wheel and hitch a ride home from there. Don't worry, I'll be fine." With a last 'thumbs up', she accepted the boron glass windscreen and started to latch it in place. Her voice then came over the speaker on the accessory cart. "I'm reading all systems go; all backups on standby. Looks like I'm good to go, I'll send you a postcard. Give me a shove, now."

Egg disconnected the last cables; and with Tex picked up the small ship, orienting it and shoving it toward the shimmering force screen, then coiling cables and leaving the launch platform with their cart.

* * *

OOD: Officer Of (the) Deck, has command of the ship during his/her watch.

'Gunny': Gunnery Sergeant (E-7), of the USMC is the operations chief of a ship's company of Marines.

'Ma Deuce': the M2 .50cal heavy machine gun.

DDO: Deputy Director of Operations.

TDY: Temporary Duty: A temporary move to another station or tasking.

Vauxhall Cross: Headquarters for the Secret Intelligence Service, aka: MI-6. 


	10. 16 31 January 2003

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter X: 16 ~ 31 January 2003  
Thursday, January 16, 2003: 03:10 (GMT)  
P'wheel system:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Chantal eased her tiny ship into the system, ten AU under the ecliptic and a little over 1200 light years from Earth. She looked up, but couldn't see anything but the endless black, the colorful gas swirls of the M7 nebula and the colored pinpoints of the stars. She snorted to herself; then dropped the sensor viewer into place on her helmet. Here she could see the different planets and the central star (which was just a slightly-brighter star to her naked eye), different icons for ships and stations, and different sensor fields. She waited to see if anyone had detected her arrival, then engaged her small subspace engine to move closer to the planet. All the while, navigation and sensor information was being collected and sent every five minutes back to Deimos.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, January 16, 2003: 06:25 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Gryffindor table:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

_To: Mom  
CC: Bill (school)  
From: Julie Morton  
Date: 16 January 2003  
Subject: Stuff _

_Hi from the Great Hall! _

_Well, classes are back in session, and I guess you heard about Professor Lupin being honored by the Queen for saving a family during the ice storm we had here a week or so ago. Details are sketchy, but Bill was there, hopefully you can pry more information than I can out of him. All I can say is that he's a great guy as well as a great professor, and that Tonks (his fiancée) was lucky to bag him. Professor Lupin, that is. _

_Regarding my grades, I'm doing better in Potions and Chemistry now that I've gotten some intensive tutoring from Mattie. She seems to have a bit more free time, and is spending it out of the Slytherin dungeons for now. This is somewhat unusual for her, but even her brother Tomas hasn't gotten anything out of her. Oh, well, the snakes do like their secrets… _

_Speaking of which, did you see the French parliament returned a vote of 'no confidence' against the President? That means he'll have to reform his government, and I detect the fine hand of our favorite girl multi-billionaire and Empress in this. However, other countries have recognized the Empire, a bill for that is in the British Parliament on Second Reading. The US Senate has passed the bill, and it went to President Ross for his signature. Quite a change from just a year or so ago with Luthor, isn't it?_

_By the way, I don't think Mattie's seen the latest copy of 'Man of the Year', as we don't get many newsmagazines here. Personally, I thought she was a shoo-in, as she's the head of the Terran Empire and if you count all her investments, the first trillionaire we've had. But no, who gets it? 'Whistleblowers', that's who. What are these people thinking? What does she have to do, medal in the Olympics?_

_Sheesh!  
Julie_

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, January 16, 2003: 07:48 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 4****th**** year Transfiguration:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Professor Chang looked up from the roll, "Ms. Koslowski … are you feeling all right? Not burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Connie-alpha replied, "No, ma'am, I'm actually feeling pretty good, and Ms. Black agrees with me. I just saw her yesterday, but thank you for asking. I could use another cup of coffee, though."

"You'll need to wait a few hours for that," and there were some stifled chuckles. "Moving on, Ms. Meyers…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, January 16, 2003: 08:51 (GMT)  
Tosul, Terran trade building yard, **_Taalah_**:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The ship's healer triggered the release, and the hatch cover opened on the med-tank, revealing the burly form of the recently-purchased male slave. He moaned in pain, and the healer helped him out, telling Gene "His Enhancement and his collar are not synchronized. Recollar him, allow him to rest, and then he will be fit for service." She gestured, and two other slaves assisted him down the passage to the machine.

"Thank you," he said, and she nodded, "I shall upgrade the third slave you purchased, master. Please recollar the male, master."

"Master, what do you wish this slave to do?" the teacher-slave asked. Gene passed her some notes, "I need these slaves to have reasonable competence in reading, writing and basic mathematics in both Trade and the Terran language. We'll be leaving some of them here, we're opening a trade office here and they'll need to handle writing letters, filing, answering the com, updating the various databases and computer files. Office work."

"I see, master…" she said slowly as she perused his notes. "You also wish them to be able to think for themselves, make decisions …"

"Yes, if they're asking 'Master, what do I do?' every five minutes, nobody can get any work done. We need to have them able to do the routine daily tasks without constant oversight, but also use their own judgment regarding other things. We have a saying 'don't shoot the messenger', which means we would rather have accurate information, even if it's bad, than information that's not accurate but good to hear."

"You will ruin these girls for other masters, their discipline will be non-existent," the teacher warned.

"They're still wearing a slave collar and belt, on a slave planet," Gene replied. "As long as they don't start to fight, I'm good with that."

"So, what am I to do with you, my friend?" Gene asked the burly slave. He sat on the picnic bench, and the slave knelt before him. He picked up a datapadd, reading the summary information. "This says you were a ship's officer on a warship. How did you get to where you are now?"

"The Source turned against us one day, master," he replied, shrugging his massive shoulders. "My sisters and I were fortunate to secure passage on the same liner; I had secured leave for the birth of my first child. The ship ran into pirates, and here we are."

"I see. I asked the healer about repair or regrowing your male equipment, but it is apparently not possible." Gene said as he hunched forward. "I know in your position, I'd want to know. You can ask her yourself if you wish. In any case, she has dialed back the implanted equipment for the hormones to a level that will maintain your health, but not trigger aggression."

The burly slave blinked, "I thank you, master, for your consideration. It has been a very long time since I was able to take a slave … (he shook himself). Now that the hormones in my blood are reduced, while I remain slave, I will no longer feel the aggression of the fighting slave."

"I see," Gene said. "You will not cause trouble if I release you?"

The slave snorted, "Master, I have no wish to be disciplined. I am your slave, and will obey your orders."

"I see," Gene said again. He considered the other man, then asked, "Please stand up, and turn around." He released his hands; then waited as the other rubbed his wrists and resumed kneeling. "What kind of ship's officer are you?"

"I was tactical officer, master, on the heavy cruiser _C'ftmon_," the slave replied.

"Hmm," Gene said. "I want you to talk to the ship's Captain. For now, since we're here, I think we'll make certain your Spacer's Guild ratings are up to date." The slave blinked in surprise, then murmured, "Thank you, master."

"A good investment for both of us, would you be able to do that yourself, or would I need to go with you?"

"If my master will set things with the Guild, I can do it myself, master. What of my sisters?"

"Let's talk about them…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 17, 2003: 06:48 (GMT)  
Terra, Buckingham palace:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The fire flared green in the small stone room, and Connie followed by Mattie stepped through. "Mr. Brumly, Lady Delacroix," Connie greeted the two ghosts as Crystal (who had flooed through earlier) advanced with the brush.

As they walked into the East Gallery, Connie remarked, "My feet don't hurt, I think they did something with the boots." She turned to wave at the tourists, "Do we have time today?"

"Unfortunately not," Crystal said. "You were late coming through."

"A small snafu this morning, but I've got some good news to pass along," Mattie commented.

Connie nodded, "The question is, will it scale, and how much?"

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Mattie said, giving a small bow. She smoothed her miniskirt and sat, "While this looks nice, I do think a proper Royal really requires a longer skirt."

Elizabeth agreed; "I must agree with you regarding the length; however I did have my own informal survey done to go along with your own PR agency. There seems to be a generational issue, young women and men in general are comfortable with a dynamic young woman like yourself founding something so new as the Empire; while women my age and Lady Sarah's (she gestured at the other woman) are somewhat more leery. More conservative clothing would be more reassuring to that demographic."

"However, one way to provide part of that reassurance is to have a Cabinet of older and presumably wiser heads," Lady Sarah put in. "One that crosses political and ethnic barriers. We have put together such a list; you can discuss it next week with the Chancellor when you're in Berlin."

"Ma'am, I thought we were going to Paris next week," Connie asked.

"That was the initial plan, and while it would be useful to you to see how a government in a political crisis functions, I don't trust them not to try kidnapping you again," the Queen replied. "I understand you've put some of your own agents in place, but these are still the French …" She sighed, "After that, Warsaw to view how a smaller economy works, then on to Moscow. Tokyo is more problematic, due to the time difference. That may require overnight or weeklong stays. However, we have no difficulties in having you floo from here, giving you a secure connection. (She glanced at Crystal.)

"Thank you, ma'am," Crystal replied. "With your permission, I'll go discuss that with SO-1 and the relevant parties." The Queen nodded, and she left.

Lady Sarah sipped at her tea, then commented to Connie, "Ms. Koslowski, you look like you're about to burst with news."

"Yes, ma'am," and Connie glanced at Mattie. "We received a report just before we left regarding one of the research projects on Deimos. There's been a small company there working on our own, home-grown version of an FTL drive; and they've had several successful test flights."

"It's bumblebee physics," Mattie put in from the sideboard, lifting the teapot in question. The Queen nodded, pushing her cup forward, while Lady Sarah looked at hers and shook her head. "It's called that because the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly. The body mass is too high and it's not aerodynamic, and the wings don't generate enough lift. But it flies anyway. When they get around to submitting it for a Nobel, the physics committee is going to have ulcers." She finished pouring, topping off Lady Sarah's cup.

"Yet we've got a small drive, one of the inventors took it for a spin. She flew to P'wheel, around 2400 light years, straight line and round trip, and did it in a little over a day," Connie said. "Twenty six hours and change, which means about ninety light years an hour, when with a normal drive, the average convoy's speed is three to ten light years an hour. That means that the trip to P'wheel in convoy is more like three thousand light years, and at seven light years an hour would be about eighteen days."

"Two other little bits of information," Mattie put in, handing Connie a cup of coffee. "First, normal navigational practice is to use way points for convoys. These routes are charted because they're free of debris such as gas and dust clouds, black holes, neutron stars and other hazards. Therefore a course plot looks like a three-dimensional strand of spaghetti. They usually go from habitable star system to habitable star system, which boosts the economy of those systems, as they're nodal points for neighboring stars that don't have those clear lanes. A convoy will slow down as they reach those nodal systems, which is where ships join and depart the convoys."

"You mentioned a second point," Lady Sarah put in, sipping her tea.

"Yes, ma'am," Connie said, and dug a thick printout from her bag, with a black banker's clasp at one corner. She passed it over, "This is a copy of the flight log. Navigational and sensor data, sent every five minutes." She raised an eyebrow, adding "While in warp."

Mattie put in, "Our existing Sisal network would lose connectivity in normal Jump space, we have to send and receive in normal space. That's fine for planetary installations, but ships have to drop out to normal space. However, if we have real-time interstellar communications in warp, as well as a faster drive that is apparently undetectable, that opens up a number of interesting possibilities." She took a sip from her own mug of coffee as she let the others digest the news.

"One other little thing," Connie said after a minute. "Gal-tech ships use Fuel in a generator to power their drives; it's the only thing that produces enough power. The first several test flights of this new warp drive used _batteries_." She waited for them to think this through, adding, "If we can use lower-power generators, like nuclear …" She waited again before adding, "The question we're debating is if this drive scales, and how much."

The Queen pursed her lips as she thought, slowly taking a sip of tea. "You said undetectable …," she asked.

Connie nodded, "When Chantal used her own drive to arrive in the P'wheel system; she didn't produce any reaction. However, she wasn't comfortable using it inside the system, so she used her subspace drive, which DID produce a reaction when she suddenly appeared on their system defense sensors. She played hide-and-seek for a while before disappearing. We're going to have to work on fine control, or simply use some form of stealth field, which she didn't have. However, it does raise interesting possibilities for the 'black' side of Imperial Research & Survey."

"Indeed," Lady Sarah agreed. She took another sip of tea as they considered this. "I presume you'll be funding this research."

"Yes, ma'am," Mattie replied. "As well as the shipyard we; or rather the government of Windfall has bought. They've already purchased land in Archimedes Crater, as well as the manufacturing slaves and their tools and equipment from Tosul. It looks like they'll be able to export to the Empire both equipment and complete starships, although using the gal-tech Jump drives. I confess I'll be nervous until the first flight of our warships finishes working up and we can deploy them."

"Understandable," the Queen said, then put her teacup down with a click. "We are making good progress on that front. For now, Ms. Koslowski will work with my Prime Minister today; tomorrow you have a day off, Ms. Wayne. Your day off was this past Sunday, Ms. Koslowski, so tomorrow you will come and spend the day with the head of my Household, to study how and why things are done." She glanced at Lady Sarah, "Please proceed on that project we discussed; next week I think you should floo with them to Berlin."

"Yes, ma'am," all three women replied, and two of them curtseyed and left.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, January 18, 2003: 08:42 (GMT)  
Tosul, Terran trade building:  
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"That's the situation," Gene said to the three slaves in his office. "By Terran law, as a citizen I can't own you more than thirty days, which is why I sold you to the government of Windfall through the _Taalah_. The two women will be training the hundred or so slave girls who will be working here. Those girls, along with you and I (he gestured at the man) will be assembling the furniture and doing the other odd jobs that need to be done to get this building ready for the people coming out from Terra."

"And then, master?" he asked.

"And then it depends on what our orders are," Gene replied. "Right now, we have two goals, to educate the younger slave girls and to get this building ready. I would assume that at least half of those girls will be staying here to work, the others …" he shrugged. "As I said, it depends on what those orders are. In any case, you're in our local Guild, you're paid Guild rates, and you've checked out the housing and so forth?"

"Yes, master," one of the women said. "We found the housing acceptable, and a great improvement on a concrete slave pen. In any case, the only major irritant you cannot control is the leash all Enhanced slaves must wear. However, it is no more than that, an irritant."

"I would think so," Gene agreed.

"Our task is to get the slaves to think for themselves, to solve problems," the other female said. "This will ruin the slaves for a collar; it is almost like freeing them."

Gene grunted, eying the three as the two women sat on the edges of his two office chairs, while their brother leaned against a wall. "For now, I would suggest that we get as many of those younger slaves trained as thoroughly as possible, as it will make them and we look good. I would include any Guild training that you think would be useful in that, I'll squeeze what I can out of the budget. I know we're looking at shipbuilding and shipyards as well as general commerce; orient your thinking that way."

The three of them nodded, and Gene asked, "Is there anything else we need to go over?"

"Scheduling, master," his 'teacher-slave' put in. "The morning group of slaves would be those with collars ending in an even number, while the odd numbers will work at …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, January 18, 2003: 09:32 (GMT)  
In convoy, **_Taalah_**, Mike's quarters:  
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Mike regarded his new slave 35031 on the way back from his morning ritual. He didn't remember locking her into a neck ring, but it had been a long day, and asked, "So what am I to do with you?" He stepped to the replicator, and it conjured up a mug of tea for him. Taking a gulp, he took a few steps to put it on the desk; then moved to release her.

"Whatever my master wishes, this slave is my master's slave," she replied, as she took a few steps and knelt before him, once again putting her head down and crossing her wrists. He gripped her wrists and helped her to her feet, "Why don't you start with a suction and a sonic, you could use one. Then we can discuss it, I have an hour or two before I have to be on watch."

"Good, get what you want to drink, then come have a seat, we'll talk." She looked at him strangely, and he waved at the wall-mounted replicator. "Drink, then we talk. No master, no slave, just two people. As a matter of fact, let me take care of your Enhancement."

"My master?" she asked as she cautiously put a glass of ice water on the desk, kneeling before him. He sighed, then clipped the programming module to the back of her collar, and turned the laptop so she could see it. He started to deactivate options as she watched in stunned disbelief, pausing only on the last two. "Breathing and your heart. I don't want to kill you, so I'll leave those two." He went through the other screens; then clicked on 'Save' and 'Exit'. She blinked as he disconnected the cable, slowly reaching up to the back of her collar and handing him the other end. "My … master?" she asked. "This … I … am a female, your slave …"

"For now, you're my room-mate," he replied, coiling the cable and setting it aside. He regarded her, she was older than he was, in her mid-to-late thirties, he guessed. He sat back, waiting for her; then gently prodded, "Surely you have hopes, dreams …"

"Master, I am a bred chase slave," she said with a touch of bitterness. "I am bred for intelligence and cleverness, so that masters may have an exciting pursuit as I run, and then, when I am inevitably recaptured, they may delight in punishing me for my attempted escape." She looked him in the eye, "Master, what hopes and dreams I have you would not like."

Mike sat back, tenting his fingers. "I can imagine one of them as your poking something sharp and hot into one of your _Owner's_ (he emphasized the word) eyes." She started and blinked, nodding involuntarily. "Another one would be getting out of that collar, and getting that Enhancement controlling board out of your brain." She nodded again, warily, and he said, "Well, I think I turned things off, but let's do a little experiment. Slave 35031, restrict." She started, her hands flying back to cuff herself as he said, "Well, is it habit or the Enhancement? Can you address me without using the term 'Master'?"

"I … mas … I … this slave," she blinked at him; then shifted, twisting with her hands cuffed behind her. She got up, striding around the small cabin, moving, stretching, then high-kneeling before him, "Thank you," she said simply. She cocked her head as she thought, "I am deciding how much of my behavior is conditioning, habit, and slave's training," she said as she looked at him. "In any case, I once again thank you (she took a deep breath), my … room-mate."

"Well, I cannot do anything about your collar, belt, or that control board in your brain," he admitted. "However, if you're willing to help, we can be among a number of people who poke a small thing in someone's eye."

"If the eye belongs to a member of the Slaver's Guild, I am interested," she said.

"Ah, now here's where things get interesting," he replied. "First, a bit of background information regarding the Terran Empire …"

* * *

"I am somewhat disappointed," she commented. "I had wished to have a greater share of the poking," she grinned at him, "my master. However, I cannot be greedy."

"Or impatient," Mike said. "There is an old Terran saying: '_Revenge is a dish best served cold_.'"

"The star-lanes are very, very cold," she agreed. She stared at nothing, thinking; then gave a single, sharp nod. "It may not be within my lifetime," she said. "Nor within the lifetimes of my children, assuming I have any."

"Or our children's; children's, children," Mike agreed. "Furthermore, I do not have as great a right to that poke, no matter how delayed, as you do. The trade in slaves has been going on for millions of years, it is only right to assume that it will take as long to destroy. You can only join your sisters and brothers in taking those first steps; I can only assist you."

"There are also multiple targets," she agreed. "However, one begins a journey with a step," and she got to her feet, hands still cuffed behind her. She took a step forward, "I request assistance on starting that journey."

Mike stood, "I would be pleased to assist," and bowed to her. "Let us work toward the destruction of our enemies."

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****Saturday, January 18, 2003: 11:09 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Infirmary:  
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Poppy Pomfrey looked up from her patient as Mattie and Anne entered the Infirmary. "Good morning," she called. "Please go back to the room we've been using and get ready." She looked down at Anna Driver, "Now then, Ms. Driver, I've fixed your leg, but there is a reason for you to use proper equipment when playing sports. I want you to rest now, go to the library and study, and I will inform Professor Snape of your injury."

"Yes, ma'am," the second-year said, and turned to get out of bed, gingerly testing as she put her weight on her leg. She smiled at her housemates, then accepted a cane from Poppy and hobbled out the door.

"Well, what are you waiting for, popcorn?" the nurse asked. She waved her fingers, "On with you; undress and on the beds, I'll be with you in a moment." She waved her wand, stripping the linens from the bed Anna had been on as she heard the sound of the two girls' heels recede.

* * *

"I must say I do not like this outer armour," Poppy commented as she regarded the two girls who lay on their backs. They had the appearance of wearing a white hooded bodysuit (the elven armor) under a black, tightly compressive tank leotard (the goblin armor). It compressed their abdomen, they also wore elbow-length black gloves (more armor) and tight-fitting knee boots with a five inch heel.

"I'm getting used to it, although I don't know how I'll be able to run a marathon," Mattie replied. "Now that the boots have been adjusted, I find the whole thing is actually comfortable for long periods." She shifted slightly on the bed, "I wonder on how I'm going to handle formal dinners and meals, and the built-in magic for when I'm off-planet." She raised a leg, bending it at the knee, "Some places are going to require what looks like pantyhose or stockings in other colors than white, and pumps or flats, not boots. I like these, they're sexy, but they're what are known as 'fuck-me' boots."

From the next bed, Anne put in, "Aye, the major irritant for me doth be the connections required to eliminate. There be too much similarity to the slave belts, and I doth desire different styles of footwear as well." She raised a hand to caress her white-covered head, "I do miss having mine own hair."

"The elves removed all your hair, they produced various wigs and face masks," Poppy said as she flicked her wand. "I confess that in your place I would not miss the daily chore of applying and removing makeup."

"Truth," Anne replied. "I do not think thy will be running in marathons, there be too much risk."

"Yeah, but did they have to remove _all_ the body fat?" Mattie asked. "I find I'm getting cold more often, and I went from a double-D cup to at most a B. I want my boobs back!"

"It allows you to do some shopping for furs when you are in Moscow," Poppy said. "Turn over, please." The girls complied, as she examined the seamless armor. "I am glad you allowed Severus to remove the curse from your brand. You know I didn't like that, I would still prefer to remove the brand." Ms. Wayne shifted on the bed to look at her, arms crossed under her head, and Poppy raised her hand, "I know, I know. At least you may now buy wizarding clothing without it paining you." Ms. Wayne grunted; then turned over at Poppy's gesture. "How is the merging going along? Any problems?"

"I find I doth be having conversations with myself," Anne reported. "Yet I doth have two sets of memories, that of the alpha-self during classes, and of the beta-self in London at the office. Both seem real, and yet I can … shift one to a dream-like phase to concentrate on the other."

Mattie nodded. "I find myself arguing with myself as well," she put in. "I'd like to test it, to see how I do on an exam. I think I'll ask Professor Flitwick or Professor Chang to give me a quiz."

"Still your two most difficult subjects?" Poppy asked. She stepped back, sighed, "I can see no major difficulties with either of you. You are both below one percent body fat; a healthier percentage would be three to five. I shall speak to Severus about a potion for that, and to the elves and goblins about your armour. I am not fond of the abdominal compression, but it is not severe enough to create a long-term risk. It primarily restricts your breathing and eating habits, you will eat less than normal, as you have noticed. I shall issue to all three of you a waiver for the PE section of your GCSE, although I do want you to continue to exercise as much as possible. A treadmill or weights, the muggle weight machines we installed in the Hufflepuff gym. Do you have questions, either together or individually?"

The two girls shared a look; then both shook their heads. Poppy grunted; then tossed Ms. Wayne her pants. "I confess to curiosity how you plan to don these; the legs are far too narrow."

"I want at least _one_ day a week out of skirts," she said with a grin as she stood. She summoned her headpiece, wrapping it around her throat and pulling it over her head, where it seemed to merge with her skin and the armor's white hood. She fluffed out her wig; then produced a wand, flicking it, "Cindy changed the protective spells so I can use light spells like glamours. Therefore, I cast a glamour spell on my torso and arms to appear transparent;" and then she cast an expansion spell on the tight blue jeans. She pulled them on, hopping a bit and sitting on the bed. She summoned her pale green golf shirt (embroidered with 'Hogwarts Golf Team'), pulling it on and tucking it in. She buttoned the waist; then zipped the fly, wiggling a bit and smoothing out wrinkles. With her wand, she cast a mild compression spell, the jeans and the golf shirt molded to her form. She walked to a mirror, arranging her hair and checking her appearance. "Now, I cast a small glamour spell on the boots so they look like a different style, and I'm ready," she said, putting her Rolex on her left wrist. Holding out her arms, she stood, wearing tight jeans and her green golf shirt, no hint of the armor showing. "It's fashionable, yet also very comfortable. Anne?"

"I doth not know why thee dislikes skirts," she replied. "Thou dos't look good in them."

"I don't dislike them, but I don't want to wear them all the time," Mattie replied. "You'd look good in some tight jeans as well, you've got good legs."

Anne shuddered, "'Tis bad enou' the skirts are as short as they are," she replied. She was wearing her usual floor-sweeper skirts, this one in linen with a lace border, while her blouse was a long sleeved 'peasant' style. She added a shawl over her shoulders, "I doth look forward to lower heels, myself. Are we done?"

"Yes, enjoy your day off," Poppy said as she heard the charm on the door, signaling the arrival of a new patient.

* * *

"Professor Chang?" Mattie asked as she knocked on the frame, leaning into the staff room; then nodded, "Professor Flitwick, Professor Harry. Can I have a minute?"

"Certainly," Cho replied. "I miss you at the Wednesday meetings, Miss Wayne. How can I help?" She put aside essays she had been marking, rubbing her head, "You know what these are like."

"Thanks, but as I'm no longer teaching…" she shrugged as she took a seat. "You are aware I'm using a time-turner that the Headmistress got for me?" The three professors nodded, and Mattie continued, "I'm wondering how well the memories are merging. They seem to be alternating with, well, a dream-like state, I find myself discussing things and arguing with myself. I'd like to test this to see how well I'm retaining information."

"Fascinating," Filius said. "Let me see, your first day for this was Sunday, so your class would have been Monday afternoon." He opened up his reference book, running his finger down the page, "We discussed colour changing charms. Please change this teacup to light blue."

Mattie thought for a second, then cast, "_Cultum lux puteulanus_," with a flick of her wand. Professor Chang asked, "Miss Wayne, please conjure a matching teapot."

"Hmm," she said. "Let me try this: '_Inanimatus conjuris lux puteulanus_' she said with a spiraling wand motion. The four of them regarded it, "A different style teapot," Professor Harry said, as it looked like a hookah. "Try it with a jerk and jab at the end," he suggested. "You're getting the Latin incantation right, and you've got plenty of power…"

"It's also an early sixth-year spell," Cho said. "At this point, I'd pass that. Harry?"

"My class was Thursday morning," he said. "More hexes, these involved body parts. Using my hair, disable me."

"Umm… '_Lucus prolato saeta, redimio artus_'" she cast. Harry's messy black hair exploded out of his head, twisting and curling around him and the chair he sat in. He gasped, "Can't … breathe …" and she quickly cast '_Finite incantatem_'. Cho quickly transfigured the hookah to shears and cut him free. "I'd call that a pass," he said, panting. "I think you shouldn't have any worries, although I don't know what you're discussing with the Queen."

"Politics," she replied, and Filius gestured, "Would you like to talk?"

"Actually, I would," Mattie said, raising a hand, and a coffee mug filled itself, floating over to her. "That kind of thing worries me," she said. "I wasn't able to do that before the attack on Arthur in New York a month ago, but that seems to have, I don't know, released something. I seem to have a lot more power available, and to be able to do things silently, and wandlessly, which I don't think is exactly normal."

The three professors looked at each other; then Filius sat back with his own teacup in his hands. "Do you worry that you'll go Dark?"

"Some…" she said, somewhat hesitantly. "I see some of the more … thickheaded or stubborn politicians, especially off world, and there's that temptation of things like '_Imperio'_ …" she drew a breath, and then added, "… and that it wouldn't be illegal there, but it would still not be _right_ … and I wonder how I stack up regarding power, my new Thaum rating …"

"We've all had those moments," Harry said. "I cast '_Crucio_' on Bellatrix at the Department of Mysteries. I was angry, and hurt, and she felt it, but then she mocked me, told me I had to _mean_ it, had to _feel_ the hate…" He took a sip of his own tea, "With '_Imperio_', you have to _need_ that control. There are other spells, other ways to do that besides that particular Unforgivable. I'm certain you've run across some of them." She nodded, and he reached into a pocket, withdrawing a form. He scrawled on it; then signed it. "In case you don't already have one, give that to Irma. It's an all-areas pass for the library, including the Restricted Sections."

"The current faculty password is '_claymore_'," Filius put in. "Use the Ravenclaw library if you wish, if anyone asks, refer them to me." He sipped his tea, "No doubt at some point in the Empire's future history, there will be a tyrannical ruler, however all you can do at this point is to try to put structure into place to impede him or her. I think you're correct in designing the Empire so that people and their existing governments will want to join, however not all will. From what Pomona and Severus were saying, people seem to be people, no matter their planet of birth. While there is that temptation to pound one's opponents, especially when they seem to be blocking things just because they can, that is the point to step back and calm oneself."

"So one can more easily run them through with your sword," Professor Harry joked. He raised a hand, "Sorry, Gryffindor humour there. I've seen the video of your fight with that arse on Windfall, and spoken to both Pomona and Severus. (The other two nodded.) Pomona thought you were somewhat bloodthirsty, she thinks you should have simply run him through, while Severus thinks you should have arranged an arrest and had him quietly killed in his cell. He also thinks you were overly theatrical, although he concedes the point to humiliate and break the Traditionalists."

"There is that, but I wanted (she threw back her head), OH, I wanted to beat the crap out of him," Mattie confessed. "Those pricks are so bound up in their male supremacy crap that I wanted to humiliate him, and the best way was to do that in public. After all, their whole philosophy is that females and slaves are so far beneath them that it would shake their foundations if a woman were to beat them at something as macho as a sword fight. Cutting off his meat was icing on the cake; I should have had it barbecued." Filius and Harry winced at that. "They can't even say I cheated, since I was clearly armed the same as he was, and he proclaimed several times that he was a 'Master of blades' (she finger-quoted). Well, if that so-called 'Master' can be that easily beaten, for the cost of only a finger (she held up her left hand, wiggling the fingers), and it helps to break them, I'll call it good."

"And Bella is there to advise the Governor," Harry added.

Mattie grunted and nodded. "I received two suggestions, one was to go easy, turn a temporary blind eye to the ownership of slaves. Let those girls that want to stay in someone's collar be sold, but arrange regular checkups and different tax rates for them, arrange something so that every five years or so they can choose between walking or crossing their wrists, or putting themselves on the block again."

"To ease the transition," Cho said, and Mattie nodded. "I can't wrap my mind around it, but there are apparently those slaves that want to stay slaves. I'm distinguishing them from convicted criminals, who wear a judicial collar and are working on road gangs instead of being locked in a prison. However, I'm concerned about abuse…"

"Which the tax rates and medical checks should lessen, if not prevent," Filius said. "However, there is the danger of those visiting healers being bribed…"

"And if they're employed by the government, they've just committed the death-penalty crime of corruption," Mattie replied. "They'll have the choice of a noose or the guillotine on High Street, after that their heads can join others we've executed for corruption." She gave a small, nasty smile. "The second suggestion was two other political parties. One would be a feminist party, the other a conservative, 'man is breadwinner, woman is housewife' with civil rights."

"Hmm," Harry said. "I'll want to talk that over with Ginny; she's more Slytherin than I am."

"You've shown your Slytherin side, Harry," Filius commented. "As you have your Hufflepuff and your Ravenclaw sides. The house system is not monolithic."

"I've had my Gryffindor moments as well," Mattie replied. "I'd still like to get together with the two of you to discuss things, I had a business proposal."

"Tonight at seven for dinner, then?"

"I am on a special diet with this Time-Turner, I'll have Cindy talk to Dobby," she replied. "Other than that, I'm good with that." She took a sip from her coffee mug as Filius asked, "How is Mr. Morton doing?"

"Still in stasis," she replied. "I've got three different groups researching this, and Lady Death was kind enough to … extract (she gave a nasty smile) … the research data from MSS in Beijing. Superman has asked for a current blood sample, I'm waiting to see if Alfred aboard the _McCoy_ and the hospital on Windfall would also need it."

"It probably couldn't hurt," Cho commented. She took a sip of her own tea; then asked, "What about other interstellar political entities?"

"We're somewhat in the galactic boonies," Ms. Wayne replied. "There is Black Hole, the interstellar criminal network, which has different groups or clans in different areas, and we do have some relations with them. There are transtellar corporations and trade groups, one of which is the Fuel cartel. Four members of that, think of OPEC on a inter-galactic scale." The other three nodded. "What we have to do is be the mouse in the wall, because there are a lot of hungry cats out there, and I'm sure some of them know about us now, thanks to that damned judge letting the slaver go."

"Unfortunately, ships can be built only so fast," Harry said. Mattie nodded, "One problem is the galactic perception that slaves are a vital part of the economy. Most slaves are female; so a lot of governments track the movements of their women, both free and slave. There are several, including a couple in the local area, that require all females to wear some form of tracking collar, which can be easily changed to and from a slave collar." She took a swallow of coffee, "It's similar to the legal situation here on Earth a few hundred years ago where wives and daughters were family assets, a daughter would be married off to finalize a political or business arrangement. This means that women from different social classes are a chess piece, so even a nobleman's daughter would wear a dark collar."

Cho Chang shuddered, "Isolationism is sounding more and more attractive," she commented.

"That's not an option as I understand things," Filius said. Mattie nodded as he continued, "I presume that we have intelligence activities going on," and he raised a hand. "I do not wish to know details. However, I do not wish to be in the position of the Japanese when Commodore Perry opened their door in the 1800's." He took a sip of his tea, "It occurs to me that you must _command_, you must have political support, and have alliances with other political entities."

Mattie grunted, "One problem I have is the Terran attitude that slavery is bad, versus the galactic opinion that slavery is a good thing, a vital part of the economy, and any threat to that part must be quickly eliminated. Polar opposite attitudes, and I haven't figured a way to resolve it." She stared at nothing over the rim of her coffee mug.

"Feudal …" Filius mused. "You already have the structure in place; the video from Windfall had you appointing the System Governor a Baroness." Mattie nodded and he continued, "Make the system work for you. The Terran Empire has found that in a manufacturing economy, machinery is more cost-efficient, and that is how the general industrial plan is oriented. There are less defects and machines have greater up-time. Orient the tax structure accordingly."

"On the other hand, in a service sector, personal attention is more important," Harry put in. "I would much rather speak to a person on the phone than a computer. People are more flexible, so as long as I get what I want, I don't really care if the employee I'm dealing with is a slave or not, I just want my problem solved." He took a sip of his tea, "Now, it depends on the society if that slave is paid. If she is, she can own property herself, which helps to drive the economy, the slave becomes part of the society, and her collar is part of the normal business wear. Adjust that part of the economy and taxes accordingly."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Cho said.

"I confess I'm not thrilled to hear it myself," Mattie agreed. "However, I think I can see where things are headed with these two _men_." She gave them a moderate glower, "They're supporting the _male_ power structure, and to make the imposition of slavery and collaring females a local option, as opposed to a general Imperial ban on slavery. Is that right, _gentlemen_?"

"But I …" Harry started to say.

Filius said, "Now just a minute! We, I, are not saying we're in favor of collaring women!"

"Oh, really?" Cho asked sweetly. "Harry just said he wouldn't mind seeing it as part of the general business wardrobe, and while Filius said to transition to machinery for manufacturing, that would certainly imply to me that you would need slaves to operate and maintain the machinery. That would occur on a system-by-system basis, enforced by the Imperial government!"

"It's like what happens now to women here on Earth," Mattie put in. "We're still considered assets, we have to have our father's consent to date. We're given an engagement ring to symbolize our 'capture'; and then later we're given away by our fathers when we marry, we have to change our name to our husband's …" She gave the two men a long, sustained glower, then added, "It seems like we're still family assets to be distributed."

"Exactly!"

"But …" Filius started to say.

"On the other hand," Mattie said, "I can see their point. We're up against a very old social system, the 'if it was good enough for great-great-grandfather' concept carried on even further." She gestured at the scarred wooden desk, "A good example is the quills the three of you are using, instead of a ball-point pen. Look at how people objected to computers here! The wizarding world is so … conservative; I compared it to the fourteenth century!"

"Until you actually went there," Filius said, somewhat relieved.

"True," she agreed. "People are resistant to change, what we need to do is to demonstrate to them, over time, that our way is better."

"Exactly!"

"So we need to demonstrate on the one hand that using machines, while having a higher initial cost, means a higher quality output over a longer period, as opposed to using slaves, who will make errors, no matter how they're trained or beaten. Using Enhanced slaves are just a different method of using machines, except that machines don't get tired or distracted."

"Exactly!"

"And Mr. Potter makes the point that service is better with a live person who knows the stock and can make recommendations; as Mr. Flitwick suggests making this something the local System Governor should decide, as she knows the local economy and social system best. Would you care to expand on that?"

"Umm …" the tiny professor mused. "You're already using a semi-feudal system," he started to say. "You're making the local Assembly persons heads of their Counties, they're elected…" he continued. "Five year terms?" he asked.

"Yes, up to five terms, then they have to sit out a term before they can run again."

"An interesting blend of feudal rule and democracy," Cho put in. "I think I saw some Assembly-persons in the video who were not only female, but collared? Former slaves?"

"Yes, about twenty percent were female, and four were former slaves, all freeborn. We do have a number of slaves, or former slaves on the local Town councils, as well," Mattie put in. She took a sip of coffee, musing, "There would be quite a bit of social pressure on those girls that chose to stay slaves…"

"As there would be on their owners," Cho put in, taking a sip of tea and wincing. She stood, moving to the teapot and pouring a fresh cup. "That is common for anyone who is outside the mainstream. The Japanese proverb about a nail comes to mind." She sat, staring at nothing over her teacup. "Publicize the change; you can put the blame on a particular pressure group or party. On one particular day, every collared slave is free to make up her own mind, she must do something particular if she wants to stay slave. Like … lock a ring on her neck. Otherwise, she is free on that date. If a master tries to hide her, or force her, he's breaking the law and gets his own collar."

"That would be difficult to hide a slave with the orbiting scanner, we have a location within a meter for each collar," Mattie mused. "Unless they're deep underground, and kept there permanently. She can also choose to stay with her own master or be resold by the government to a different master or location," Mattie mused. "She could also choose the government as her master, but once she's made her choice, that's it for five years. Would we do this in multi-year steps or all at once?"

"Multi-year," Cho said. "First year, the last digit of their collars is zero and one, second year is two and three, and so forth. At the end of five years, the cycle repeats, and the first group of girls can opt out for their freedom, cross their wrists to their current owner, or go back to the block to be resold. If a master wants to keep a girl, he'd better make it worth her while. If he cheats her, it's breaking a contract and he's in court."

"And the girl?"

"The judge gives her the options of freedom or going on the block to a new master," Filius put in. "Similarly, if a girl decides she prefers a master's collar over freedom, she sells her possessions and crosses her wrists to the local Count or Countess, who is her temporary owner until she's auctioned from the block." He took a sip of his own tea, "This lets those who want to participate in slavery do so, for a fixed number of years, while giving protection to both owners and slaves. The government is represented by the local Count, who has a maximum tenure of twenty-five years before he or she is turned out of office for someone else."

"With the roving inspectors to prevent physical abuse and to make certain the law is followed…" Mattie mused. "Not that I _like_ it, but I think that's the best compromise…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, January 18, 2003: 18:39 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Potter flat:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Mattie knocked on the Potter's door in the faculty wing. Dobby opened the door, a wide grin lighting his face. "Mistress Empress Wayne! We is glad to sees you! Please come in!"

"Hello, Dobby," Mattie replied with a similar grin as she entered. "How are you and Winkie? No elflings yet?"

"No, Winkie is not ready yet, she says," he replied sadly. "I's be working on her, though!"

"Don't force her, I know I'm not ready to be a mother yet myself," she said as he escorted her in. "I do have three little girls I've got my eye on, though. Did Cindy talk to you about my diet?"

"Of course, mistress," Cindy said, popping in herself. "Youse be all set in that. Can I get youse something to drink?"

"Just some apple juice or something light, please. Where are Ginny and Harry?"

"I'm here," Ginny announced as she entered. "Harry had to go to the Infirmary to check on a student, one of the Quidditch team took a bad bludger hit during practice." She sat, accepting a glass of fruit juice herself as Cindy popped in with Mattie's apple juice. "What did you want to talk about? Does Harry need to be here?"

"No, I wanted to offer you a job with IR & S," Mattie said, casting a privacy spell. "With the 'black' part; to head up the Covert section. That means you'd be running the Imperial spy networks and doing any direct action required." She took a sip of juice, "Part of that would be going through Imperial training on Corfu this summer, along with Princess Beatrice. She's already spending time in London with MI-6; I can arrange for you to join her."

"I don't have any experience …"

Mattie looked at her over her glass, "I have evidence, including a long red hair with gun oil and fingerprints that say differently," she said slowly. "You lack _training_, yes. I'm offering you that, and you've been running my spy networks in the Ministry for a while now. This is a step up, and I need someone I can trust to not only run my networks but also monitor my system governors. They'll know IR & S has agents reporting back if they do something I don't like, but they don't know whom. They may _think_ it's the head, when it's actually the receptionist or the secretary." She took a slow sip of juice, "I'm offering you a seat at the table, running the world's oldest profession."

"I thought that was prostitution," Ginny said with a weak smile.

"Ever hear of pillow talk?" Mattie said with a grin. "The Russians had a whole division, known as Swallows, in the KGB. They are very high-class, expensive hookers, who were experts in getting their clients to talk, but also to serve as the 'dangle', or bait to co-opt those clients." She tented her fingers around the glass. "Right now, we're borrowing personnel from different governments, who have resources we lack. We need to address that problem, to have our own home-grown Imperial solution, not only in this sector, but we also need to think long-term, to the rest of this galaxy and to the local galactic cluster of thirty other galaxies."

"Big job," Ginny said.

"Yes, our galaxy alone has roughly four billion stars or stellar objects. With thirty-six hundred sectors, that's one-point-one million or so stars in an average sector."

"Times …" Ginny's eyes grew round.

"Yes. In our sector alone, we know of almost ninety-one hundred planets, and over eight hundred inhabited ones, with various levels of social and technical advancement. Aurora and her fellow astronomers are merging the Oan databases with our own, but a large percentage of those entries have just a listing of the stellar coordinates, nothing else. Not even the class of star, much less any planetary data. Furthermore, a lot of the Oan data is old, hundreds, thousands, or even millions of years old. That needs to be updated, and that is the public face, the 'white' side of IR & S."

"And I would be the 'black' side, or at least 'grey'," Ginny said. "I presume not everything I would be doing would be skulduggery or assassinations."

"True, a part would involve open public research on a planet, but you would also have covert agents in all sections of a society. What your personnel would need to do would be to reconcile the two versions, the 'street' version versus the 'official' version. That office would then forward your analysis to the sector office; we're looking at a nodal defense structure, so it makes sense to keep the intelligence functions in the same location as the military ones." Mattie took a sip of juice, "What a lot of people don't realize is that governments spy on everyone, friends as well as enemies. For instance, MI-6 cannot legally spy on the British public, but CIA can. Therefore, they can pass information back and forth as necessary, which means at least one CIA person is 'outed' for that reason."

"Eight hundred inhabited planets …"

"Each just as big and complex as Earth is," Mattie said, thumping the floor with a heel. "We can't hope to have saturation coverage on every planet, what we hope to do is to have enough warning of anything coming our way. We're hoping to get not only any military information, but trade and economic news as well. Remember, that's just one sector, too. We've been out at least half-a-dozen sectors on either side of ours. The official, public face of IR & S is Lady Sarah, with advice from the Russians and the Israelis. You yourself would probably be covered as an accountant or something, and your survey ships, once we get them built, would have assorted covert equipment available, including stealth shuttles."

"I'll talk it over with Harry," Ginny said. "It sounds interesting, and that there would be quite a bit of travel involved."

"Yes, but remember 'need-to-know'. You would be working at IR & S, we'll be putting in a new office building for them, and the design does include floo connections. You'd probably either take the floo down to the Leaky, and then the Tube from Charing Cross. You would also have spending authority; you would answer to Lady Sarah and me, possibly a committee from the Assembly we can trust to keep their mouths shut and minds open."

There was a 'ping' on the spell, and Ginny nodded, "I'm sure we'd have some information on those Assembly-persons. I'll let you know, and if I have any questions."

The 'ping' sounded again, Mattie nodded, and dismissed the spell. "Professor Harry! How is the student?"

"He'll be fine. What are you two on about?" he asked, teasing them.

"Oh, just the usual girl talk," Ginny replied. "Hair, makeup, fashion. I was just admiring Mattie's new style, especially those boots…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, January 19, 2003: 05:34 (GMT)  
Terra, Buckingham palace:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The fire flared green in the small stone room, and Connie and Ginny stepped through, followed by Mattie. "Mr. Brumly, Lady Delacroix," Connie greeted the two ghosts as Crystal (who had flooed through earlier) advanced with the brush.

As they walked into the East Gallery, Connie remarked, "My feet don't hurt," as she turned to wave at the tourists, "Do we have time today?"

"Unfortunately not," Crystal said. "Whilst we're running early, Mrs. Potter needs to meet with Lady Sarah and you with the PM."

"I think you're enjoying being a celebrity," Mattie remarked as Ginny waved to the tourists.

* * *

"Your Highness, I'd like to introduce Mrs. Potter, she'll be working with Lady Sarah on the 'black' side of IR & S."

"Ma'am," Ginny said, curtsying. "A pleasure to meet you."

The Queen offered her hand, "What experience do you have in Intelligence, Lady Potter?"

"I have been running Ms. Wayne's networks for several years now, ma'am. We need to take a step up to interstellar; there are several hundred planets just in this sector. I look forward to working with Lady Sarah and Princess Beatrice."

"I see…" the Queen said. She gazed at Ginny for a minute or two; and then looked at Sarah. "If Lady Potter wishes to spend time at Vauxhall Cross, she has my consent. Lady Potter, a pleasure meeting with you." She turned to Connie, "Ms. Koslowski, today you and Ms. Wayne will floo from here to Berlin, which is why I asked you to come early. At five or so there, you will floo back to Buckingham, and thence back to Hogwarts." She stood as Lady Sarah and Ginny left; then motioned the two girls to seats. "Ms. Wayne, you look like you have something you want to get off your chest."

"Yes, ma'am, I wanted to explain a problem and get your feedback on a possible solution." The Queen nodded, and Mattie continued, "The problem relates to the slavery issue. Here on Earth, it's viewed as morally reprehensible to own and sell another intelligent being. However, the galactic opinion is diametrically opposed, that slavery is not only a good thing for all concerned; but also a fundamental mainstay of not only a planet's economy; but also the galactic economy as a whole. We've been having a great deal of difficulty with this, and I would rather not install a dictatorship and massive planetary garrisons."

The Queen nodded again, and Mattie continued, "You've seen the video from Windfall; I created the System Governor as a Barony, the individual Assembly-persons as Counts or Countesses, each with a five-year term of office. They can be re-elected for up to five terms continuously, before they have to step down for a term. They can then run again for the Assembly. The Governor, or Baroness, answers to me, I'll be putting in a monitor on each Governor in case they start doing something I don't like."

"Go ahead, please," the Queen replied. "So far I follow you. Where does the slavery come in?"

"In each population of slaves, there are some that do not want their freedom; they want the comfort and security of a collar. There are also girls that have had a taste of freedom, and want to go back to a collar. So far, these are mostly bred slaves, but there are a few captured girls." The other two nodded, and she continued, "Also, on a number of planets, females are viewed as family assets, and by law must be tracked. The easiest way to do this is to collar every female when she reaches her majority at fifteen. This collar can later be converted to and from a slave collar, but she'll be wearing it."

"Ugh," Connie said. "They look pretty, but having to wear them, by law? No thanks."

"That's an example of the difference in opinion, on a planet, a girl looks forward to her collar, it means she's an adult, she can be independent, like getting our first driver's license, or a sweet sixteen party."

"That's …" Connie started; then paused. "It's a rite of passage?"

"Yes, like our first period, or first bra," Mattie said. "Remember, we had slavery here on Earth up until a few hundred years ago, when the Quakers started a moral campaign against it. There are planets where they have an equivalent tech level to ours, and there's the neighborhood slave dealer in a shopping mall."

"Weird," Connie shook her head. "Anyway, you were saying about feudal…"

"Yes, the suggestion was made that since our ban on slavery isn't going over too well, we modify our stance. On one day, like the first of the year, each collared slave is free. Boom. At that point, she can do one of three things, she can be free, with those duties and obligations, she can negotiate a contract with her current owner for her services, and cross her wrists to him, or she can cross her wrists to the local Count, who will be her owner and guardian until she's sold. That's for five years, at which time she has another chance to decide. That way, those who want to play the slavery game on whichever side can; those who don't want to don't have to. This way the small farmer or shopkeeper, or homeowner, can keep his slave, but she has to agree, and make it worth her while. We advertise all of this, to give people plenty of time to decide."

"And if there's cheating or abuse? If her master doesn't honor the contract?"

"A visiting inspector comes by every so often, serves as the slave's advocate, checks their health and so forth. If the owner tries to bribe the inspector; that comes under the corruption statutes, he gets a collar; the inspector is executed for corruption. If the owner is abusing the slave, that will show up in the physical, and the owner is warned, and the slaves confiscated if he continues."

"An opt-in system," the Queen said, and her mouth twisted. "As you said, not a system I'd like, but I also see the difference. The local Counts monitor and control the system in their areas, and the Baron would set overall system policy?"

"Yes, they know the local society, culture, and economy best, and they can enforce those rules on their population. This is a modification on how things are done on other planets, and with the tax-preferred use of machinery in manufacturing should gradually reform the social and economic system."

"Manufacturing," the Queen asked. "Explain that, please."

"Right now, a lot of the social structure is limited by social inertia," Mattie said. "It gets to 'good enough' and stops, and there's also the feeling that if it was good enough for my ancestors, it's good enough for me. That's why you'll have companies using equipment and processes that are hundreds, thousands of years old, and a lot of hand labor. This is illustrated by that shipbuilder we bought on Tosul. Each ship is hand built, by one or more craftsmen, and takes literally months to build. They use cranes and computers, yes, but someone, usually a slave, rivets or welds the thing together. Whereas we build cars in eight or so hours."

"The two aren't precisely equivalent, but I get your point," the Queen said. She sipped her tea, "Using an assembly line and machine tools, we can build ships much faster. Even starships?"

"We do it with both commercial ships and warships now, ma'am," Connie put in. "I've been to the Brooklyn Navy Yard; you build in sections, and then mate the sections together. For smaller ships like cutters, fighters, shuttles and work pods, I don't see why you couldn't use an assembly line. It also means that you design for similar parts, so a corvette might have seventy or eighty percent common parts to a battleship. The battleship is bigger and has more of those parts, but to modify or repair, you can just swap out parts."

"There would be a longer lead time," Mattie agreed. "However, once you got the production bottlenecks resolved, which I've got an industrial consortium working on, we can crank out a battlecruiser in months, while with traditional galactic manufacturing it would take decades." She moved to the sideboard, raising the teapot in question.

"Yes, please," the Queen said, pushing her teacup forward. "If you build even those smaller ships on Earth, it will provide an economic benefit."

"I was planning on issuing a RfQ to the aircraft companies like Boeing," Mattie said, topping off the Queen's teacup. "That should help with the financial pain the LEO station is giving them. However, if we introduce modern machinery, we can promote the zero defects and round-the-clock production. Even an Enhanced slave gets fatigued and makes errors, a machine doesn't, which gives that manufacturer a competitive edge." She brought Connie a cup of coffee, settling down with hers. "Once we get these last three areas resolved, and there is good progress there, ma'am. The last report I had was the _Taalah_ had left Tosul on their way to Windfall, and while they couldn't fit all the equipment in, they've got some, and the assorted slaves, and Windfall bought land in Archimedes crater, so we should be seeing those shortly. I'm just sweating the next several months until we can get ships built and deployed."

"Of course," the Queen said. "To return to the question of slavery, I think this is the best compromise you can have, if your local Baron can come up with adequate safeguards. While it is not something I'd like, I also recognize there are different social systems." She took a sip of tea, "I would not advertise it here; make it more of a quiet deal with the opposition political parties on the different planets. Say that arms were twisted, or that you are turning a blind eye." She sighed; then said, "Moving on, in Berlin, what I've discussed with the Chancellor…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, January 19, 2003: 21:09 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT +3)  
Windfall, Brazos, docks:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Peter Morse watched as the passenger from the _Wagner_ stalked toward him, a frown on his face, and shoved to the front of the line. He stepped forward, "Excuse me…"

"No, Terran, you are not excused. Get this scum out of my way, I have business here."

"I think you owe an apology to these nice folks, and I would need to see your ticket, please."

"Apology? To scum and rabble?" The man looked like it was inconceivable. "I am C'aldo, House Baasht!"

"I would still need to see your ticket, and they were in line ahead of you, Mr. C'aldo." Peter was exceedingly polite, while one of the mail slaves slipped up the ramp. C'aldo noticed this, "You allow a slave to precede me? How much more insult must I endure?"

"She works here, Mr. C'aldo. Once again, your ticket and an apology, please."

"Very well;" and he turned to snap his fingers. "My slave will give it to you; I do not normally deal with inferiors such as yourself." He turned again, snapping his fingers, "Slave! Give this cretin my ticket, and hurry up with my luggage! You are wasting my valuable time!" The others turned to see, a gagged slave struggled with several large pieces of luggage, she dropped them and struggled to find a small pouch. This was not agreeable with C'aldo, who produced a remote and thumbed a control. She screamed into her gag and convulsed on the wooden dock while C'aldo held down the remote. Peter reached over to pluck it from his grasp. "I think that's enough, Mr. C'aldo. Why don't you go on up and book your room at the pub, she'll be along with your bags." The mail slave had returned, she knelt, holding the gate open for him as he swept by. She came in; her yellow and red DHL tunic spotted with sweat, and murmured to Peter "Sergeant Ross knows about him."

"Good, thank you," he replied quietly, then gave the remote to her. She separated the other slave's control chip; then went to help her sister-slave.

* * *

He did not believe the incredibly rude behavior exhibited by these Terrans! Why, to think that he, C'aldo would actually beg forgiveness for a fault, like some … slave would do? Inconceivable! Well, when they came to absolute power, he would take pleasure in the slow death of that minor official. For now, he needed to travel to the local Traditionalist office; certain it would be extremely busy. He turned to the innkeeper's slave, "Where is my vehicle, slave? It was to be here by now!"

"I don't know what you're referring to," she replied, a short green-haired slave with a dark collar. "The town has public transport, if you tell me where you want to go, I'll help you with the schedule, although you'll need to walk a bit."

"Walk? Me? I am C'aldo, slave, beg your owner for a beating. My slave was to have this arranged for me, a personal vehicle awaiting my presence. Where is it, and where is the Traditionalist party offices?"

"A hire vehicle is available from the Town, costing…"

"You expect me to PAY for this, slave?" He was insulted and amazed. "Where is the Traditionalist Party office?"

The slave pulled out a map, taking a Terran pencil, "You are here. Take the number one bus to here," she said, drawing a rough circle (the long way around) to this stop and walk to here. Their offices are…"

"Enough slave; report yourself to your owner for a lengthy beating." He stalked out, and Aggie, a member of the Town Council shrugged and went to assist the slave who was burdened down with luggage.

* * *

Tired and extremely irritated, C'aldo found the offices, and the unlocked Traditionalist office. He was insulted, and stalked to the occupied office of the local Assembly member. "Where is my slave?" he demanded of the green-smocked slave who turned to look at him.

"Do you mean 13085?" she asked politely. "She is working for the Town, her Owner sent her here with inadequate funds; and she had to convert them at a seventy-to-one ratio. She detailed this in her last letter, her Owner does not allow her to use the computers the Baroness Governor pays for…" she shrugged. "She cannot afford to write her Owner more often than once a week, the rest of the time she must pay for food, housing, clothing…" she shrugged again. "How may I help you?"

"How do I find my slave?" he almost roared.

"Well, if you take the number two bus it will stop at Town Hall, you may ask for her there," she replied. "I don't know _exactly_ where she is, you see…" He snarled and stormed out, and she lifted her phone, dialing a number. "Girl? I think your Owner is here, he just came looking for you. Small, long sharp nose, no hair … Yes, I sent him to Town Hall by the number two bus… Yes, the long way around…"

* * *

C'aldo stormed up the stairs in Town Hall, coming out on the top floor, and finally seeing his slave. She had the nerve to be wearing a Town slave smock, not the one he had sent her out in, and that just increased his fury. "Slave!" he roared, and she turned with a squeak of surprise. "My mast…" but then he had her by the throat, he couldn't find his slave controller, but no matter. He picked her up, shaking her by the throat, yelling "Restrict, by the Source! You're in for punishment! How dare you disobey me!" and threw her against the wall as her wrists cuffed themselves. She hit the wooden walls with a thud and a crack, whimpering in pain. That didn't matter, he strode the two or three meters, picking her up by the collar and belt. "Silence, slave! When you're properly punished, I'll allow you to scream." He slammed her down on a desk, hearing the crack of bones, then shifted and slammed her down again, hearing more bones break. The occupants of the offices had come out, he shouted, "Slaves! Go back to work before I show you who is master!" In fury, he slammed his slave down again, grabbing her ankles and turning to throw her against the far wall, which she hit with a sharp 'crack'. He strode over to her, picking her limp form up again by the ankles and throwing it again against the far wall. "I will show you some real discipline, slave!"

"I don't think so," a large Terran said as he intercepted him. One of the slaves said, "Dr. Bujones is closest, she's on her way, master."

"Good. Nobody touch her." The large Terran male told another large animal, "Shannon, guard. Dr. Bujones only."

"I think she's dead, master. Her collar lights are dark, and she's not breathing."

"Well, damn." C'aldo was tossed with ease against a desk, where he was searched and his hands bound. The Terran male turned as a Terran female in a white jacket arrived with a large case of material, the large animal letting her past, then sitting on C'aldo as he was thrown to the floor.

The female examined the slave; then shook her head. "She's dead, broken neck. Nice clean break between the fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae. Several broken bones and bruising, too." She pulled off some light blue gloves, looked at C'aldo for a moment with expressionless, dark brown eyes, then addressed the watching room, "Nobody touches the body, or disturbs the crime scene. Shannon, I'm coming back with my assistants." The animal grunted and moved off C'aldo, and the large Terran male hauled him up. "You're under arrest for murder and battery. You have the right to remain silent. Do not speak to anyone, including me, until you talk to your speaker-at-law. If you cannot afford said speaker, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand this?"

"I demand you release me at once, Terran! I need to return to my office here and arrange for a new slave to be sent out. I have a great deal of business to conduct, and you are delaying me in traveling to my next location."

"I don't think you understand," the Terran said. "You're not going anywhere except my jail cell. You're under arrest for the murder of a citizen and resident of Brazos…"

"I have video of the whole thing!" one of the Terran females said.

"Thank you," the large male said; then returned his attention to C'aldo. "You have killed a citizen. You…"

"Citizen? What are you talking about? The slave? Dispose of the body; I need to get another one in here. Release me so I may go about my business!"

"I said do not speak to anyone, including me. You are under arrest for the beating and murder of that citizen, so be quiet!" He turned and almost dragged C'aldo to an open cage, which descended with him.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, January 19, 2003: 22:09 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Yerida, docks :  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"I want to see you again!" Rabbi Portman said as he hugged Karen. "You have a good, safe trip back!"

"I will, and I want a bottle of your first batch of wine!"

"Even if it's vinegar?" the Rabbi asked with a smile. He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder, and one of the 'little sisters' she had trained also gave Karen a brief hug, "Be well, mistress, and we'll come visit."

"Along with the rest of the team? You know I'm going to have problems on who I'm cheering on in that game."

"We'll forgive you, mistress," she said with a smile. "Go, and take care of Master Felipe for us."

"He'll be all right, it's just a broken leg," and she picked up her duffel bag and put it on the cart with her totes and other supplies. One of the _Wagner's_ crew helped her on board, and the crew pulled the gangplank on board.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, January 19, 2003: 23:09 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, High Town:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Cam stood behind her desk and looked at the rebellious slave in front of her. "I gave you a choice, 50902. Work with me, or be sent down. You chose to deliberately obstruct and delay things I wanted done. I gave you a second chance, and you continued to do what your old master in the Traditionalists wanted. Well, he's not paying you, and now neither am I. Your games are over, slave. Restrict!" The slave stiffened, her hands flashing behind her as she cuffed herself. "You want to play slave and master? I can do that too, I am, or was, your First Girl. You are now nameless." She broke the seal on a new, sterile feeding gag. "Kneel and submit to me as Mistress Baroness' Sullivan's First Girl, slave." She watched the former staffer press her head to the floor. "Good. High kneel, and open up, slave." She moved behind, forcing the uncomfortable gag into place; adding the tight blindfold, securing a hood on top; tightening and locking it all in place. "I'm sending you to the Farm as a discipline problem, slave. You'll have a red collar, you need to know who's in charge, and if we sell you off-world that's all to the good. Become a good slave and maybe you can stay on planet with your next owner." She added some tags to a leash's neck ring; then said, "I'm giving you some penalty brands as a parting gift from me. Release. Stand up, and get out of my sight."

She yanked the slave to the door, pushing her out as she said, "52026, get your misbehaving butt in here!" The insolent slave slowly stood, sauntered in, and Cam kicked her legs out as she closed the door. "Strip, slave, and kneel! I've had it with you and the rest of your little group. You forget that you're slaves, and only slaves! You are now nameless! Restrict!" The slave's hands flashed behind her, and Cam yanked off her tunic and skirt. "Disobedient, too. I told you to strip, and I don't want to hear a word out of you!" She pulled another leash out of the box, adding colored tags and locking it on the disobedient slave's throat. "You and the rest of your group are getting red collars and penalty brands for disobedience. Submit, slave! I am Mistress Baroness' Sullivan's First Girl here, you will submit to her through me. Head to the floor!" The slave, forced by her Enhancement, did so. "Good. Head up, mouth open." Another feeding gag was placed, another blindfold and hood, and the slave was sent to join her sisters as Cam cleaned house.

* * *

"Mistress Nadia," Cam said, kneeling in front of the teenager. "This slave requests that this slave coffle be taken to the loading dock for shipment."

"Well, I am going down that way…" Nadia drawled. "If we crate them, maybe they'll float in a storm. Or maybe not." She winked at Cam, who winked back.

"Possibly, mistress, or they could sink to the bottom and drown," Cam replied. "They are unruly, disobedient slaves who need to be reminded of their collars. If they drown, it will not be much of a loss; they are worth at most ten grams each." The slaves stiffened in outraged silence.

"I'll take them for a few brands each, a bit of pain always helps the memory," Nadia said, with a creak from her chair as she got up. Cam's secretary tried to keep an appropriate expression despite her smirk. The girls were lead out, and she asked, "Mistress, shall I fetch the next slave?"

Cam leaned out to check how far away the slaves were. "Five minutes to get control of ourselves. Source, that's a fun way to get rid of your troublemakers!"

* * *

50902 screamed into her gag as her collar was updated. She had tried to play a double game, helping out her former master who had said he could protect her, while trying to profit from business on the side. Had the Security Ministry found out about that? The First Girl implied that they had. If so, her status of slave meant a long, slow and painful death in public as opposed to a free person's quick one. She heard the rattle of the new control module and her collar's new chip into their buckets, and a master said, "I heard you scream, slave. We can't have that," and he pulled her gag and blindfold Source-tight, and then the tight hood she wore. He pulled her to her feet; she was marched a few meters and strapped into a vertical frame. The master grunted as he tightened clamps, "New brands, too. Source, you're a disobedient one. Well, once you're branded you'll be marched to the Farm. You're fat, you need exercise, and you'll get it." She heard clanks and smelled burnt meat as she was branded.

* * *

Slave 81412 scurried to submit as her young master came through the door to start his day. She knelt with the rest of the slaves in the Traditionalist offices, head to the ground until he had passed on into his inner office; then glanced around as she got up, her hand palming a small booster transceiver under a desk (not hers, the First Girl's), her fingernail finding the tiny raised WayneTech logo on the dime-sized disk. She pressed it, and that task was done. She knew the bugs received power from a microwave transmitter somewhere, but that was all. They were totally passive, and she brushed her hair back over her riveted gag as she stood and moved back to her desk. It would relay data from the bugs in the office, where and how many she had no idea. Unfortunately, her master was a workaholic, putting in twenty-plus hour days, and as a slave, she could not leave until he did.

Tonight, Michelle would cuff herself as required; then walk with other slaves through the poorly lit tunnels under High Town, which were the normal slave traffic routes, emerging in a side street in the lower market. From there, she would make her way to the slave quarters the Traditionalist Party maintained, where she would be fed, watered, and suctioned, then locked in a common cell with other slave girls. This morning, as other mornings, she had made the reverse trip, only to receive a well-done brush pass, which had inserted the tiny disk into the front of her slave belt. She felt an itch inside her brain on several locations on her daily commute through the park and the market, including when she passed into the access alleyway, but hadn't received the actual text message behind her eyes informing her of what she needed to do until she was in the tunnels. She thought there were several transmitters along her route, all she needed to do was drink at the public fountains along the way, and she was usually thirsty. Her Traditionalist opponents had some sense of security, but they had no idea about modern microelectronics…

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, January 19, 2003: 23:09 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, garden apartments:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Bellatrix Black climbed out of bed, stretching as she clicked on the light. She turned, regarding herself in the mirror. A healthy diet and some of Severus' potions had helped to remove most of the visible signs of Azkaban Prison, but her eyes were still sunken, and her hair… she sighed, picked up her wand from the nightstand, and waved it over the bed before she walked into the small loo to start her morning routine.

* * *

"Good morning," Bella said to her neighbor, Gran Laval, as they both emerged to fetch the morning paper. She could hear Gran's small television in her kitchen, her own usually was shut off after the weather report. This particular apartment had been occupied by the now mind-controlled Japanese slave, Yuki Fukuda, who remained convinced that she was a slave (and was happy about it). She preferred the newspaper, while it was published by the government; it had dissenting letters to the editor, editorials, and even an editorial cartoon. She looked out the bedroom window as she drank her morning tea, looking through the news listings the different seedling colonies sent in. In return, they got the news sent back, as well as a television broadcast of news and weather. She looked at the news for Site Five, the only UK site, now called Cornwall. They had ordered barges to ship tile and concrete products in… Snorting, she checked the paper's forecast, then tossed it in her recycling bin and went to get dressed.

* * *

Pre-dawn, Bella and Gran rode down the road in a rented wagon. The pair of hexataurs pulling had good night vision, aided by a lantern on the wagon pole between them. It swung on the hook, tethered somewhat by short chains that kept the motion down. Bella drove, while Gran would take the return trip. There wasn't much conversation; they made this trip about once a week, usually on the planetary day off, Fifthday, which was today.

In the back, there were pallets of supplies, which would be replaced in the wagon by outgoing product, and their new experimental beer. They had talked a few of the local pubs to give it a try, Bella was looking forward to it, although she didn't like the beer's name: HardCollar. Well, that could be changed later…

* * *

The slave once known as Yuki Fukuda, now simply the slave 90144, jolted awake when her collar activated a pain circuit. She spent a few seconds focusing, reminding herself that she did not need to panic, she was a properly owned slave girl, she had earned her collar, she was an obedient slave. She swallowed, feeling the collar on her throat as it moved with the action of her larynx. She rubbed her cheek inside her hood, feeling the heavy canvas, the thick leather of the blindfold over her eyes, the tight gag she wore strapped over her head and riveted in place on her, the sharp end of the plastic tube down her throat, the thick bladders that filled her mouth, painfully, reassuringly tight. She gave a small whimper, very quietly as she felt the fur on the back of her hands, her wrists properly secured behind her in her slave belt's cuffs. She laid in her slave tube, feeling her body, the belled cuffs that were riveted on her wrists and ankles, and relaxed as she hoped the horrible nightmare of once being a free male didn't return. '_That would be horrible_,' she thought to herself. '_I'm a slave girl; I _**need**_ to be one. I _**need**_ to be owned_.' She remembered part of another nightmare, one where she had worn a tight blue outfit without a collar; the obscene outfit had covered her body, she had served as a slave, only without a proper collar and belt. She snorted to herself, glad that her current owner kept her properly. '_Who ever heard of a slave without a collar_?' She settled back, at peace with her collar, and waited for her owner's First Girl to release her.

* * *

The slave once known as Eleanor Branstone, now simply the slave 11641, jolted awake when her collar activated a pain circuit. She panted a little bit, controlled by her Enhancement as she lay in her slave tube, her gag strapped and riveted in place, the blindfold strapped on and secured by the heavy canvas. She could feel the thick lock securing the hood on her neck, her wrists held by the cuffs on the slave belt that compressed her wrists. She shuddered; hoping the nightmare didn't come back of people flying on sticks as she waited for her owner's First Girl to release her. She was slave, which was all she needed to know. She shifted as she heard the locks on the outside of her slave tube release and voices of her owners as they spoke to their First Girl.

* * *

The slave once known as Marie Laval, now simply the slave 11642, and her owners' First Girl, knelt before her dark-skinned mistress. She kept her gaze properly down as her mistress looked over the datapadd with their production figures. Her mistress grunted, said, "Get the rest of them out and to work," and walked off. The slave whimpered once through her tight black gag, wondering why her mistress seemed to be crying.

* * *

"Good morning," Christine Sullivan said as her three guests entered her office. "I'm glad you could make this early morning meeting. May I offer you tea to help you wake up?"

"That would be appreciated," the local woman said, while one of her male companions tried to stifle a yawn.

"The problem is that we recognize the need to grow the economy," one of the men commented. "However, the Empire's stand on slavery is extremely disruptive; slaves are a vital part of the economy. What the Empress proposes will have the effect of removing our labor force."

"These girls did not ask to be born slaves, but they have no choice, they are bought and sold as animals in the market," Christine replied.

"Yet that is what they are, legally. Animals," the woman said. "At the same time, as a female, I recognize the possibility of my becoming a slave; it is part of the Source's desire that I be female. Biologically, I agree, there is no difference between myself and my sister, who wears a collar and is my slave." She took a sip of tea, "The Traditionalists view females and slaves in parallel, even though there are slaves who were born male and became female, and slave, through bio-sculpt. They have the appearance of slave girls, but their genetics are male."

"The Traditionalists ignore that inconvenient little fact," the other man commented. He was a small man, almost pretty, and Christine wondered if he had gone the other way. "The Terran position that slavery is immoral is ignoring reality, and trying to force that mindset is causing conflict."

"I know I would not wish to be slave," the woman said. "Yet my slave says there is a relief when you are collared, almost an acknowledgment of reality. Bred slaves, not knowing better, desire their freedom, yet a number who have achieved a dark collar wish to cross their wrists again." She sipped tea, "I agree that they could be saying that in order to please their masters, understandable really." She took another sip; then put her cup down with a click. "The Farm party is willing to negotiate with you, as Imperial Governor on this issue. We will then jointly negotiate with the Imperials and the Traditionalists to reach a suitable compromise. This issue is blocking too much other needed legislation, such as taxes and military matters."

Christine sat back, regarding the other three over her tea mug. "I agree, we need to move forward on other things. However, I would suggest two things. First, we move into the conference room, where we'll be more comfortable, and second, I want an out for each of these girls."

"The first, I agree," the woman said, picking up her case. "Where is the fresher, please?"

"Through there, my private one," Christine said, indicating a partially open door.

* * *

"… a … what did you call it? 'Opt in' system seems reasonable," the young man said as he made notes. "Those who wish a collar may have one; those who do not may escape it. However three things concern me; first, the financial transaction in this, second existing contracts, and third the treatment of criminals. I do not wish someone to be able to escape a debt or bad contract by simply crossing her wrists."

"Understandable," Christine replied. Taking a sip of her tea, she said slowly, "Even the Elders allowed slaves to possess cash. A slave wishes to buy her collar from her current owner, and I can see he doesn't want to lose his current investment, yet I want something fair to both sides."

"By law, slaves are animals and cannot own title," the older man said.

"We can modify that law in this case to grant a temporary freedom, similar to testifying in court cases," the younger man replied. "If a slave wants to buy her collar, she may do so for … what? Her insured value? Her owner would not lose money in that case. If the slave did not have the available funds, the Crown can loan it or guarantee the funds. What about outstanding contracts the slave is involved in?"

The woman snorted, "Only free persons can sign contracts, I suggest…" she chewed her lip. "I suggest that any outstanding contracts the proposed slave carries over are assigned to her new owner when she's sold from the block. I would not want to be the slave whose new owner was just forced to assume new debt, and add that debt to her minimum selling price. That way the debtor is paid no matter what. If she does not sell for the minimum, she stays with a dark collar and must pay her debts." She took a swallow of tea, "Regarding criminals and slaves who wear a judicial collar, I think they should be Enhanced. There is a reason for that judicial collar."

"Not necessarily," Christine objected. "If the collar was assigned by an outside agency, like a court, I would agree that it is a legitimate collar. However, a number of masters simply gave all their slaves judicial collars simply because they _could_, as an extra measure of security. The slave never committed any sort of what we would call a crime; she was simply a victim; that's why we want to give slaves some civil rights." She took a swallow of her own tea, "The Traditionalists would convict every female on the planet into a slave collar and Enhancement, simply for the 'crime' (she finger-quoted) of being a female. No, that's not right, and I think you can see that as well. If someone is accused of a crime, he or she has his or her day in court, and a slave is granted a temporary freedom for that reason. The law must be the same no matter if you're male, female, slave, or free. If they're convicted, they're collared and become property of the Crown, and sent to work off their sentence." She pointed, "If I accuse your slave of theft, I need to be able to prove it, and she needs to be able to stand in court and prove why she didn't do it. You heard about the slave that was accused of killing Governor Castellano?"

"Public discipline when you catch her," the woman said savagely. "Why isn't she on the High Street suffering now? Has she been taken off-planet?"

"No, we found her, and she was innocent of that crime," Christine said. "She was three hundred kilometers north of Riverside when it happened, in the custody of her master, and verified by her collar trace. None of the other physical evidence matched the crime scene. Why should we punish an innocent when she didn't do the crime? Should I punish your sister for the murder because she wears a collar?"

"But … she's a slave…"

"So is your slave. Should I punish her simply because she is a slave, instead of the truly guilty party? That's not justice, and it's not the rule of law. That's going back to the Elders, who punished the innocent and let the guilty free. Law should be fair, and impartial, and applied equally, and that way you know you have justice."

The other three were silent for a moment; then the young man asked, "How would you work this opt in plan?"

"I think that at the beginning of the year, every slave, with the exception of the convicted slaves, is declared free. They can either stay free, or cross their wrists to their current master, or cross their wrists to the Crown. If they do, they're put on the block for sale…"

"Too disruptive on one day, and all those freed slaves?" The older man shuddered slightly. "Too fast and too many."

"Go by their collar number, and give time for the idea to circulate," the woman said. "The last number of their collar numbers, zero and one, do that on the first year, two and three on the second year, and start … when?"

"With the election days in 165," the younger man said. "That gives over two and a half years for us to sell the idea here, and for you to sell it to the Empress and the Terrans. For how long?"

"Five years, and then they can choose again, but once the decision is made, it's made. They can cross their wrists to the Crown, or to a local master," the woman said. "Only the Crown can sell them outside their local area."

"What about ships?"

"That would be the ship's owner in the port of registration, dated to Landing Day. However, in the small colonies, the local master would need to treat his slaves well, otherwise some will choose another master," the young man replied to the woman.

"What about abuse or murder of those slaves?" Christine asked. "Public discipline…"

"They are slaves; they crossed their wrists…" the woman replied. "If they were foolish enough…"

"No, I see what the Governor is asking," the young man said. "Permanent damage, including death, would be a crime, but we need to allow owners to discipline their slaves. If a healer can repair it, they are slaves and must accept it. If not, the owner not only loses the asset represented by the slave, but is charged with a crime. Not like killing or damaging a free person, but still a crime in abusing an animal, like cutting off the leg of a live shonnen. It renders the animal unfit for use."

The older man nodded, "In summary, this lets those who want to keep and be slaves do so. On Landing Day, the eligible slaves whose collars end with either zero or one are freed. They can buy their collars from their previous owners at their insured price, plus any contracted debts. At that point, they are legally free females, despite what their collars may show."

"As free females, they can do as they wish," the younger man said. "If they desire, they may cross their wrists for a term of five years to either a private owner or the Crown. However, there is no changing their minds if they choose to do so, and as a decision of free females, it should be acceptable to both the Crown and the Terrans."

"The next day, the first of Primus, the Crown puts those slaves on the block, and sells them to local owners for the term of five years, with the protections we'll figure out later," the older man said. "This allows owners and slaves to suit themselves, and the Traditionalists keep their power centers in the Farm." He finished making notes, pushing his legal pad across the table to the Governor. "That look like what we've agreed to?"

She looked it over, "And I endorse the Farm party as an official political party, we provide space for your people in the different sub-colonies, and the Imperials work with you against the Traditionalists?"

"Not always on that last one," the woman disagreed with a smile. "We may disagree on some things, like tax policy."

"On the other hand, as the Terrans say," the young man commented. "The Traditionalists want to build with Tungsten, but pay with Iron."

"When they consent to pay at all," the woman said sourly. "Are we agreed, Governor?"

Christine looked over the agreement one last time then initialed it and passed it down the table. "I'm not completely happy, but they say politics is the art of compromise. Let's talk about tax policy…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, January 20, 2003: 22:09 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT)  
Windfall, Qing, residential area:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Peter Chang sipped his morning tea as he waited for the community bus in the pre-dawn darkness. His mind wasn't fully engaged as he greeted some of his neighbors, rescued slave girls that were shivering in the lingering cold in the shadows of the mountain range. '_Silly girls_,' he thought. '_Cover your legs; you don't have to wear those micro-miniskirts all year round_…' The bus pulled into the stop, the hexataurs' breath white puffs of steam in the frosty air. '_I wonder if their collars get cold_,' he wondered. '_They are steel, after all_…'

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, January 20, 2003: 01:09 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT -1)  
Windfall, Cornwall, passenger dock:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

John Culm waited at the passenger docks for the ferry across the lake to his workplace. Yawning, he slurped tea from his take-away mug, the morning newspaper under his arm. He turned as a neighbor joined him, shivering in her short skirt. He passed his mug over, and she said, "Thank you, master," as she took a healthy gulp.

"Now why don't you girls wear something warmer?" he asked.

"It would not look good, and we would be too warm in the office, master," she replied. She gave him a smile, one that, considering the early hour was fairly cheerful. "It's perfectly logical."

"_Women_," he snorted with friendly disgust.

"_Masters_," she replied with an eye roll and another smile. "You wish us to look good; then complain when we do so." She shook her head. "I have heard we are expecting barges in for shipping building materials. That will be good; it will help pay our debt. We can also use them to ship our clay and concrete products."

"You work in the planning office, don't you?"

"Yes, master," she nodded, taking his mug and another gulp. "I will bring you one tomorrow, I am running late today. The orbital mineral survey has an outcropping of valuable clays just to our west (she gestured in that general direction), what we have been working on is a plan to run a road there; it is only a few kilometers. We can also use the rock and pulverize it to sell as gravel." She stole one more gulp, "I never thought a year ago when I knelt in a hotel room and waited to die that I would be concerned about clays and gravel and sand." She looked at him, "Master, thank you for saving my life."

"Er, you're welcome. Unfortunately, we can't save every slave."

"I know that, master. We all do. We can also wait for our revenge, even if it is our daughters that achieve it." The moment was broken by the whistle of the approaching ferry, and she smiled at him, but her eyes burned with rage.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, January 20, 2003: 04:09 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 10:22 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, High Town:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Mistress, you have your ten-thirty meeting in a few minutes," Cam's secretary called out to her.

"Oh, yes, thank you," she replied, reaching behind her to unplug the power charger, brushing the 'tail' hairs back into place. She stood, locking her terminal as she smoothed down the skirt and smock of the government-issue slave smock she wore, picked up her notes, and walked out the door.

"Good morning," Cam said to the dozen or so assembled slave girls in the small meeting room. "This is a quick meeting to let you know that the majority of our slaves will be sent off. They will either go to the different seedling colonies to enforce Imperial standards for weights, measures, and health codes; or if they've been your … what the Terrans call 'problem children', sending them back to the Farm (the other slaves in the room shuddered in fear), with a red collar and mention of being discipline problems." (The others winced.)

"Mistress, don't you think that's rather … harsh?"

"We are not Terrans, we are slaves," Cam replied. "The Terrans may seem to have a soft touch with a slave, but that is ending. They have made note of who has cooperated, and who has not. We are to take those slaves who have decided to try to avoid work, those who have decided that they have more than one master, and remind them, forcefully, that they are collared slave meat." She looked around the small room. "They need to be reminded of their collars, and if they do not wish to get out of their collars, they wish to stay slaves, the Terrans will be more than willing to work with that." She slowly looked around the room again, "The Terrans' patience is close to the end. Those misbehaving slaves _will_ be Enhanced, they _will_ have a red collar, they _will_ be full slaves." She tapped her own collar, "I am Enhanced, as you all are. The Terrans are seeing the wisdom in the Traditionalists' program to Enhance every slave, although not every free female. If a slave behaves herself, she does not have anything to fear. The Terrans _want_ us to think, they _want_ us to question, they _want_ us to learn and grow. They also want us to _work_. Too many collared girls are taking advantage of their good nature and slacking off." Her gaze went around the room again, "Studying is considered work, as it is a useful, productive task that increases knowledge in the slave. The Terrans also do not mind a smile, a light heart, a joke, as long as the work is done and safety rules are followed. They have a strange sense of humor, I agree, but they have one." She looked around the room again. "Do you follow my reasoning? Mistress Baroness Sullivan is one of us, a collared girl, but _we_ are the ones in the Ministry. If we do not clean up our Mistress' house, she will invite someone else to do it, and WE will be in the Farm ourselves, and then on the block for sale."

* * *

"And why are these here?" Cam asked about the large buckets that had chips in them. "These are control chips and programming modules. Why are they loose like this, why are they not in order? How do you expect to easily find a particular one? Here is a programming module for … 85756, where is the matching control chip?" She waved the programming module, "It is missing a leg, it is inoperative. If we needed to reprogram this slave, we could not do so. Yet without the control chip, we cannot create a duplicate!" She glowered at the head of this section, "I want you, personally, to go through these chips and match them. If there are modules without a chip, we shall have to recall the slave from wherever she is and have her recollared or, more likely, have her Enhancement upgraded, and then recollared! I am tired of the inefficiency of this section; I am considering moving the entire section to the Farm and having all of you added to the general population for resale!" She stalked over to a worker, "Where is slave 85756? Where is she assigned, what is her location? Now, slave!"

Crossing her arms, Cam waited while the slave fumbled with her computer. "You are obviously incompetent, slave. You are fired, you will be sent to the Farm, along with penalty brands for laziness and incompetence. Lock yourself in a neck ring." She pushed the hapless slave out of her chair, and with a few keystrokes came up with the information. "The slave in question is in the Farm, so why is her module here?" She shook her head in disgust; then gestured at the large room, "I want all but ten slaves and all the control chips and modules sent to the Farm. All but those ten will be recollared, branded lazy and incompetent, and put up for sale." She stood and stalked to the door, "I will be in weights and measures should you need clarification on my orders."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, January 20, 2003: 10:09 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 22:22 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, High Town:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Some passerby stopped to watch as the long coffle of bound and hooded slaves emerged from the bowels of the slave tunnels. They were chained to the back of a small wagon, and walked down the street to the taunts and catcalls of other slaves and free persons. Every so often a guard would prod one of them, or a passerby would poke one of their reddened, freshly branded thighs, earning a muffled yelp of pain from the un-Enhanced slaves. However, mostly they marched in silence; the only real sounds were the scuffling of their sandaled feet and the clink of their light chain leashes in the gathering darkness.

"Slaves, halt!" a guard called, and the coffle came to a halt outside of town. "Belly!" and the slaves turned, lying on their bellies. "Spread wide!" and the slaves spread their legs. Another guard went down the line, clipping the belled ankle shackles of one slave to her neighbor. "Time to rest, slaves. Morning comes early!" and with a rough laugh, they retired for the night.

Slave 50902 lay face down in the mud along the side of the road, her wrists secured behind her, her ankles linked to the slaves on either side of her, and suffered. The coating sprayed on her new brands kept them clean, but that didn't mean they didn't _hurt_. She was tired and insect-bitten, and just on the first day of Source-knew-how-many days of this before she reached the Farm and its horrors.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, January 20, 2003: 11:58 (GMT)  
In convoy, **_Taalah_**, Flight deck:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Mike logged into the comm station as S'ana was finishing up the logs for the forenoon watch, and Mistress S'rat stood by, waiting. His girl stood by nervously for her first helm watch as her predecessor logged out. S'ana stood, "I am relieved. Course and speed set by the escort ship; it should be a very quiet watch. Good for training, mistress."

"I relieve you," S'rat replied with her customary cold tones, and took the command chair, toggling a switch. "Ship's log, this date and time. Command assumed by Mistress S'rat, course and speed set by convoy command ship escorting. First helm duty by slave 35031. End entry." She sat back, "Slave, you will keep your attention on your board. I am aware this is your first duty at the helm, should you have a question, you will ask it of me. You will not move from that seat without my permission. Is this understood?"

"Yes, mistress. Thank you."

"Attend to your board."

* * *

"Mistress, my course plot has us dropping out of convoy shortly," 35031 said to S'rat. "I am not certain of what to do."

"Ah. Comm, signal to the command ship, we will drop out of convoy shortly; we need to refund fees and update any information. Check to see if our charts are current."

"Yes, mistress," Mike said, and touched his hush mike. In a minute, he turned, "Mistress, we are formally warned of pirate activity, and advised shields up and weapons hot. We are refunded six kilos twenty, and chart dates and revision stamps are current. We are wished the best of luck."

"Acknowledge, and gratitude." She stood over 35031, "When our indicator on the plot barely touches the navigation marker, drop to sub-light until comm gives clearance. Orient to the new heading, bring up shields and preheat weapons on this board here." She watched as this was done, the ship kicking slightly. "A rough transition, but adequate for your first one. You need a gentler hand, and he has a tendency to yaw two degrees to port. Comms, ready for you."

"Yes, mistress," Mike replied. "Initializing comms, starting download." He waited as S'rat said to the helm, "You may proceed on your new course, but in normal space until Comm has authorized it." She sat in the command chair, "Ship's log update, this date and time. S'rat, on watch and recording. We have left the convoy and are downloading communications files…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, January 20, 2003: 15:58 (GMT)  
In convoy, **_Taalah_**, Flight deck:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Afternoon, Captain," Mike said as his CO waited for S'rat to finish the watch log. "I've got your mail and other traffic ready for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Bulstrode," the Captain replied, accepting the datapadd. 35031 logged off the helm, and stood by waiting as her relief logged in. S'rat concluded her entry; then turned the ship over to the Captain.

* * *

"Oh, my brain hurts," 35031 complained as she put her study padd down in the ship's common area. The healer, who was sitting in the Tonton game, leaned back, asking "Literally, or just from studying?"

"Studying, mistress. I feel so _stupid_!"

"I know what you mean, but you have to know it before you can sit the examinations," the ship's Engineer commented from the game. "You'll learn it, and it is better, I think, than being chased, isn't it?"

"Or turned into a fish," the doctor put in.

"What can we expect when we reach Windfall?" Mike asked from the 'study' table.

"Pleasant planet, an easy collar," the healer replied. "We offload the cargo and then go off to Eta Orionis, where we pick up some special orders and a group of hotel slaves. We'll be kept in a comfortable cell with other ship's slaves, while you, master, will have a hotel room and a room slave."

"Try to remember, master, that you cannot buy every slave," the Engineer said. "Take this one along as your room slave to remove the temptation, if you wish." She shifted her attention to 35031, "If you are ready, you may sit the exam for Spacer Fourth there, while your master visits the marketplace. A number of vendors have permanent displays set up; it will be educational for your master." She returned her attention to the game.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, January 20, 2003: 18:29 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Severus Snape's office:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Severus put down his soup spoon as the fire turned green, and two figures stepped out. He rose, fetched the brush and inspected the two young women. "You're late, and leather suits you," he commented.

"Gifts from the German Chancellor and the BND, sir," Connie said, holding out her arms in the black leather trench coat. "The secure floo doesn't go to the Chancellery, it goes to a secure area, where we were met by our BND escort; then limo'd to meet with Herr Schröder. Very useful day, although it did run a bit long. Sorry about that."

"Just for your information, sir, we're going to switch next week, Russia for Poland," Mattie said. "Two reasons, I want to get some shopping done in Moscow, I want to buy a fur coat, and I need to go over some things with the design office in Warsaw. That's at an airport, and the wind chill is going to be sub-zero."

"You know you're going to be criticized for wearing fur," Connie commented as Mattie brushed her off.

"I don't have to wear it all the time," she replied. "I want it for Babice airport in Warsaw. I was going to buy you and Cindy one, but if you don't want it…"

"You know I'm not going to turn down a free fur coat," Connie replied with a grin. "It's my job to mention the political aspect, that's all."

"Understandable," Severus said, interrupting the beginning lighthearted squabble. "A bit of news; I have received information from several places regarding the mind-controlled slaves. The most highly rated is in Boston, but his email states he does not travel under any circumstances. You may try to convince him, he did not reply to my follow-up email." He took a sip of tea, "Another is in Russia, going by the name 'Rasputin'. He may be more amenable to traveling, although from what I have been able to discover, his methods are brutal, as he was used to interrogate … no, let us use the proper term, mind-rape information out of political dissidents. You may arrange a meeting with him when you visit Moscow, although I would have Ms. Koslowski sit out that meeting." He turned slightly, "Your Occlumency skills are not up to dealing with him. Ms. Wayne, he is a predator, keep your own shields fully up in his presence. He would use raw force to extract the information; the body left would breathe, but would not be useful for anything else."

"Wonderful," Mattie sighed. She passed a cup of coffee to Connie, taking one herself. She sipped it slowly, thinking; then sighed and said, "I think I'll have to meet with Mr. Rasputin; but I want a card or two up my sleeve." She took another sip, "You developed a Cruciatus potion. How difficult would it be to brew, and could a paralytic agent be included as a precursor?"

Severus eyed her suspiciously, "That is regarded as a Dark Brew; it was used by the Dark Lord for torture." He sat back in his office chair, tenting his long fingers, "Why do you want it?"

"I think I need something in my pocket in case Mr. Rasputin proves … difficult. I don't know how powerful a wizard he is, but a paralytic agent will allow me to escape if necessary. The counter-agent I can give to the Russians."

Severus grunted, reaching out to his tea and taking a sip. He considered, "Agent of delivery?"

"I have some rings with needles; they can take up to five milliliters."

"I won't ask where you got them. I have a paralysis potion that will cause pain in the extremities; you may lie to Mr. Rasputin. I will not see you torture people, it is distasteful enough that the Empire needs to rely on slaves for intelligence work."

Mattie breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I wasn't looking forward to doing it, but …" She waved her hand, "Regarding this particular skill, is there anyone else?"

"With particular training, either Albus or Potter could do this, as could I. It is not an easily acquired skill, akin to picking locks while blindfolded and wearing heavy mittens. I do not like to say this, but you may need to write those young women off as anything but slaves."

Ms. Wayne shook her head, "That's a last option. Not only did Mr. Morton, who was acting as my agent promise a return to '_status quo ante'_; but I want to be able to look May and her parents in the face and tell them that I have exhausted every possibility before Eleanor lives out her life as a mind-controlled slave girl." She took a swallow of coffee as Connie asked, "What about the local people, like that fellow that came by and planted false memories?"

Mattie winced, "My counterintelligence people say that leads into politically murky water. One of them is a member of the House of Lords with links to intelligence agencies and the Japanese zaibatsu and through them, the Yakuza. We may be able to pry things out of him, but he's a senior member of the House of Lords, and MI-5 wouldn't like that. Where and how long is this training? Is it something I could do?"

"I do not know, nor do I know Albus' schedule. Potter is a possibility, but he, like I, takes the summer holiday to prepare for the next term, as well as some rest and recreation. I shall consider it, assuming Bella is still on planet, we could make a honeymoon out of it. In any case, dinner is almost over, and you two need to be resting." He tapped the door with his wand, "Off with you."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, January 21, 2003: 11:58 (GMT)  
Benecee Beta system, **_Taalah_**, Flight deck:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Passing the system marker, mistress," Mike heard from the helm as he entered the flight deck in preparation to stand his watch. "We have entered the Beta system."

"Bring the ship to a halt, this is a good place to change watches," S'ana said; then keyed the log, "Ship's log, this date and time, First officer and First Girl S'ana recording. We have entered the Benecee Beta system without incident, and we are ready to change watches." The hatch slid open to admit S'rat and 35031, and S'ana concluded, "End log entry for this watch." She turned, "I am ready to be relieved, mistress. No incidents or other things to report, a slow watch."

"I relieve you, then," S'rat took the command chair as Mike logged into the Comm system. "Downloading comm traffic, mistress," he said. "Please give me a few minutes."

S'rat nodded; then addressed a nervous 35031, "This watch will require a steady hand with maneuvers, and keeping an eye on the close-approach radar. Do you think you can do this? I will ask S'ana to fly the ship if necessary."

"I think so, mistress," the older slave replied. "I have been practicing with the simulator, I believe I am ready."

"This will require several hours of intensive concentration," S'ana put in from where she stood next to the engineering station. "If necessary, ask for relief between the outer and inner asteroid belts, there is no shame in that. You are still inexperienced."

"If I feel so, I shall do so, mistress." S'ana grunted, and eyed S'rat, who nodded as 35031 logged in at helm.

* * *

35031's slave smock stuck to her back with sweat as she concentrated, one hand on the maneuvering joystick, the other on the 'throttle'. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the radar display and the forward viewing panel, as she put the ship in a gentle climb to avoid a tumbling mountain; then slid sideways to avoid its kilometer-sized moonlet. She held that course for a few minutes; then dove to avoid another mountainous piece of rock. She flew steadily on course for a few minutes; then said, "I think that's the last of the outer belt, mistress."

"Give it a few more minutes," S'rat said calmly, but her own nerves were evident in her chewed fingernails. She sat back in the command chair, hiding her ragged nails in her lap. There was silence on the bridge, until Mike cleared his throat, "Mistress? I don't know if you've seen the comm traffic from Windfall and the Governor's office, but we're supposed to offload our cargo slaves to the Farm, wherever that is, and other cargo on the transit station, where it will clear customs. That's where we need to dock first, so we can clear customs and immigration."

"That's where we declare the cargo slaves?" S'rat asked.

"Yes, mistress. We declare them at the station, then normally they'd be shuttled down, but in this case we don't unload them, just handle paperwork on them and then deliver them to the farm, per the Lieutenant Governor's office."

"If those are our orders," S'rat acknowledged. "What else do you have?"

"This is general to the ship, mistress," Mike said, handing over a datapadd. S'rat accepted it, snapping, "Attention to your board!" to 35031.

"Yes, mistress!" she squeaked.

* * *

"Clearing the inner asteroid belt, mistress," 35031 reported. She didn't see the Captain standing back and watching, she was so focused on her board and her flying. Her hair was sweat-soaked, as was her white (privately owned) slave smock and skirt.

"Receiving instructions from the station," Mike said.

"Comply," S'rat snapped.

"Yes, mistress," he answered. "Helm, we are to dock at slip ten, arm five. Do you have the beacon on frequency 103.2?"

"Um… yes, master. Main engines on standby, using maneuvering thrusters," there was a rattle. "Tractors have us, thrusters on standby."

"Station reports Portmaster standing by," there was another thump, then rattles and clanks. "Station reports good docking, umbilical connection is green, awaiting pressure hatch release."

"Inform the Portmaster it will be a minute while we change watches," the Captain said. "S'rat, you and your watch stand down, I have the ship. Please escort the Portmaster here."

"Yes, Captain," S'rat said as she finished her entry in the ship's log.

* * *

The Portmaster was a thoroughly unpleasant little man with a dark blue cape, who eyed S'rat as if she belonged on display in a cage. Mike took an instant dislike to him as he declared his ownership of his girl. However, the Portmaster didn't like the concept of females doing anything other than serving as collar meat; he didn't like the fact that he had to deal with S'ana or S'rat. He would ignore them and speak to Mike instead; the fact that the Captain would tolerate mere females in the ship's crew, much less as officers was plainly revolting to him.

* * *

"Sir," Mike tried again, "As I've said, these slaves are in stasis because they require a different environment. They are water-breathers; they have been properly attested as such by the Tosul Portmaster's office. If we take them out here, they'll die. That's why their stasis tubes are in with general cargo, instead of with the other slaves."

The Portmaster grumbled, "Then why are their tubes hidden behind those other cases?"

"Because there was available space in that hold, sir," Mike replied. "Our cargo holds are filled; we could strap those collaring machines in there, as the stasis tubes only take up a third of that hold. We strapped them in vertically because …"

"Yes, yes, I can see that. Open that case. Third down on the left, two in." Four of the ship's slaves moved boxes to reach the one he specified, then opened it and stepped back. He pawed through it, grunting, "Enhancement kits. We'll need them for all these females. I want one of those long crates opened, fifth down, third in." Again crates and boxes were moved, and he grunted again, "Collar metal. One meter long, certified, it matches. Next hold," and he marched out, waiting impatiently for the slaves to close things up. They left, and he slid down the hatch, putting a seal on it. "What's in this hold?"

"More Enhancement kits, sir," Mike replied, going to the next page on his manifest. "We have that purchase order from the Commerce Ministry."

"Yes, yes. Run by not only a female; but also a slave. Outrageous," the Portmaster commented. "She should be on her knees in front of a proper owner. Only thing to do to a female, collar and Enhance them. They need a strict hand to keep them in their place. Remember that with your own slave; keep her in her place, otherwise females get ideas."

"Thank you, sir, I will. Did you want to see any of these?"

The Portmaster peered through the metal grate, "No, I don't think so," and applied his seal. "Let's go take a look at some of these special ordered slaves. I assume you have their health certificates and so forth?"

"The ones from the slave house, yes, complete documentation. Others we picked up here and there, including an estate sale when the head of the Tosul Slaver's Association died. He was a healer, sir, and we have his records on his slaves."

The Portmaster grunted. "He was a good man, then. That's where you got the fish-slaves?"

"Yes, sir," Mike replied. The Portmaster grunted again, and thawed somewhat. "Good. I want to eye some of those slaves, but it looks like things are good enough. We can't tell with some of these tramp ships, port to port, you know."

"Of course, sir, but we do have a contract with Windfall's government."

The Portmaster waved that off, "Done by that _female_ that's sitting in the Governor's chair, no doubt. Well, at least you report to her _deputy_," his contempt was obvious. "I'm sure he's got a plan to take over, it's bad enough the Terrans have a _queen_ as their leader. She's certain to foul things up even more…" he said as he walked with Mike.

* * *

"Oh, I wanted to punch the sodding bastard," Mike said as he entered his quarters. "Bloody misogynist."

"What does that word mean, master?" 35031 asked as she started to undo Mike's clothing. "You have time for a quick shower, master, before we need to report for moving cargo."

"Means 'woman hater' or 'female hater'," he replied, rolling his shoulders. He walked to his desk, picking up a small, framed photo. "The girl on the left, dark hair, does she look familiar?"

His girl studied the photo, "A younger sister, master?"

"That was me in school, third year, with my best mate, Pansy," Mike said. "My birth name is Millicent, and you know how S'rat went from male to female? I went the other way."

35031 studied the photo; then glanced back and forth. The girl in the photo wasn't _ugly_, but she wasn't good looking, either, whereas her master was a pleasant young man. "I … I do not understand, master."

"I wasn't happy as a girl, I always felt I had been born in the wrong body, and when my family was killed, I was… well, it wasn't a pleasant year. I had tried to kill myself, and … well, here I am."

"I think you made the right decision, master," his girl said, then returned the photo. "I shall keep that information private, but it does explain some things." She pulled back her long red hair, "Personally, I would rather not live in such an … eye catching body, master. The Captain has also asked me about my freedom, but you need a shower first, master." She shooed Mike toward the fresher.

* * *

"So about your freedom," Mike asked. "I was going to do that on Eta Orionis, give a little more push to that particular poke in the eye for you."

"I appreciate the idea, master, but unfortunately that would not be legal," his slave replied. "For now, I am content to remain your slave, the Captain explained that the crew is only playing slave, they are actually free females who have consented to play slave. Others in the crew were actually freed, with dark collars, as they wished. As I am your slave, I was planning to be your room slave in the hotel." She grinned slightly at him, "The planet of Eta Orionis does not allow a slave to be freed except under extraordinary conditions, master. However, if I can accompany you, I can imagine myself a free female, and I would like to see the market. I never had a chance when I was sold off-world; I was cargo, not crew."

"You don't mind waiting, then?"

"No, master, although I hope to be ready to sit the exams for Spacer Fourth there," she replied; then glanced at the ship's chrono. "We need to assist the crew in moving cargo before we depart for the planet, master."

* * *

Mike looked around; the Farm was an interesting name for the place. He watched the cargo slaves being unloaded and formed into chains, or coffles, while the main building was an enormous brick structure build into the side of a small mountain. Resident slaves were all wearing tight black gags and leashes, and were either nude worker-slaves, or had pale green slave outfits and glowing rings on their necks connected to their collars, with slave prods hooked on their own slave belts.

"This is a slave house, master," his girl said quietly as she knelt behind him. "I thought the Terrans didn't do that."

"I didn't think so either," he agreed. "I'll find out what I can, nose about and see what you can find out yourself, we'll compare notes."

"Yes, master," she replied, and moved away as he saw a male come out of the building and head toward the offloading crew. The local looked over the ship's crew; then made a course change toward Mike. He noticed the local was also wearing another dark blue cape, and S'rat gave him her datapadd, murmuring, "You deal with him." She moved to 'supervise' S'ana, who was offloading the cargo slaves.

"Greetings," the local called out. Mike waved; moving away from the slaves to meet him. "Beautiful day," he acknowledged.

"Indeed," the local replied. "Are those the clearances from the Portmaster?" Mike handed over the datapadd, and the local studied the information. After a few minutes, he looked up, "The slaves are not Enhanced?"

"Some of them are," Mike replied. "The seven-hundred series slaves, no." He glanced around the small, bowl-shaped valley with the high brick walls topping the ridges. "I would not want to try escaping from this place."

"Which is of course the point," the local said. "Other than by air, there is only one road in or out," and he gestured to one wall. The road was a switchback, reinforced at certain points by more brick construction, with massive gatehouses at the top and bottom. The walls were either natural, or made into sheer cliffs, with the brick fortress walls at the top rising to a uniform height.

"So what's going to happen to all these girls?" Mike asked.

"The animals? The ones that need it will either be Enhanced, or have their Enhancement upgraded," the local said, still going through the manifest. "Some of these are scheduled to go to other locations, like Riverside, or High Town. Others will eventually be distributed to the various seedling colonies. The fish-slaves and others will be held here until we find out differently." He continued to page through the manifest, idly commenting, "The only proper place for a female is collared and kneeling before her owner. I'll be glad to see all the females on this planet wearing a master's collar and Enhanced. A big job, but we can do it."

"I thought the planet didn't have a slave house," Mike commented.

"Required by the Slaver's Guild to hold licensing for the planet and for your ship, since you're contracted to us," the local replied. He handed the datapadd back to Mike, "Want to see the place?"

"Let me check with the Captain first," Mike answered.

* * *

"For a single planetary slave house, this is actually a small facility," the local said as he went past the line of incoming slaves. "The Terrans installed computer terminals and other equipment, which you'll see shortly to organize the handling of the slaves. This is much more efficient." Mike watched as a female guard-slave maneuvered an incoming slave between two readers, which clamped against her legs, while she pulled her down so she was bent at the waist, her collar being read by a semi-circular device. She pressed a foot pedal, a light flashed green, and she pushed the new slave on.

"The slave is now registered into our slave house," the local continued. "Your manifest has slaves sorted by collar number and has an end-use for some of them. Some go to Enhancement, others to holding cells for re-collaring or training, and then shipment to their final destinations." He watched the chain of slaves be processed in eerie silence by other slaves, the original slave coffle being broken up as slaves stepped through another barrier, the individual slave's leash being released and added to the back of another slave's leash ring. He motioned Mike on, "We're expecting several hundred slaves from High Town, most of those were Enhanced, but they were discipline problems, so we'll be harsh with them."

"Where are the slaves that are waiting for Enhancement?" Mike asked.

"Down this way," the local said, taking a different door than the slaves were using. "This is a supervisor passage; it has a slave barrier on it as you saw. The slaves that have earned their supervisor rings can use this, the rings turn off the barrier for them."

"I noticed all the slaves were gagged," Mike said.

"Yes, they're still slaves, and it helps in feeding them and reminding them of their collars." He pushed through another door, down a floor, and saw the front of the line that snaked up the sloping passage. Six slaves were being separated from the front of the line, taken to a small cell with a heavy wooden door, and a guard-slave was recording their collar numbers with a bar-code on a panel next to the door. They were knelt and locked in neck rings, the ends of their leashes locked to a central ring, and then the door closed with a 'boom' and was triple-locked. Mike looked in through a heavy steel mesh in the center of the door, there was a dim light above the door, he could see them kneeling side-by-side, three each on either side of the door. The cell was roughly one and a half meters on a side, the girls were shoulder-to-shoulder and almost face-to-face. He watched several of them shift slightly in order to get comfortable as they were held on their knees, the steel neck ring tight around the base of their hoods, holding them so their thighs and torsos were in a line, their breasts on either side of the leash chain. He could see their sweat-slick bodies and the penalty brands on the left thighs on the girls on the right side of the cell. Outside, the cell's LED display had changed to read the slave numbers of the occupants, a yellow cable running up from it into the gloom of the ceiling.

"I've seen Enhancement before," Mike said as he turned away from the cell. "You said you were expecting some slaves who were discipline problems."

"Yes," the local said. "Unfortunately, the current _Governor_ (he almost spat the word) is a female with a dark collar, and so won't allow us to use the full range of corrective measures. At least she's Enhanced, so when the Traditionalists finally consolidate our power, she'll be ready for our discipline. Those chambers are in the lowest level, walking is for slaves. This way, please."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, January 21, 2003: 07:34 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 12:47 (WFT)  
Windfall, Qing, business office:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Peter Chang sipped his tea as he studied the new request for a quotation from the Governor's office in Riverside. '_Hmm_,' he pondered. '_While we do not have to ship interstellar, our cabling plant is just now getting up to speed. While this will be good business and good investment, I do not know if we can do some of these things, especially the fiber optic cables_.' He made some notes on a cover sheet, inserted the faxed pages into a file folder; then swallowed the rest of his tea. On his way to the teapot for a refill, he gave the file folder to one of his newer girls. "Come, let me buy you a cup of tea and explain how a request for quotation works," he invited.

"Does that mean I can leave this cavern?" she asked with a smile. "I miss seeing the trees and the leaves."

"When Qing's new colony business offices have finished construction, we shall all move there," Peter replied. "I too miss the view, but it is also distracting. Once we have discussed this, you may go to see the new cabling plant – I would like to see it myself." He opened up the file folder, "This is known as a Request for Quotation. It seeks to know how much it would cost to supply these cables…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, January 21, 2003: 15:58 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 16:47 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, **_Taalah_**, Captain's cabin:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Those … sodding bastards, excuse me, Captain. I'm sure there's a better word, but I can't think of it."

"There has been some political changes since we were last here," Mischa replied. "No worries, Mr. Bulstrode, you're only saying what I have been thinking, only in Yiddish. The discipline area?"

"Reminds me of the torture rooms in the Tower of London," Mike replied. He sighed, "Except I must be honest, they looked _used_, but not currently in use, if you see the distinction. Racks, the wheel, all that looked well maintained, and if I were a misbehaving slave walked past them, I'd be frightened as hell. Bloody hell, I was a _visitor_, and they made me nervous!"

"And what you did see?"

"Slaves that were still hooded, chained in various ways, I don't know what some of them are called, but with a neck ring and wrists manacled to the side, pulled up and hung on beams, several with a rowing machine that turned a whipping machine that had slaves fastened on it as rowers and whipped, but with flat leather straps. They were bruised, but not much blood. What they described as 'light' discipline; I made appropriate noises to let my guide think I approved and faked a call from the ship."

"Pity we couldn't get video," the Captain commented. "What about your girl?"

"She couldn't find out much, all the slaves here are kept gagged. Can we get out of here?"

"A day or so, we are covered as a slave ship, and thus must appear to approve of this place. Once we do, we'll go to Riverside; I will be speaking with the Governor. When do you wish to free your girl?"

"When she asks me to, Captain. Apparently we can't free her on Eta Orionis, but I've got about three weeks left in my thirty days of ownership."

The Captain grunted, "If we don't see those slaves marching from High Town in a day or so, we'll relocate to Riverside. If there's nothing else, you're dismissed, Mr. Bulstrode."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, January 22, 2003: 16:03 (GMT -8)  
Terra, Seattle, King County medical center:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Good afternoon," Dr. Clement said as she closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry I'm late, a call I had to take. How are things with you?"

"Eh," the patient, once known as Harleen Quinzell, then Harley Quinn, now under the witness protection program as Harriet (Harri) King, replied as she waggled her hand back and forth. "I'm gettin' there, Doc, but my life is so … well, boring sometimes. There are times when I wish I was back with …"

"With your previous love interest? The one that beat you to the point of hospitalization on numerous occasions?" The doctor gave a snort, "Harri, dear, you're far better off without him, or the life of crime he sucked you into."

"Objectively, I know that," Harri said, springing from her chair and starting to pace. "All I need to do is look in the mirror and count the scars. You also know that women get stuck in relationships that are bad for them because they love their guy and think they can reform him." She snorted; then caught up her water bottle on the pass by her chair. "Not once in the history of th' human race have we succeeded in reformin' a guy. Yet I'm one'a them women. Lots a shrinks tried to get me to break it off, even my gal-pals tried to convince me. It took his murder to break me o' him."

"In the prison shower room," Dr. Clement replied.

"Wi' a bar of soap shoved up his butt, and another one down his throat," Harri acknowledged. She sighed, "That's why I wanted to talk to you today, I think I miss the excitement, the drama, the thrill of crime. Teachin' aerobics just ain't the same."

"Yet it's a lot safer, and less likely to get you killed."

"Safety can be over-rated, doc," Harri replied. "It's boring, is what it is."

"What about the job with the Seahawks' cheerleaders?"

"It's a part-time job, and this is the off-season. We go around, we get paid for appearances, but for some reason th' other girls think I'm loony." Harri grinned, "Maybe I am, doc. I am seeing you."

"You're not loony, Harri, but there are some things you need to figure out, and that's why we get together." Dr. Clement nodded toward the paperwork Harri had brought with her, "You had something to ask me about?"

"Yeah, doc," Harri replied, throwing herself into the chair again. She pulled out a folded newspaper page, "I saw this in th' McPaper, y'know, _USA Today_, and I talked about it briefly with m' parole officer. He didn't have much time for me, those guys are awful busy, but he suggested I float it with you." Circled in black marker was an eighth-page advertisement with the lead 'Bored?' for IR & S.

"Hmm," Dr. Clement lowered her glasses from her hair to read it over; then looked over those glasses at Harri. "This is off-planet intelligence work. You can read between the lines, Harri."

"Yeah, doc," Harri agreed. "I also went on their web site, they mentioned two things, doc. One was that they needed to penetrate all of a planet's social areas, the other was a criminal background wasn't a show-stopper. Matter of fact, doc, I think that might be a plus."

"You might wind up a collared slave girl, Harri. Or tortured."

"Yeah, doc, that was mentioned in their FAQ," she replied, pulling out a printout. She handed it over, "I been tortured. These are copies for you, doc. I got my own notes. Besides, a collar ain't too different from this ankle transmitter thingy I gotta wear, and a cami an' shorts ain't too diff'rent than a slave smock."

"A point, and thank you," Dr. Clement murmured as she read through her patient's paperwork. She'd check out the web site tonight, but the FAQ she read emphasized that a person would not be considered a slave, even if they were disguised as such. She looked up, "I notice this includes any necessary bio-sculpt work. May I pass this on to other patients?"

"Th' trannies and bondage types you got? Sure, they'd probably flip over it," Harri said. "I saw some slave collars online while I was researchin' this. Th' base straps on th' throat, or has medical adhesive, and takes batteries. Th' rest o' the collar locks into th' base, which powers th' lights. Looks like th' real ones th' off-world slave girls wear, only this unlocks. Not that expensive, either, a couple hundred bucks, just don' lose th' electronic key."

"Yes, that would be bad," Dr. Clement agreed. "I'll look into this tonight, and call your parole officer, Harri. No promises, now."

"Great!" Harri threw out her arms and knocked over the doctor's coffee mug. "Oops. Sorry…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, January 22, 2003: 23:09 (GMT)  
Seconday, 10 Tertius, 163, 16:22 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, the Farm road:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Slave 50902 was exhausted, but she was still held in the grip of her Enhancement, and thus continued to march in step. She heard the command "Slaves stop," and came to a halt, standing in place even though she wanted to collapse. "We have reached the entrance to the Farm, slaves," and some of the un-Enhanced slaves whimpered in fear. "You will be marched down a long ramp, and therefore your leashes will be shortened. Follow the steps of the slave preceding you precisely, otherwise you will fall off the cliff, and will then be punished. You will be suctioned and watered in your cells, and will be allowed to rest. After that, you will be properly treated as the disobedient, red-collar slaves you are." There were more whimpers of fear as the Mistress' voice continued, "Once I have sold you to the Farm, I will be wealthy, and able to gain power in the Traditionalists."

'_Fool_,' 50902 thought savagely. '_You are a female as we are, and the Farm will break you, as it will break us to a collar. You may enter a free female; you will leave a collared slave. The Traditionalists only care about a female as they can profit from her. My former Owner convinced me to continue to serve him after I was sold to the Ministry, he said he would extract me, and like a fool, I believed him. You and your guards will be added to our coffle and broken to an Owner's collar_.'

* * *

Mike Bulstrode looked up as he saw a long line of hooded slaves making their slow way down the switchback road, following a cart. The local official looked up and snorted, "Lady G'na finally makes her appearance with her guards and slaves." Mike made a questioning noise, and the official added, "The slaves from High Town, here for discipline and retraining. She may think she's selling them to us, but we know differently!" He laughed, slapping Mike on his shoulder.

"I hadn't heard," Mike replied.

"Ah," Paacrd, the official explained. "The Ministries in High Town have already 'sold' (he finger-quoted) them to us through inter-department transfer. However, Lady G'na is under the impression that there will be a cash transaction, which we shall allow. Once money changes hands, as a Ministry official, that will be bribery, and she will earn a red collar herself, discipline, and a place on the block when she's slave-trained." He smirked, "The guards are already wearing their collars, but they are not permitted to carry slave prods here, and thus will also receive our hospitality. Truly, females are not particularly clever. However, it is not their fault, they are smaller than males, and thus their brains are smaller and less complex. We must guide and correct them, it is our duty as males, and the best way is to collar and Enhance them."

"And the fish-slaves we are discussing?"

"Are operating from plans drawn up by males," Paacrd replied comfortably. "Even their on-land slaves take direction from males. It is a good idea to use them in construction along the waterfront; it will be done faster and at less cost. However, you must have a male inspect their work. Females are lazy and will not do a good job unless motivated."

"I will pass this on, we simply transport the slaves," Mike replied. "The other slaves we brought back, the ship-building slaves? We need to maintain their health, they are to be treated well, all of them."

"Including the females? You are aware that all slaves are to be Enhanced, it is planetary law…"

"_Proposed_ planetary law, according to the Lieutenant Governor's office," Mike corrected. "It has not passed the Assembly, nor has the Governor signed it. With the new Farm party, it may not pass."

"Brown cloaks, they don't know how to treat a female, much less a slave…" Paacrd grumbled. "The Imperials and the Farmers will be the ruin of our society…"

"Keeping their own house and shop slaves for years, I would disagree," Mike said mildly. "You're just opposed to the proposed taxes on slaves."

"The animals are expensive enough as it is, there is barely any profit to them any more!" Paacrd grumbled. He sighed, "Very well, those animals will be moved to larger cells…"

"With better ventilation?"

"With better ventilation. You would think we were Imperials, we are treating the animals so well…"

"I would never insult you like that," Mike promised.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 24, 2003: 13:02 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 5****th**** year potions:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"And Ms. Wayne," Severus said, as he finished with the roll. He flipped the file folder closed, adding "Ms. Wayne, please stay a minute after class. You had a question about a potion."

"Yes, sir," Mattie-alpha replied, and Professor Snape grunted. "Today we shall be brewing the potion we discussed Tuesday morning. This potion has been on the OWL exams for the last thirty-three years, and with good reason, as it is a rather finicky potion. A quarter-stir more or less at certain points will not only invalidate it, it will cause paralysis if not death to the recipient." He set out a rack of vials, "This is the antigen, when you come up to copy the instructions, take one and have it available." He turned with his characteristic swirl of black robes, tapping the board with his wand. The board filled with his tiny, precise script, and he moved away as the students prepared to copy it.

* * *

"You mentioned a potion, sir?" Mattie-alpha asked as the class cleaned up.

"Yes," Professor Snape replied, handing over a copy of a potion's listing. "That should do for you when you visit Moscow. You will invite Mr. Ackerly of Hufflepuff to our potions lab for the brewing. Have it and the antigen brewed to my satisfaction by Saturday night. Miss Branstone may assist you if she desires."

Mattie-alpha regarded him, "Mr. Ackerly is to demonstrate to the Hufflepuffs that we have not forgotten Eleanor."

"Precisely; you may give him a précis if you wish." Professor Snape glanced at the clock; then filled out a form. "You will be late for your fourth period class," he said as his own class was filing in. "Off with you."

* * *

"So why am I here?" Peter Ackerly asked as they waited for the water in the cauldrons to boil. "Not that I don't appreciate being one of the few outside Slytherin to actually _see_ the mythical potions lab…"

"It could be that you're the only 'Puff in NEWT potions this year," Melissa Baddock said from her own cauldron. She gently tapped in a carefully measured dose of insect wings off a paper disk, giving the potion a quick widdershins stir, then quickly popping a glass cover on the cauldron. She set a digital timer, then stepped back, "It could also be the political factors," she added.

"Political factors?"

"Of course political factors," Ami Bones said from her own bubbling cauldron. "Melissa, a hand here?" Her seventh-year housemate took a step over, holding a quiet conversation as Peter glanced around. In contrast to the relaxed atmosphere of the Hufflepuff common room, he suddenly realized that he was _alone_ with these coiled predators. While he doubted he was at risk physically, he was only a few feet away from _Wayne_, who had casually overthrown governments and had most recently called forth the Four Horsemen and arch-demons as vengeance to the murder of her fiancé. Furthermore, the Slytherins around him had collectively engineered a bloodless planetary coup to install Wayne as Empress… He swallowed nervously.

"Oh, don't be so bloody nervous," May Branstone told him. "We're not going to _EAT_ you."

"Not without proper seasoning," Sprink Tonks added. "Blimey, we can see the fear rolling off you, mate. Calm down." She sighed, "Right-o. Here it is, spelled out for the 'Puff. Eleanor Branstone is currently trapped in her mind, where she thinks she's a bred slave girl. We need to get the phrase to unlock her and return her to her right mind, along with her mates."

Wayne turned from her cauldron, "Essentially, I need to return them to their right minds. For those political reasons, we have to … pick the lock, so to speak. However, mucking around in someone's mind is a job for specialists, of which there are very few. One of whom I will be meeting with in Moscow next week, and he is Not A Nice Person. He rapes minds to get the information he wants."

"To put it another way," Tonks added. "He burns the library in order to get the one page of one book he wants."

"My job is to deal with him," Wayne commented, double checking her potion's instructions. "This will help me deal with him."

"But this … it's a Dark potion…" Peter said weakly.

"Dark is in the eye of the beholder," Ami Bones replied. "The Cruciatus when used against a sentient is considered illegal, and an Unforgivable, but that's only in England, contrary to what the Ministry wants you to believe. Cross into Wales, or Scotland, or Ireland, it's perfectly legal."

"Not a nice spell, but there are far, far worse," Wayne said, and Peter remembered former Minister Fudge casting _Crucio_ on Wayne. "What I have in mind for this is defensive, and I'll give the antidote to President Putin."

"Well, I guess …" Peter reluctantly conceded. "I'm representing Hufflepuff…"

"I said he'd get it," Ami claimed happily. "Pay up, you lot!"

"We had to lead him by the bloody nose," Tonks grumped, tossing Ami a galleon.

* * *

Peter sighed in relief as the door to the Hufflepuff common room closed behind him. Charlie Adams looked up, gave him a quick grin, "How was your visit to the Serpent's Den?"

"Bloody hell," Peter said as he collapsed into a sofa. "You're a braver man than I am to be engaged to one."

"Oy, you dissing my girl?" Charlie asked. "I like the snakes. So what about this potion you were brewing with Mattie?"

Peter shuddered, "She … she deals with Queens and Presidents…"

"Don't play poker with her, with any of them," someone commented. "It's true; you need a Slythie to deal with a Slythie."

"Bloody cowardly lot, you are," Charlie said, slamming his book closed. "I can see this isn't going to be a rational discussion. You went to brew that potion to see that Mattie hasn't forgotten our housemate Eleanor. Don't play chess with them either, you won't last three bloody moves. She's showing _loyalty_, admittedly in her own way. She could very easily write off Eleanor, not even in her year or house; and she's only one slave girl, but Mattie has to worry about the problems of an entire bloody star empire! Why do you think she's taking classes with the Queen of England? It's not like there are college courses on it!" He stacked his books before picking them up, "Goodnight, everyone."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, January 26, 2003: 08:55 (GMT +3)  
Terra, Moscow, the Kremlin Armory:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The fire flared green in the underground room, Crystal taking a step out and looking around as Mattie and Connie followed her. The uniformed FSO officer nodded politely, ("Papers, please.") he asked in Russian. Crystal offered her official government passport and her SO-1 identification, he examined them and compared them to his list. Handing them back, he braced to attention, ("Welcome to Moscow. Papers, please?")

* * *

Connie stifled a yawn, shook her head; and then said, ("Excuse me; I'm still on London time.").

("That's fine, Mother wanted to meet you, Father has something to do at the office,") a young woman in the limo said. A bodyguard leaned close and whispered in her ear. ("Oh, I'm so sorry! Vasily reminded me that we hadn't formally met. I'm Maria Putina, this is my sister Katja, and since this is Sunday we were going to go see what's new at GUM. I understand you're going to Poland next week…")

Katja just closed her eyes and squealed, drumming her boots on the limo's floor. ("Okay. I'm okay, but you're like, a celebrity! The _Tsaritsa_! You're … famous!") She gave another squeal, then said, ("I'm sorry, I promised myself I wouldn't be an obsessed fan girl…") She took a few deep breaths, ("I just love your outfits, especially those boots!")

("Your dad is the President of Russia,") Connie replied dryly in Russian.

("But he's just … Dad,") Maria said. ("Without all this, nobody would give us a second glance,") and she waved her hand in a circle. The limo pulled through a curtain wall, stopping in front of a smaller triangular building. ("Here's home, the Senate building.") Uniformed guards opened the doors of the stretch ZIL, standing to attention. ("Oh, it must be so exciting to travel and see new things!")

("And get body parts chopped off,") Crystal said.

("Thank you for saying that,") Vasily said dryly. ("I have said the same thing many times, but do they listen? No, of course not!")

Mattie stopped in the courtyard, ("You need to strike a bargain, like I have with Crystal. I let her know ahead of time, and she arranges security to be as invisible as possible. She even did a lot of my Christmas shopping for me.")

("Not that it was a particularly fun Christmas… God, I still see my mom lying in a pool of blood on Fifth Avenue…") Connie turned away for a minute, and was the recipient of a group hug from the other women, while the men stood around uncomfortably. After a minute, throats were cleared, and Katja held Mattie at arms' length, ("You … you summoned the Four Horsemen. You melted down New York, and declared war on the Chinese. What kind of power does that take?")

("You heard that?")

("Tsaritsa, everyone on the entire planet heard that,") Vasily said dryly. ("We watched those events on television, what you spoke was in English, with subtitles in Russian, but I was in the duty room, and I heard it in Russian. We all did. Beautiful, perfect Russian, not like the implant translation you're using today, with the minor errors.") He regarded her, ("Tsaritsa, what are your intentions?")

("To learn, for the both of us,") she replied. ("There are no college courses, no textbooks on how to govern an Empire, much less start one up. There are history books, and they teach mistakes, which I hope to learn from and not repeat. However, I will make mistakes; I know that. All I can do is to see how things are done now, and from as many different people as I can. The Russian system is different from the British, the German, the American, and so forth.") She gestured at Crystal, ("One thing she doesn't like, and I understand why, is my desire for that common contact. I want to know what the common citizen thinks; I want to be their advocate against the professional politicians. If it gives the security people ulcers and grey hair, then I regret that, but its information I need to know.") She shrugged, ("Yes, it increases my risk. I wear body armor, and I follow the security people's suggestions, but I still need to go to things like trade shows and job fairs.")

("See why I'm going grey?) Crystal said.

* * *

("Lyudmila Aleksandrovna Putina, you are not going,") Vladimir said to his wife. ("This is a time for the girls, you have them all the time, let the girls go with the Tsaritsa and her comrade and have some fun as teenage girls. They will be fine; Vasily will keep them from getting into too much trouble.") He turned to Mattie, ("Tsaritsa, take your time, enjoy Moscow. I doubt you get the chance to play tourist much. Tomorrow we shall work, you will study and learn, but today is a day off. You have sufficient funds?")

("Daaad!")

* * *

("Dad was right, I don't get the chance to play tourist,") Maria said, and Katja nodded, adding, ("I want to see Gotham City! I hear it's exciting!")

("Exciting?") Connie asked. ("I've been there. Exciting isn't the word.") She turned to Vasily, ("If she does, take an armored division. One for each of them.")

("At least,") Crystal put in. ("They're starkers, mate. Cold, blooming, out of this world stark raving mad. That's why she has no sense, that's where she grew up.")

("Hey, do I dump on New York? Or London?")

("YES!")

* * *

("Welcome to Rosbank, how may I help you?") the perky young teller asked.

("I need to get a cash advance in rubles, what credit cards do you accept? American Express?") The teller nodded, ("That would be fine, miss, with some form of ID.") Digging her wallet out, Mattie said, ("I have two accounts there, and I want to do some shopping. Can you take a Centurion card?") and she held out a black AMEX. The bank teller blinked at that, then hesitantly took it, ("It's … metal, not plastic.")

("Titanium, actually, and my passport, will that do?") She pulled off her woolen cap, stuffing it in a pocket of her black leather coat, and the teller looked from her, to the card, to the passport, then back to her, and gave a short scream. ("It's the Tsaritsa! Tsaritsa Wayne is here! In my bank! At my window! Oh, my God!")

("I guess so…")

* * *

("I just hope she doesn't try to sell that account number, it happened in Greece,") Mattie said as they rested in a tea shop. Vasily and Crystal, along with an assortment of FSO uniformed guards kept the onlookers away, although there were the flashes from press photographers and various people held up phones to snap photos. She took a gulp of her coffee, and then asked, ("What are your plans for the future? College?")

Maria, the eldest by a year, and eighteen, nodded. ("I graduate in May, and I can get into any college in the Russian Federation, but I'm thinking of taking a gap year and doing some traveling. I want to see the world, maybe the stars, now.")

("How are your foreign languages, like English or Japanese?") Mattie asked.

"Like your Russian," Maria replied in English. "I do well in school, but not in fast speaking. Still, am not bad, da? We practice speaking in English?"

("If I can practice in Russian,") she replied. ("We correct each other? It is 'I' am not bad, 'yes'.")

"Machine translation not … is not bad, but you still have… have an accent that marks you as foreigner. You … you will make a poor CIA against brave Russian KGB agent," Katja put in. She finished her tea; then said, "Come, Tsaritsa. We help you get fine Russian fur coat for mild Polish winter."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, January 27, 2003: 08:55 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Babice Airport:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Vasily Danilov turned away from his computer, looking out his window at the snow in thought. They had a week's reprieve; the Empress would be going to Moscow next week, instead of Poland. However, as the head of the Imperial Bureau of Shipbuilding, it fell on him to explain why they still did not have a working engine plant. They currently had half-a-dozen warships in various states of completion, yet the only way they had to move was the in-system grav drives. There was the new design being worked on in the Deimos shop, yet that had only been piloted once. It had shown some significant questions, the most important being if it scaled to move a starship, or could only be used by fighter-sized craft. He sighed, finished his tea, and went to fetch a refill and think.

* * *

Frau Gersten sipped her coffee while she looked out the window at the snowstorm. The Imperial Bureau of Shipbuilding had taken over their office, and while there were still a good percentage of engineers, there was now an additional layer of bureaucracy. '_Then again, we have more resources now_…' she mused as she looked over the general aviation airport, poorly located near the center of Warsaw, a few kilometers to the northwest. Now, instead of doing honest engineering work, she was tasked with compatibility planning for quotations and bids for new small craft designs.

She took another sip of coffee, finishing the mug, and thought of her husband. '_I don't envy Franz his new colleagues_,' she thought. He had to deal with leading the new French designers, some of who hadn't wanted to leave Paris, and wanted to keep to their own designs instead of using the standardized designs. '_Germans and Russians may forgive, but Germans and French will never get along_,' she thought of the old saying, then stood, and moved down the hall to the tea-room for a refill.

* * *

Marcel looked out at the snow, hands cradled around his mug of coffee. '_Warsaw. Why did I agree to come here_?' he asked himself. '_Oh, yes, because EADS was bought out, and relocation seemed like a good deal, especially when I am just out of school, and they paid the expenses. Of course, God must hate me; I have a German boss_...' He took a gulp of coffee; then turned back to his workstation. His task group was to review and modify the standard Imperial tech into an interstellar cargo vessel, starting with the EADS design.

Other groups would take the original EADS design for in-system cargo use and modify it for export construction, so colony planets in the Empire could build their own shipping. Still other groups worked on designs with the Imperial Weapons board for missile ammunition colliers and other supply ships.

* * *

Yu Chang looked out at the snow, and the framework of the new building going up. The Polish construction workers didn't seem to mind the three-meter drifts of snow, or the sub-freezing temperatures. However, northern Europe was a far cry from Formosa and the Republic of China, where she had family. Traveling thousands of kilometers to start a new job after college, China was still very traditional. Female engineers were rare, and had lead to screaming matches with her mother. She shivered, she could _feel_ the cold wind seep through her window, and pulled her heavy sweater closer. Perhaps another cup of hot tea…

* * *

"Oh, I am too late," Yu said as she saw the depleted tea-pot.

"I shall show you how to make tea in the traditional Russian way," Vasily told the tiny Chinese woman. "This is known as a samovar, come, we shall have a sit while the water boils. Now tea, known as _zavarka_, is a concentrate, heated here, on top. It is mixed to preference, usually at strength of ten percent or so." He gestured for the young woman to have a seat, asking, "You are cold?"

"I can feel the wind coming through my window," she said with a shiver. She pulled her outer sweater tighter; then put her mittened hands under her arms.

"The cold makes your hair grow!" Vasily replied heartily. "You need proper clothing. Give me your sizes; I will have my daughter look around Moscow for you. She will be visiting next month, she can bring something or we can have it shipped." The samovar whistled, and Vasily asked, "Your tea, strong or weak?"

"Weak, please." He took Yu's mug, and made her a cup. "There, about fifteen-to-one." He passed it to her as he fixed his own mug, sitting down at the table again as she took a cautious sip. She sputtered, waving her hand, "Oh, my God is that strong!"

"Really?" Vasily took a tiny sip of hers; then passed his own over. "Good Russian tea."

"I didn't say I didn't like it," she replied, trying his; then returning to her own. "I think I'll be happier when we're not so crowded and the new building is finished."

"I know the mock-up and machining sections will be," he agreed. "The computer design is wonderful, but I prefer putting my hands on something." He sat back as she pulled her mittens and the underlying gloves off, wrapping her hands around the mug. "So what brings you to Warsaw with its light snowfall?"

"Light?"

"Light. This is nothing compared to Mother Russia. We can easily get three meters or better overnight."

"Family," she sighed. "My family is very traditional, and thought I should have gone into a more traditional female trade…" as she unburdened herself.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, January 29, 2003: 08:09 (GMT)  
Windfall orbit, **_M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller_**, Bridge:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Eight bells had sounded for the morning watch, and Captain Komatsu regarded the figure on the comm screen. "This is delicate equipment," he said to the navy-blue caped man on the screen. "Shipped under very specific environmental conditions; and I will be liable if there is damage." For a minute he wished that Ms. Parkinson were still on board, but she was back on Earth, and had sent Ensign Rose Zeller, a young British woman. "You are more than welcome to send someone to examine the equipment upon installation, but I cannot permit you to break seals. Once you have accepted the equipment for transshipment…"

"And I am telling you that I cannot allow uninspected equipment to pass without opening it up."

"Accept it, then have someone accompany it dirtside," the Captain suggested. "Or, have one of your people accompany our shuttle down. Once it is again in those environmental conditions, you can break seals as long as you attest that you opened the equipment. The people that came out with us to install it will be more than happy to answer any questions. I am sure you understand liability…"

The official grunted, "Wait," then flicked on his wallpaper as a hold pattern. The Captain looked at the graphic of Windfall Customs before sighing and looking to his right. "Ms. Zeller, anything new from the _Taalah_?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. "The fish-slaves are held in stasis tubes at the slave farm, their dry-land sisters are held waiting distribution orders. The _Taalah_'s Captain was able to get better holding conditions, but they're still held in slave cells until the farm receives release orders. Same thing with the shipbuilding slaves and their cargo of tools and equipment, awaiting release orders from the Governor's office, or rather, the Lieutenant Governor, sir." She swallowed, "Sir, we've also gotten information that the land in Archimedes Crater back home is prepped as far as they can, they need more detailed information. We also need to find out what equipment needs replacement and what supplies are needed before we stop at Tosul or Eridani III. The _Taalah_'s Captain is ready to talk about that, they've transmitted up their information."

The Captain grunted, "Call _Taalah_ back, let them know I'll call their Captain back as soon as I've finished dealing with this … _baka_ idiot." Ms. Zeller turned back to her panel as the wallpaper disappeared and the Customs official appeared. Captain Komatsu put on a pleasant smile, "Well, sir, what has been decided?"

"When you dock, you will transfer over all cargo destined for Windfall other than that sensitive equipment. I will accompany your shuttle down, along with your technicians. Females and slaves being sold here will of course go to the Farm for in-processing and any necessary Enhancement. That's required by law."

"I see," the Captain replied. "We're not offloading any slaves, and any females are free women, not slaves."

"Same thing," the Customs official sneered. "Females, slaves… However, it is not yet law to collar and Enhance free females, although we're working on it. They'll have to wear a tracking collar, though."

"Is _that_ law?"

The Customs officer grumbled; then finally admitted, "It's _recommended_…"

"But not _law_," the Captain replied. "That will of course be their choice. However, the cargo shuttle does not have passenger accommodations; you'll need to join our personnel on a passenger shuttle. Once we have docked, we shall be happy to have you."

"Until then," the Customs official said, and disconnected. Hikaru Komatsu spat "Baka. I want to piss him off. Who do we have that's collared?"

"Igor in Medlab and the machinery crew are Enhanced, skipper," Gisele Erhardt replied from the helm. "I'm taking my time, doing a nice, careful docking. It's too bad most of the IBM techs are guys. Can we get some of the women disguised as security troopers or techs?"

"Good idea, Lieutenant," Hikaru approved. "Ensign Zeller, brief in Second Officer Park and the IBM guys. See if we can do two personnel flights. Pity we can't go, he'd recognize us as bridge crew and think something was up."

"We'll have to live vicariously, sir," Gisele agreed.

* * *

"Good morning," Michelle said pleasantly to the grumpy Customs official. "I am Second Officer Park. The Captain and First Officer Yakolev are dealing with another matter. I have here a manifest of all cargo being offloaded to Windfall," and she offered a datapadd.

"Female," he almost spat. "Where are the passengers offloading here?"

"In this meeting room, sir," she said politely. "Two shuttles, each of twenty persons in addition to the cargo flight. You can choose one; I will be on the other one. This way, sir…"

* * *

"…arrogant bastards, aren't they?" the Captain asked from the _Taalah_. "I've got my Comm officer dealing with them, my First is First Girl; my Second is wearing a dark collar. Mike, my Comm officer comes back aboard and hits the speed bag in the gym. The slavers on Tosul weren't as bad as these Traditionalist bastards are."

Hikaru chuckled, "My First actually requested relief from that duty, but you know how passionate Russians can be. My Second is Korean, and has a great poker face she's hiding behind. Inscrutable Asians, don't you know." He took a sip of tea, "To business. I've gotten an update from Sir Cuthbert regarding the disposition of various slaves and equipment; you should have received an information copy. Once the IBM and Cisco equipment and such is offloaded and processed through our friends in Customs, and we have poked a sharp stick in the local bureaucrats' eyes, we can withdraw our temporary 'techs' back to the ship and depart."

"With the Earth-bound slaves and their equipment," the Captain added. "I sent up a priority list of kit and parts our shipyard techs said was needed."

"I have that," Hikaru replied. "I have also received a request from Sir Cuthbert that Parkinson Construction transship the property of Windfall to Earth, we have submitted an invoice for this, along with the request that the aforementioned slaves be recollared. Will the _Taalah_ be able to perform this for us?"

"To prevent and detect any un-authorized … programming? Of course, at the rate of fifty grams per slave. Very little profit, there." Both Captains smiled; then Hikaru Komatsu nodded. "I will so inform Sir Cuthbert, and he will cut the appropriate orders. When you see Michelle, please give her a full briefing."

"Of course. On to other business…" the Captain replied.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, January 30, 2003: 08:09 (GMT)  
Windfall orbit, **_M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller_**, Deck 5:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Good morning, I am Second Officer Michelle Park," she said to the newly boarded manufacturing slaves, while Gisele worked through them, removing their hoods, leashes and other equipment. "Release. I regret that we don't have better accommodations for you, this is a construction ship, not a passenger or slave ship. We will be removing the various items you're wearing, please stay on this deck and in this conference room. You have been bought by the planetary government of Windfall, which we are currently orbiting. Some of you have been biosculpted and mentally reprogrammed, we shall do what we can to reverse that. We apologize for that; it was a miscommunication. Once we break orbit, we shall travel to Tosul and then to Eridani III to acquire new equipment, then on to the Terran Empire's homeworld where you will set up a new manufacturing plant on the planet's moon. Under the moon's surface, I should say." She gestured, "Gisele is your liaison; we want your input on the best equipment and designs for the shop and other facilities." She nodded again and left.

"You two," Gisele tapped the two slaves she had just freed of their equipment. "Please continue with the others," and she moved up toward the front of the room. "Can everyone at least hear me? Deck five is a crew deck, and this room, A, and the one across the passage, B, are normally used for recreation rooms. The ship's healer or her assistant will be coming by to bring you to med lab for a medical check, and while we have your records, it's best just to check." She checked the notes the Skipper wanted her to go over; then looked over the slaves in the room. "When I finish this briefing, if your collar ends in an even number, like zero, two, four, I want you to stay in this room, odd numbers like one, three and so forth go across the passage into 'B'. Those two rooms will be where you'll be staying during the flight." She checked off an item, "As Ms. Park said, we are installing a new manufacturing plant for engines, environmental gear and other equipment. We want your input, I'm sure that while you were working on other ships on Tosul you had ideas on how to do things better, but as a slave couldn't suggest it."

"My mistress, this slave does not understand…"

"Ah. If you were biosculpted and are confused, please kneel on that side of the room. The slave house, as Ms. Park said, did some mental reprogramming in error when they biosculpted and Enhanced you. We'll need to reset that." She took a sip of water as a number of slaves moved about. When they had settled down, she activated her holo projector, "This is a layout of the land Windfall has purchased, and includes quarters for you. It is tunneled under the surface of the moon, so it's shielded from radiation, vacuum-tight, lit and heated to a standard 20° and should be fairly comfortable. As the equipment is the property of the Windfall system government, as you are, we'll need to design the most efficient layout for both incoming raw materials such as sheet metal, as well as packaging for shipment."

She looked around, "As I understand it, you built small ships one-at-a-time, to order, and each of you built a single ship, which must have taken _months_."

"How else would it be done, my mistress?" one of the biosculpted, Enhanced slave girls said.

"You have multiple assembly lines, which move the product from point-to-point. Those lines eventually merge, where the sub-assembly joins the main assembly. Let's take a small ship as an example, like a shuttle. It has a power plant, engines, environmental, sensors, and control deck, all fit into a framework which is launched and recovered to and from a ship." Some of the slaves nodded warily, Gisele thought more because they were 'humoring our new, crazy mistress' than anything else. "While there is some more complex design work to make certain everything fits together and works correctly, it means that once the glitches and mistakes are corrected, we can build a shuttle in a few hours, instead of months."

"That … that is not possible, my mistress," the slave said.

"Why not? Did I miss a part? The key thing is to standardize, and move the task." She moved to a different slide, "Instead of one person doing all the work, to the customer's order, the customer selects options off a menu. Let's look at that shuttle. If we want a pressurized cargo shuttle instead of a passenger shuttle, we make our choices from a menu, and when the order comes through, instead of putting in seats for passengers, we pull a set of different, pre-assembled modules. We're going to ship farm animals in a container, so we install environmental connections for those containers, as well as gravity plates, a larger rear hatch, and so forth. However, the flight deck controls are the same, as is the power plant and engines. There might be additional panels to control those connections, but those are standardized, plug-in modules, the flight controls are the same. The sensors, all that other equipment is the same. So a pilot can fly a cargo delivery today, and then later that day, in a different shuttle, fly passengers."

The slave's brow was furrowed, "My mistress, you have two different shuttles. You would need two different pilots, two different crews…"

"No, because the controls are the same. Once the pilot is trained to fly one, she can fly anything of that same type. When the shuttle needs maintenance, it's a routine operation with common, standard parts. If one of the major subsystems needs to be changed, like an engine, it's a routine operation, and a tested replacement is simply bolted in and connected. It's tested, and the shuttle is back in service." She looked around, "What we will be doing is designing and building those common, standard parts and subsystems, so what two or three of you will be doing is working out how to take standard parts and assemble them in a consistent manner. Instead of one of you taking a month to build an engine from bare metal, you have a framework for that engine, and as it moves down a line, parts get added to it until it gets to a final testing point." She looked around, "While that engine is being worked on by others, you will be working on the next one, installing the first parts into that bare frame; then moving that to the second group while you get a new frame from those people, and install a new set of parts." She gestured with her hands, "From one, to the next, to the next, to the next."

"If those parts are heavy, or delicate, my mistress?" another slave asked. "Once the engine is finished testing, then what?"

"Think of the branches on a tree," Gisele replied. "The smallest ones lead into larger, which lead into larger. If the parts are heavy, there is equipment there designed to move it from a storage cradle to the frame, where it would be connected. If it is delicate, other equipment is designed to move and store it, although we would want to know _why_ that part is delicate. It might be reworked or re-engineered for greater strength, or be listed as a routine maintenance part. Once that engine has passed testing, it's moved into other storage, to be taken out in its turn and added to a ship's frame."

Several of the slaves looked at each other. "There would be a much longer time in the design and testing area, my mistress," one finally ventured.

"Yes. Some things can be automated, others can't. We'll need a set of eyes and a working brain to see and correct problems. Building the frame for the engines and other parts can be automated, as that's just bending and welding steel, but seeing that a wire isn't quite long enough to reach from one point to another, and could be another two centimeters longer is something that needs a brain." Gisele looked around, "We're just building a shipyard, and the three things we're stuck on are the jump drive engines, the life support and environmental and the inertial control. We need to figure out how to build them, in all sizes, from shuttle to battlecruiser, and how to automate the process as much as we can. We also need to figure out the flow of materials, storage and testing. You know what you worked with on Tosul, and we've got those tools and those computers and such. However, we also see they're in desperate need of maintenance. If buying parts to fix that will get us going, say so. If spending a little tungsten for a much better machine will do it, say so, but remember that scale, and common parts. If a machine will produce a part that can be used in everything from a shuttle to a battlecruiser, that's good, but if it can only produce battlecruiser parts, that we'd have to think on. We're building both civilian ships like this, as well as warships, and if you run into problems that your group can't figure out, come to me."

She looked around, "You know who did what. I want you to decide on working groups for those three items, and a design for the merger of assemblies into a ship; as well as the best layout for the area as a whole. We'll then…" the door slid open, and Gisele turned. "Good morning, Igor. Here for your first victims?"

"Yes, mistress, in collar order." Gisele waved her in, "This is Igor, from the med lab. Please give her your full cooperation. While she takes you to and from the med lab, I'm going to start resetting these girls over here." She clapped her hands, "Diagrams and such up front, take one each, a legal pad and a pencil, please."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 31, 2003: 08:09 (GMT)  
Firsday, 19 Tertius, 163, 08:22 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, the Farm:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

There was the hiss of an injector, and the young woman groggily sat up. "Where … where am I?"

"Ah, Lady G'na joins us again," she heard. "Lady G'na wishes to sell those slaves to us, including her guard slaves. Unfortunately, that would constitute fraud and would gain the Lady G'na a visit with the Terran's falling blade; her pretty head would decorate a pole on High Street."

"What? That's a legal sale, and they're all collared slaves! Collar meat! What have you done to me? Why can't I see? What do you have in me?" She struggled, "I'm bound like a slave! I am not a slave! Get this blindfold off me! Release me!"

"You are a female, Lady G'na, and thus there is no distinction between you and a slave. However, I will concede, in law, you are not currently a slave. We shall release you from our machine, and turn you over to the Terrans, along with our evidence of your corruption. It is sufficient to guarantee your execution." He waited, letting the young woman consider this. Her face under the blindfold paled. "No…" she whispered. "You can't… I support you…"

"But you are a female…" He let her think; then said, "You have another choice."

"A collar? I would be a slave!"

"But you would be alive, and the Terrans do not like to execute slaves. They will give a judicial collar, a red collar, and you would be Enhanced, but you would be alive…"

She struggled again for a few minutes, then her shoulders slumped, and she murmured something. "I did not hear you, Lady G'na."

"Collar me, I will cross my wrists to the Crown," she whispered, her wrists held behind her as she sat on the various connections for her slave belt. She took a deep breath, "As a free female, I request the Crown's collar and Enhancement as my punishment."

"Lean forward, Lady G'na, and be collared."

* * *

Dr. George Brenner waited for his next patient. He was working with a Prime Healer, and learning quite a lot, but the downside was that it was in the Traditionalist stronghold of the Farm. The Healer he worked with was already collared and Enhanced, she had been bought on Tosul, the property of the head of the Tosul's Slavers' Guild. She was an extremely attractive redhead, one of the Chase Slave models.

The slave was brought in, and George could tell she was a local. She wore a judicial red collar, her hands cuffed behind her, and she knelt, "Master, I am to request Enhancement."

"In the tank, girl," George said, and watched as she struggled in. "When the tank starts to fill, breathe deeply, you will not drown," he told her as 73536 (the Prime Healer) secured her in the surgical frame. He unwrapped a new Enhancement kit, checking the contents as the slave's work order came up on his terminal. The new slave struggled a bit, the tranquilizer and painkiller quieting her as she breathed the clear fluid in. The Prime Healer stood back, "Master, on this one I will stand back and assist you to perform the entire procedure. I will only intervene if necessary."

"All right," he replied, already concentrating on the procedure. "Raise her to operating height, and lower her head, please."

* * *

The freshly-Enhanced slave sneezed, expelling the last of the operating fluid, then moaned in pain. George helped her up as 73536 said, "She needs to have her collar synchronized with her Enhancement, and then to rest, master. We can do this; we do not have another procedure scheduled for fifteen minutes." George checked the work order, then picked up the slave and carried her down the hallway to the collaring machine as she whimpered in his arms, "I'm a slave… I'm a slave now… I've been Enhanced … Source, I'm a slave now…"

* * *

George checked his schedule; then cleaned up his working chamber. "What a day. How many of these Enhancements have you done?"

"In one day, master? Twenty or so, I do not remember precisely. Of course, these last four were more complex, with the additional discipline boosters installed in their groin." She finished her side of the room, and looked around, "I would like to get a breath of air before going back to my cell, master. May this slave accompany you, master?" She tapped her collar, and he nodded in understanding. "I would enjoy that as well as talking with you about the slaves you modified for your former master." He eyed her, "The Enhancement really doesn't hurt?"

"No, master, not after the collar is synchronized with it." She looked sideways at him, "The forced speech is irritating, master, but we are slaves, after all. I am somewhat surprised that you are willing to take direction from me, as I am a female slave, and you are a free male, master."

"You know more than I do, why should I object?" he asked as they came to the barred gate. He told the guard, "She's with me," and the Traditionalist said, "Cuff yourself, slave, and please him."

"Yes, my master," she replied, and cuffed herself. She fell back to trail him, and George stepped out onto the path. They walked in silence until they were out of sight of the guard, and then George sat on a low brick wall, while the girl knelt in front of him. She sighed as well as she could with her Enhancement; then looked at the sky.

"You look like you want to talk about something, so get it off your chest," he said. She frowned at the phrase, and he said, "Say what you want, it's just you and I, and I'm not your master, I'm just George, a colleague."

She eyed him, thinking. This was a Terran, and her previous limited experience with them had been good. This one had been agreeable, and polite with her, even though he was a large, free male, and she was an Enhanced female slave. What decided her was the fact that he acknowledged his inexperience and followed her directions, asking intelligent questions. She decided to take a chance; after all, the worst that could happen would be her death, which would finally free her.

"I hate my collar, master," she started, and waited for his reaction. He gave her a small nod, and waited patiently. She warily continued, "I am female, and slave. I must kneel to others…"

"Who are not your equal, but are simply superior to you based on their genetics," he said carefully. "You are an extremely intelligent and clever person who must kneel to …" he looked around carefully before concluding. "…your mental inferiors simply because they are male." He looked around again; and then added, "In your situation, I would also."

"YES!" she almost spat; then looked at him warily. He gave a small smile; then motioned for her to sit next to him. In a moment of rebellion, she shook her head, "I hate being a slave, and a female. I am jealous of you and other males, and while I know the Source desired this for me, I wonder why. What did I do in a previous life to earn not only female, and slave, but a life as a bred slave, master?"

He waited for a minute as she settled back; then offered, "You look good."

"I _know_ I do. I was _bred_ and _designed_ to look good, to be an eye-catching, attractive female slave, master. I was bred to kneel in front of a master, and smile. While I am grateful to my former owner for giving me training in something other than serving as a mere house slave, that does not change the fact that I _hate_ this body," she said through gritted teeth.

"So let's look at this logically," George said quietly. "I don't know of any way to remove Enhancement, or a linked collar. Do you?"

"No, master," she almost spat. "If there is one, I would certainly not be informed of it."

"So there's nothing we can do about that." She grimaced and nodded. "That does not change my dislike."

"Of course not," he agreed. "Now we Terrans have a legend of the genie in the bottle. This is a zarroj, usually female, that appears when her bottle is found and grants anywhere from one to three wishes. However, one must think through the request, if you simply asked to be male, you might be turned into a male farm animal destined for the dinner table. Now, (he rubbed his hands together), we have a genie that has appeared, and has granted you a wish. What is it?"

She blinked, thinking. She murmured aloud, "Clever, master zarroj. Very clever. If I wish for the end to slavery, it will destroy the economy in all of the thirty-one known galaxies. If I wish for the removal of my own Enhancement, that would still leave me female, and slave, and would not benefit others." She looked at him, "I shall have to think on this."

"Then I shall give you something else to consider, my friend," George said. "A few hundred years ago, on the homeworld, I would have had to kneel as a slave, a field slave, because of the color of my skin. Unfortunately, slaving still goes on, but it is very covert, as it is now illegal and a moral outrage on Earth, on the homeworld. It is mostly young women who are taken from their homes, which is why it evokes such passion among Terrans; it is driven by shame. You know my blood is just as red as yours is, and there is no real difference between you and my sisters. We see slaves, we see our history, and we can easily imagine our sisters and daughters being forced to kneel and wear their own collars. It enrages us, but it is not the fault of the young women who we work with. You, and they, are innocent victims, and that adds to our rage, yet we have no place to vent that rage. I, we, would like to see the elimination of slavery, but that is currently beyond our power. The smug attitude of the Traditionalists, like that guard, makes me want to beat him bloody, but that wouldn't solve anything." He gestured to her, "I would buy you, but that would help only you, and put me on the same level as the Traditionalists, and it would not solve the problem for your sisters. Tell me, what would you do in my place?"

She regarded him, "I am still jealous of you, master. You are male, and free."

"And I know of males that would be jealous of you, a female. They would love to be female, and some would not object to a collar." She raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and he nodded. "As part of my medical training, we worked in different specialties of medicine; one of mine was psychology, treating illnesses of the mind. There are those who are convinced they have been born into the wrong body, for whatever reason. Females that should have been born males, and males who look on females with jealousy, they feel the same. In this situation, females have more latitude in the way they dress and appear, if I tried to wear a free female's clothing I would not only look ridiculous, but also face possible arrest. Women don't have that problem, at least to that extent."

She sat back, thinking, then gave a small chuckle, "The mental images are amusing," she admitted. "I would look strange in a free male's clothing."

He was silent for a moment, then chuckled himself, agreeing. "However, you would not face arrest as I would, you would simply be considered odd. My point is that we are all different people, and some people look on a collar as an escape from the pressures of life. They would only need to do as others said, not to make decisions or deal with those demands, or gain sexual pleasure from kneeling and crossing their wrists."

"They would soon regret that decision, master."

"But it would be their decision," he replied, and looked around. "For your own information, none others, but I have heard a rumor that slaves would be allowed an 'opt-in' to their collar." She raised an eyebrow, and he continued, "This is rumor, not confirmed, and I doubt it would happen here, but a slave would be allowed to buy her collar and become a free female, although still collared, or choose to cross her wrists to a master, or go on the block to be sold."

"That… I could be a free female?"

"Perhaps; I don't know the details, and like I said, it's a rumor, not confirmed. You don't want to go spreading false information…"

"Especially here, master. The Traditionalists would not like that at all, and would extract painful punishment on any slave that spread false news." She shuddered, "I shall keep that information private, master," and she sighed, "Master, what will happen to this slave and my sister slaves now that we have been bought by the planetary government?"

He grunted, "The fish slaves, and the others in your group? Let me make a call or two, and I'll see what I can find out. You're working with me tomorrow?"

"I believe so, master. Perhaps we can enjoy another walk then." There was a rumble of thunder, and they both looked at the sky. "Let me walk you back to where you're supposed to be," he offered.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, January 31, 2003: 18:11 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Severus Snape's office:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Severus put down his knife and fork as the fire turned green, and two figures stepped out. He rose and inspected the two young women. "You're late, and where is Miss Wayne?"

"She's at the Putins'," Connie said. "This is Maria, the eldest daughter. Mattie had an encounter with Mr. Rasputin earlier today …"

"At KGB Headquarters, Lubyanka," Maria said in her best English. "Come, needs medical help."

"Let me call Poppy," Severus said.

"Dress warm, General Winter is in Moscow," Maria warned in English.

* * *

"Oh… my…" Poppy said through chattering teeth and with frozen puffs of breath.

"Has gone to -23° today," Maria said. "Has gotten much colder. Come, this is Senate building, where we live." She pulled on the door, assisted by one of the Kremlin Guards.

Inside, Poppy found her patient lying on a bed in a guest bedroom, a worried Crystal keeping watch, along with Koni, the family dog. The black Lab was watching Mattie, as she slept. ("Koni, out,") Maria said in Russian, and the dog looked back and forth; then trotted out. "Mattie? Professor Snape and Madame Pomfrey are here," Connie whispered to the sleeping girl. Poppy pointed at the door, her wand already out. Severus motioned everyone out, shooing everyone to the sitting room.

Using a translation charm, Severus asked, ("Ms. Evans, Miss Koslowski, your reports, please.")

("This is something I would also like to know,") Vladimir said, handing Severus a glass of vodka. ("Come, let us sit and be comfortable. I have seen the video of the meeting, the first half of it they enter the interrogation room, a grey spell is cast, and then…")

("Rasputin cast a privacy charm,") Crystal added. ("Mattie's are a light blue, almost like solid water ripples,") she added for the Putins' benefit. ("I wanted to be with her, but Rasputin wouldn't even talk when bodyguards and security were in the room. How was this man so highly regarded?")

("He has substantial political influence, going back to the Soviet era,") Vladimir replied. ("While his usual method of operation is to rip the information out, he can be more subtle, able to walk through a room and collect information. For this reason, and others, he has risen to the head of counter-intelligence of KGB. I would not say he was highly regarded, but more feared.")

("Ah,") Severus said. ("He is not used to encountering someone who has been trained to protect their mind.")

("This is possible?")

("Yes. For that matter, the method you mention is one that I have been training certain of my students to detect and to counter,") Severus added. He took a sip of vodka, ("My theory, without seeing the video, is that Mr. Rasputin did not see enough of a profit to himself to exert the effort to travel, and became insulted when he was asked to help mere slaves. Why was he not briefed on Miss Wayne?")

Vladimir shrugged. ("I am informed that we provided a copy of her file, although we did not include the information on her mental abilities.") He leaned forward, ("How does this method work? I ask through professional curiosity, I was trained as an intelligence officer.")

("Then perhaps we can trade,") Connie said, leaning forward in her turn. ("Mrs. Potter has been charged to run the 'black' side of IR & S. We're going to need to have agents on hundreds of planets, with a wide assortment of social and political forms. Kingdoms to corporate to feudal to capitalist, and while some will be overt, a lot of them will be…")

("Illegals. She would be managing the intake?")

("Yes, we're looking at nodal organization,") Connie replied. ("For instance, one of our fleets would be based on one system; it makes sense to have the intelligence for that stellar cluster or nebula in the same location. Since KGB, along with the Mossad is widely known to have the best human intelligence…")

Vladimir grunted and settled back, fingering his vodka glass. ("Not only human intelligence, of course. You would not have saturation coverage, either. You would need to concentrate on the planetary capital, perhaps some of the major industrial or financial nodes and as you said, in all social strata; including slaves. How would you protect them?")

("They are assets, and would be 'owned' by our cover identity, and would have a method to suicide if necessary,") Connie replied, taking a sip of vodka. ("To use this method, they would be simply serving at a cocktail party, and as they do so, they fish for information.") She took another sip, ("You have to see how slaves are treated to believe it. They are invisible to owners unless there is an error; then they are automatically blamed, and punished. They are quite literally animals, if I were to break this glass of vodka; Koni would be blamed, even if she's nowhere near.")

Shaking his head, Vladimir said, ("And people are volunteering for this?")

("Yes, sir,") Crystal confirmed. She started to say something else, but Vladimir held up a hand, and sat back, thinking. They waited in silence until he nodded to himself, then leaned forward. ("I will agree to her training if you will agree to the placement of an experienced Russian officer in the counterintelligence position, as Mrs. Potter is the 'black' officer. That officer, as with Mrs. Potter, will have full access, and their orders will place them with their loyalties to the Empire. Each of your offices will need such a counterintelligence position, you will also need a covert or 'wet' officer or two in each office, all under Mrs. Potter's command. Do we have a bargain?")

("Are you thinking of putting in witches or wizards in those posts, sir?") Connie asked.

("Possibly, if they are available and trained for the duty,") he replied. ("I will inquire of Moscow's Institute for the Study of Magic if they have any of their recent graduates employed with KGB, and of that agency.")

Connie and Crystal exchanged a look, ("We'll tentatively agree, sir, we want to run it by the Tsaritsa and Mrs. Potter,") Connie said.

("I shall make the inquiries, then,") and pointed to Crystal, ("Please continue.")

("Back to Rasputin. For whatever reason, he became enraged, and sealed the door, not with a simple '_Colloportus_' spell. I would have recognized the wand movements. At that point, they backed off and stared at each other. I recognized they were dueling each other's minds, but this is something I haven't seen with her. Rasputin had these ripples of black and red magic on him; Mattie's were green and white or light grey.") Maria joined her father on the couch. ("Green was the predominant color for Mattie, and then Rasputin threw this red fireball at her, and the microphones in the room shorted out. The rest is on the video, but they started dueling. Mattie was trying to keep it non-lethal, she replied with _Serpensortia_, but Rasputin was trying to kill her.")

("_Serpensortia_?") Maria asked, and her father reached over to squeeze her knee.

("It conjures a large, aggressive snake,") Crystal replied. ("I tried to get in, but this is when we found the door was fused it into the wall,") she said. ("All we could do was watch. Rasputin used a lot of dark cutting curses, the training Mattie's had with the Black ladies served her well. She's done well with _Most Nastye Spells and Curses_; I think it should be part of the curriculum.")

("Still volume three, though?") Severus asked. Crystal nodded, ("Her magic was going from white through light grey and into the green, and she finally landed a jinx that knocked Rasputin out. She stood over him, cast a globular spell, and his core appeared.") Severus looked at her sharply, and Vladimir asked, ("His core?")

("His magical core, sir,") Connie replied, and took a larger swallow of her vodka. She coughed again; ("It's a witch or wizard's connection to the planetary magical field, it's why our powers don't work outside a natural gravity field. At least that's the current theory. It's how powerful a wizard you are, you can increase your power by using dark or evil spells…")

("It steals part of your victim's souls,") Crystal added. ("Rasputin's is, or was, a dark red globe of fire, about the size of a large basketball, and had these lightning-like tendrils of magic that connected it to him. He was a powerful wizard, just going by that, but he'd gone dark a long time ago.")

("That matches our records of him. When he worked as a KGB interrogator, he would leave his victims alive, but … drained. Soulless.") Vladimir looked at his daughter, ("I pray you never encounter his like.")

Crystal reclaimed the conversation after a minute or two of silence. ("Mattie started cutting those tendrils, and the core started to split into two, a larger red core and a smaller white core, about the size of a white golf ball, maybe.")

("More like pea-sized, I thought,") Connie put in. ("Anyway, you had these two spheres, one big red angry core, and this small white core, each connected with a single thread of lightning to Rasputin. She cut the last red link, there was a shriek we could hear through the soundproofing, and it … exploded. When we could see again, he was still unconscious, just with this white core settling into him, and Mattie was lying near him, just as unconscious. We brought her here, and Maria and I went to fetch you.")

("Rasputin is dead?")

("Not when we left the room,") Crystal replied to Vladimir. ("It took us a while to get in, and there was a strong ozone smell in the room, but we got them both out, and he was breathing, just knocked out. Your people took him away; I don't know what they've done with him, but he'd be a fairly weak wizard now.")

They turned as Poppy appeared. "Miss Wayne is exhausted, again," she announced rather snippily in English. Maria translated for her father as Poppy continued, "I have given her some potions, and she can be transported now, how this will affect this fusion nonsense I have no idea." She turned and marched back into the room, and Maria asked, "Fusion?"

Connie sighed, and extracted her Time-Turner. ("This is what is known as a Time-Turner. Mattie and I have been using these to be in two places at once. The alpha twins are going through classes at Hogwarts while we, the beta twins, go out and about as we have been. Once we return to Hogwarts, we re-fuse back together. One body for each of us again, and our memories merge. Tomorrow, my alpha twin will remember this conversation, while I'll remember her classroom experiences. Very, very classified by the British Ministry, the Queen had to authorize their use.")

("Fascinating,") Vladimir said, leaning forward. ("There are no side effects?")

("It's something of a split personality, I find myself arguing with myself,") Connie replied, and gestured, ("The physical preparations weren't that bad, although we're wearing two sets of body armor, which are spelled on us.") She lifted a booted foot, and waggled it.

("I saw some like them in GUM,") Maria said. ("Not precisely like them, though. Those are very fine leather.")

("Actually goblin metal armor,") Connie corrected. ("They have some way to spell metal to appear like soft, flexible leather, but it's hard as tool steel. A dragon could chomp on me and break teeth.")

Crystal appeared, ("Mattie's ready to go back to Hogwarts,") she announced.

("Maria will go with you to report back to me,") Vladimir said. ("I feel like I have three new daughters, and I want to be kept informed.")


	11. 1 15 February 2003

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter XI: 1 ~ 15 February 2003  
Saturday, February 1, 2003: 08:03 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Imperial building auditorium:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Connie stepped to the podium and tapped on the mike. "If we can get started? Thank you. I am Ms. Koslowski, the Tsaritsa's Chief of Staff. Ms. Wayne is currently under doctor's orders to rest; she's suffering from a mild case of exhaustion." She gave a small smile, "Given her world tour, that's not really surprising. Yes, Ms. Lane?"

"When will she be up again?" Lois asked.

"The doctor is predicting she'll be up again by the middle of this coming week. We are also modifying her schedule somewhat. We are squeezing in an economic meeting in Geneva after her physician releases her, probably at the end of next week." She gave a small smile, "We're not big fans of deficit spending, and we want the Empire on a rock-solid financial basis." There was a brief round of applause. "As always, we will post this information on the Empire's web site. After Geneva, and at the request of the people in Warsaw, she'll be stopping by at a job fair they're holding to discuss jobs and employment and answer people's questions. I am also announcing a revision to the licensing for Imperial content. For now on, broadcast media such as television and radio is restricted due to the insecure means of transmission. Print and web media will continue much as before, however, they are prohibited from sharing that content with affiliated media. Revised license terms have been sent to your legal departments." There was a storm of protest, and Connie held up her hand. "People, we don't want to tip our hand to our enemies. If you want content, get hold of your legal departments, and they'll fill you in. I would ask you to turn off any live TV or radio equipment, and then I'll introduce Generalmajor von Hesse who will discuss plans for the defense of the Terran system. General?"

A woman in her apparent early thirties rose; pulled her Imperial Army uniform straight; placed her binder on the podium. She wore an impressive array of fruit salad, including the Knight's Cross at her neck over her command-gold body suit, and her service stripes reached to her elbow.

"Guten Morgen," she said. "I am Generalmajor Heinrike von Hesse; I have the honor of serving the Empire as C-3, the head of the planning and operations department. You may ask my qualifications, I joined the Heer in 1935 as a simple rifleman, retiring in 2000. I am obviously no longer an old man," she said, gesturing to herself with a small smile. "Nor did I take part in any war crimes; I was severely wounded in the war, taken prisoner by the British in hospital and later pensioned out. My biography, as all my colleagues, is available on the Empire's web site." She assumed a parade-rest position, "Frau Koslowski has informed you of the revised license information. Do not complain to me, instead consult with your firm's legal department. Lights, seventy percent!" The lights came down, and she touched controls, bringing a large holo display to life. "Can everyone see? Gut. This is a map of the Terran system to the Oort Limit, which is the outer boundary of the Oort Cloud, represented as a white haze, one-point-five light years from Sol. That is the gravitational outer boundary of the system. The inner boundary is right on one light year's distance, so obviously this map is not to scale."

The General changed a control, "Kupier Belt in green haze, from thirty to fifty-five AU. Planetary positions are as of the beginning of the month, with orbits marked by blue lines. The asteroid belt is also marked as a green haze." She changed slides. "System entry and exit traffic lanes in the Oort Cloud are designated by appropriate buoys with green arrows. We have emplaced minefields and missile batteries for system defense." She changed slides, "We anticipate several different attack scenarios, depending on the composition of the enemy ships. On the low end, a single slave ship, on the high end, several modern warships."

"What class warships?" Lois called.

"We do not anticipate anything heavier than cruiser-class, Frau Lane," the Generalmajor replied. "The enemy is operating off a single slaver's report, and while he has sensor data, a larger deployment of warships would be expensive. A government would not expend the funds based on single-source data, however, they would send one or two ships from their navy to provide additional data. We must block that transmission of data by destroying or capturing those ships in order to give us time to build up our own defenses. With the loss of that scouting party, they will reconsider. They will abandon the idea completely, or send in stealthed units instead of or with naval units."

"The single slaver?" Lois persisted.

"Is a businessman," the Generalmajor replied. "Most likely our previous ... guest. While we may consider him social scum, in the greater galaxy, he is regarded as a legitimate businessman, providing a service. However, unless a larger dealer appears, it would be a small businessman, possibly with connections to others with greater resources. Think of an auto dealer who tries to convince a King or President. Unless that businessman convinces his legislator, or a criminal contact, he will not be believed, and brushed off. He may convince some of his business colleagues to join him, which is why we believe the most probable force would be a collection of slave ships with a few warships." The Generalmajor smiled slightly. "We have the light cruiser, the _Wisdom_, which we have taken apart and studied most thoroughly. We have identified several weaknesses in her design, which we have addressed in our own warships. However, while the warships must remain in space, the slavers must land, to collect their victims to sell and recoup their costs. They have their own vulnerabilities, such as..."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, February 1, 2003: 09:12 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cincinnati, McCain home:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Walt McCain sat back and thought about the press conference he had watched on his computer. He had gotten into the habit of checking the Arrowhead and Imperial web sites at the beginning of each month, he was turning into a regular fan. However, the threat of invasion was something that Miss Wayne had mentioned before; having an experienced General delineate the threat was something else. He didn't want his kids, his son Chris and especially his daughter Brenda, to wear a slave collar. He was a single dad, his wife having died years ago, yet ... what could he do? His eyes fell on a white cardboard folder, and he picked it up, thinking. "_Terran Empire: Call to duty_" he read aloud.

'_Is that it_?' He thought. '_Is this an actual call to duty for the people of Earth? I remember my own Army service, and what's his name_...' He pulled the sheet of legal paper from the DVD sleeve, the notes from his call. '_Bill M. He said he went out running with Miss Wayne every day, and they had a class together. She's known as a witch, so he must be a wizard. What was that school's name again_?' He turned back to his computer to do a little research.

* * *

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland," he told himself a few minutes later, looking at the school's web site. "Mailing address, what the hell is a floo address, faculty bios, famous alumni..." he clicked on the link, "Holy crap, the Queen of England? Prince Harry? Who is Tom Riddle?" He clicked on another link, "The four Houses of Hogwarts..." He clicked again, "Gryffindor... who's in the 'M' list? MacDonald, Mary is a seventh-year and Morton, Julia is a third-year..." He clicked links, "Ah, Miss Morton has two brothers in this school, older brother Arthur, a fifth-year Hufflepuff and younger brother William, a second-year Hufflepuff, and Bill is a nickname for William." More link-clicking, and Walt went back a few pages. "Arthur Morton, who's engaged to ... hot damn, one Miss H. M. Wayne. Hmm, doesn't have a date of death, but didn't I read he was killed in New York? Ah, a revision date on his page, but he's still listed as a student... Hmm, no email address listed for him, but it should be easy enough to figure out..." He clicked back to Mary MacDonald's page, noted hers, then went forward again. "So, Miss Wayne, let's see which House you're in..." More link clicking, "Slytherin. Hmm... Characteristics of a Slytherin... One word, ambition. That's helpful." He compared it to the much greater quantity of information on the Gryffindor page. "Hmm... you like to keep secrets, don't you? Let's see who's listed as a Slytherin ... Ah, Ms. Ami Bones... (he clicked), 'Daughter of Amelia Bones'. That's useful. Let's see, Ms. Koslowski, I recognize you... (he clicked again), 'Native of New York'. You're all tight with words, aren't you?" He scrolled down the page, "Ms. S. Tonks... (click) 'Spokeswolf for Greywolf'. And finally we come to Ms. Wayne, and we click ..." the page forwarded to her official bio on the Imperial web site. "Damn it!"

* * *

"Arrowhead publishing help line, this is Bill M, how can I help you today?" 'Little' Bill Morton said as he worked his terminal in one of Hogwarts' empty classrooms that had been converted into a small call center.

"Hi, Bill, this is Walt McCain in Cincinnati, I talked to you a couple of months ago about the '_Call to duty_' software."

"All right, Mr. McCain. Is there a problem with the software? How can I help you?"

Bill heard the rustle of paper, "You said you were going to school with Miss Wayne, and I just watched the recording of the press conference with the German lady general and Miss..."

"Connie? Koslowski?"

"Yes, thank you. I'd like to know just how much of a threat there is. I'm a single dad, with two kids in school..."

"I've got a sister that's going through Army basic now in Corfu, Mr. McCain, and she spent several months aboard a construction ship that belongs to Parkinson Construction. While I haven't been off-world, my Dad and several members of my family have been. It's not a nice place out there is what they tell me, and I believe them. How did you..."

"I did a little research on the Internet, and found the school's web site. I'm worried about my kids..."

"Of course. All I can tell you, Mr. McCain, is that everything I've seen says that it's a viable threat since that judge let the slaver go free. We wonder if he got his palm greased with some gold, which isn't worth that much off-world." Walt heard Bill sigh. "The best thing I can tell you, Mr. McCain, is that we're in the situation of a family with some valuables living in a rough neighborhood. It's not _IF_ we're expecting trouble, but _WHEN_. Does that help?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it does. I remember my own Army service, and I'm thinking about re-upping with the Empire, but I'm not particularly ... eager to become a girl."

"That was a program that got abused, Mr. McCain. There are people here at school with family members that have gotten injured in Northern Ireland and Afghanistan, arms and legs blown off. They, and military retirees like that general were pitched as 'be a healthy young woman, or a crippled man'. They'll still do that but you've got to ask for it. Your time-in-service with the US Army does transfer over." Bill added, "You're not the first call I've had today regarding that press conference, I had one two calls ago from Japan. Translation spells do help."

"Yeah, I'm sure they would," Walt said with a chuckle. "I'll let you go, Bill, but what's the deal with your brother Arthur? His school web page hasn't been updated."

"Ah, thanks for letting me know. I'm sorry, sir, but that's a family matter. I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah, thanks. Have a great day."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, February 1, 2003: 19:15 (GMT +2)  
Terra, Corfu, Kavos, Agios Gordis Beach:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Tourists screamed and panicked as the armored figures emerged from the water. The watching police officer didn't. He simply set his cup of tea down as the figures formed ranks, making his way down to the boardwalk, where the lead figure saluted him, then removed her helmet, revealing a short-haired dark woman. They conversed for a few minutes, then he went back to his car while she replaced her helmet, and they walked through previously-arranged showers.

"Excuse me," one exceptionally courageous tourist asked one figure, tapping on the arm. "Who are you?"

Elena undogged her helmet, holding it under her left arm, and offered her right. "Elena Morton, Imperial Army. This is our combat armor, we've just had a nice stroll on the seabed. It's interesting to watch ships pass overhead. Hope we didn't frighten you, but we thought you'd like to see what you're getting for your euro."

"Oh. Oh, your pardon, Artie Teasdale, from Lancashire. You sound like a Yank."

"Born and raised, Mr. Teasdale. Now, if you'll excuse me, if I don't wash the salt water off, I'll have to scrub it off my armor tonight." He nodded, and she got in line for the showers, while he wandered back to his wife and the other watching tourists. "Imperial Army in training," he reported. "Good thing, too. Never would have stood a chance if I had to get involved... _Ki-ya_!" he shouted, and made karate moves. Elena smirked, Mr. Teasdale didn't know she was one of the company's 'long guns' and could shoot the eye out of a chicken at three thousand meters. They'd eaten the chickens.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, February 1, 2003: 21:09 (GMT)  
Seconday, 20 Tertius, 163, 22:22 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, the Farm:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Dr. George Brenner stretched, then asked 73536, "That's the day for me, would you like a bit of air?"

"I thought I had heard thunder, master, but …" she noted his raised eyebrow, "I have always enjoyed the rain, master. May this slave accompany you, master?"

"I would enjoy that."

* * *

George sat on a picnic table under an overhang, while the soaking-wet girl stood next to him. "At lunch, err, half-meal, I went back to my quarters and found this email from Sir Cuthbert, the Lieutenant Governor." He pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and said, "Essentially, it invites me and my personal slave to High Town for a meeting." She shook back a strand of wet red hair and regarded him; her hands cuffed behind her, wearing a soaking wet pale green slave smock and skirt, her feet shoulder-width apart. She moved to lean against the rough brick wall, her doubled-back leash chain denting the front of her smock and skirt, and asked, "Personal slave, master?"

"My own slave, Yuki, is in Riverside, and she's a long story," he said. "Will you trust me to act as the agent for you and your sister-slaves, including the fish-slaves? If so, we can join a delivery that's going out, and be in West Port by Fifthday, and then High Town by Seconday. I'd be the sole free male there, and you'd be chained with our cargo slaves we're delivering. We drop off a dozen in West Port to be shipped to Riverside, and take the rest to High Town. I can have Yuki delivered to West Port, and pick her up at the same time we drop the others off."

"I can tell, master, you are looking forward to seeing your own personal slave Yuki," she said with a small smile. "She is your love-slave, as you are the owner of her heart." She shook her hair back again, "I can be your serving-slave, master, if it will get me out of here."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, February 2, 2003: 09:07 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cincinnati, McCain home:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Sunday was the day to sleep in, and Walt was working his way through breakfast while his kids read the paper. "Who's up for more waffles?" he asked, and his daughter Brenda waved her hand, while his son Chris just grunted. He put two on her plate, then two more on his, slathering on butter and syrup while Chris went through the _Enquirer_'s comics. He sat down, taking the front section and looking for the review of yesterday's press conference.

Brenda poured more orange juice for herself and him, ignoring her brother. She took her place, tilting her chair back and gestured with her fork, "Dad? What do you think about that?"

He folded the paper, "I'm not sure," he admitted. "You know that _Call to duty_ game?" She nodded, "When we got it, I called their help line and talked to one of their techs. I called him back yesterday, and he said the threat was legitimate." He noticed Chris was paying attention, "His name was Bill Morton, his older brother Arthur is the one that was killed in New York, when Miss Wayne blew her stack?"

"Oh, yeah," she nodded after a moment. "So what did he say?"

"The threat was legit, dim-bulb," Chris put in. "I wonder how you'd look with a collar on your neck. Can we sell her, dad?"

"No, and that wasn't nice, Chris. Apologize to your sister..." Chris mumbled "Sorry..." and Brenda hissed, "Later..." Walt decided to ignore whatever she did to him, as long as it wasn't that much over-the-top, and continued, "I'm thinking of re-upping into the Imperial Army, but the question would be what about you two?"

"We traveled with you when you were in the Army, dad," Brenda said. "I've been thinking about joining myself, I'll be old enough soon. I could do it now with your consent. This dweeb, though, I don't think they'd take him," she said, pointing at her younger brother. Chris stuck out his tongue at her. "See?" she asked. "Total dweeb. How do you get into Hogwarts?"

"That I don't know," her father replied. "I've got the school's web site, I'm sure there's an email address somewhere on it. However, what do we do with you two if I join up? Do you go to Aunt Sophie in Boston, and what about college?"

"Baaa-sss-tone," Chris said with an exaggerated accent.

"Dweeb," his sister replied. "Army service, dad. What's it like?"

Walt got up, he needed to refill his coffee anyway, and Brenda waggled her own cup. He poured, then handed over the folder he had brought into the kitchen to his daughter. "What I've got on the Imperial Army. Wash your hands so you don't get it sticky." She got up to fix her coffee, then plopped back down and opened the folder.

* * *

"Well, dad," Brenda said, putting the folder down and picking up her coffee cup. "It looks interesting to me, but you never answered what Army life is like."

"Basic is going to be tough for you," he replied. "You're going to be doing running, with a pack, and if the Imperials are anything like the US Army, a combat tour is a seven day week." He gestured at the folder, "It looks to me like the Imperial Army is more tail than teeth, although they do have some garrison troops. What that means to you is that if you pick up a noncombat assignment, like in a machine shop or as supply, it will probably be a Monday through Friday gig, you'd have a quota to get done, and then seventeen hundred rolls around and you're off. You'd qualify on small arms, and that would include a sword, because like the US Marines, they're promoting every soldier a warrior."

"A sword?"

"Yeah," he replied. "They're looking at the majority of any fighting would be close combat, room to room, or in something like a bar fight. It makes sense if they're thinking about shipboard actions, where some pirate tries to board, and you'd be fighting in a small room, like someone's quarters. A rifle wouldn't be much good, but a sword would." He regarded her, "That's going toe-to-toe with someone, so close you can see them sweat and smell their breath. Can you do it, Brenda? Could you kill someone that close? He's going to be trying his damnedest to kill or enslave you - it's you or him. Shooting or stabbing him, then going on to the next pirate, and for damn sure these are going to be aliens, and you're going to be wearing their blood."

"I'd be trained, though."

"In hand to hand? Yes, and you'd need to keep that proficiency up. Each of those species has a weak point or two, like we do. You'd need to guard yours while correctly identifying the other and remembering their weak points. Body armor is a help and a hindrance, it impairs your mobility while it offers better protection, but it's not perfect." He reached out to tap her forehead, "That's where it comes down. When you go through Basic, it's not just getting you equipped and physically trained, it's giving you a mental realignment. Civilians are taught that it is wrong to kill. Soldiers are taught and trained differently, that you have to kill the enemy to protect your buddies. You protect the members of your squad, they protect you. That's combat, and some of you will die, and you raise a glass in their memory and go on."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, February 2, 2003: 10:11 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Infirmary:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

("So if the...") Mattie looked up from her discussion in Russian with Maria. "Mom!"

"You stay in bed, young lady," Selina told her daughter. Holding out her hand, she said, "Good morning, I'm Selina Wayne."

"Maria Putina, from Moscow," she replied, standing and bowing slightly in the European fashion as she took Selina's hand. "My father Vladimir wishes me to assist in tutoring the Tsaritsa in politics, as well as reporting to him."

"And you are a dutiful daughter, unlike my own," Selina replied with a small smile. Maria smiled in return, "Will you excuse me? I wish to see more of the library." With a small heel click of her own, she left the infirmary, and Mattie complained, "Mom..."

"Don't you 'Mom' me, young lady!" Selina said, taking the chair Maria had been using. A house-elf popped in with a cup of coffee for her, she sipped it and set it on the small bedside table. Poppy looked in-between the curtains, sniffed and nodded, then left. "I'm sorry I'm late getting here, I was just on a trip to Brussels."

"What is WayneTech doing in Brussels?"

"Just the center of the global arms trade, which you should know, Tsaritsa Wayne," her mother replied. "Exports of defense electronics, and remember the Terran Empire is recognized as a government, which means you can issue end-user certificates to yourself. Enough business," and she reached out to grab her daughter's left hand, enclosed in the black glove. "Where's your finger, and why did you prevent Clark and Crystal from protecting you? You have to know he's feeling miserable."

"So is Crystal, but they were at least happy to see me armored. That's why I'm wearing this (she gestured to her outfit), and as to why, it was necessary politically, although the lesson doesn't seem to have stuck with the Traditionalists on Windfall."

"So that's why you're wearing a white bodysuit and a black leotard in bed?"

"Well, that and because they're really, really comfortable," she admitted. "At least I can take the boots off now, I have the spell's password," and she reached over to touch the boots where they stood next to her bed. "The goblins were reluctant until Crystal 'reasoned' with them, and I've promised to wear the body armor in return, which I would anyway, like I said, it's really comfortable. Madame Pomfrey has the passwords necessary to remove or work around them, so..." She waggled her right hand. "As far as where the finger itself is, Madame Pomfrey has it, I don't really miss it, and it's a good move politically, shows that the Tsaritsa is willing to put her neck on the line like her subjects."

"That may be true, but oh... no mother wants to see her child injured," Selina said softly.

"I know, mom, but..." Mattie sighed. They were both silent for a few minutes, then she asked, "Mom, what does my Privy Council say?"

"They, we, are not happy with this latest move of yours. That's one reason I'm here, to schmooze the European Union in Brussels and beat some sense into your head. You are the _Queen_..."

"Empress, or Tsaritsa..."

"Whatever. Your job is to provide strategy, not get involved in swordplay."

"Yeah, the Queen has already told me that," Mattie said. "I've even got homework from her, to do strategic planning in both the short term and long term." She sighed, "But it's not _fun_..."

"But it's _your_ job, now," her mother replied. "It's part of growing up, dear. You think everything I do is fun? No, but I do it, because it's part of my job, and it needs to be done. That's why I still put on a batsuit, because it's stress relief, and now that Eddie has retired, and has a family, he's saying the same thing. He misses it, but he doesn't miss the broken bones."

"Except Crystal would pitch five kinds of fit if I went out as the Pimpernel again. She doesn't like my having an Oan Power Ring..."

"And I can't blame her, either. Remind me to slap Dick upside the head for that little brainstorm. Where's Arthur's Ring, by the way?"

Her daughter raised her left hand, "Mine is my right hand, Arthur's is on my left middle finger, next to his ring. When Alfred and the _McCoy_ get back, we're going to have to open his stasis tube to get a blood sample for analysis. I've mentioned that to Julie, and Little Bill has said he's gotten questions about Arthur's 'death' (she finger-quoted)."

"I'll let Maggie know," Selina replied. "Now, as to your job, and we need to consider what we're going to do about college."

"College is a tough one," her daughter acknowledged. "I could do correspondence courses, except there's something about sitting in a classroom... And which school would I go to? What would I major in?" She shrugged, and Poppy reappeared. "Time for a nap, and I want to speak to your mother. I'll wake you for lunch, Miss Wayne."

"Yes, ma'am," and she put her various books to the side, while Selina re-arranged her pillows. Leaning over, she kissed her daughter's forehead, "Later, dear," and Poppy lowered the lights.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, February 2, 2003: 13:25 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Infirmary, private rooms:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"We've figured out how to modify some of our passenger and colony ships for water-breathers," Amy Johnson put in, as the meeting circled around Mattie's bed. "Basically a plug-in module to replace some cargo space. We can retrofit some of the cargo space allocated to livestock transport to accept those modules as well, and while it wouldn't be on the same decks as air-breathers, it would be decent. Tile or wood decking instead of carpeting. Food supply is still an issue, and getting the room's electronics sealed well enough to work underwater is a challenge. However, water heating, filtration, oxygenation, all that's off-the-shelf parts. It's doable."

"I'll say," Pansy Parkinson agreed with a snort. She had come up from London, and added, "Those fish-slaves are a bloody godsend. There's only sixty of them? I want more, even though they're going to be doing construction with hand tools, we'll still save gobs of dosh."

"They are slaves," Connie reminded her. "Changed by force, according to the reports. We don't know if they can be changed back, but I'm not going to sign off on changing more slaves so you can have a larger work force."

"Well, yes, of course," Pansy said, somewhat sheepishly. "It was the businessperson in me talking..."

"O... kay..." Mattie dryly replied. "If I remember the reports correctly, they can survive out of water, so they're more amphibians than true fish. The problem is their moving around on land, but something like a wheelchair should work." She caught Connie's look, and sighed, "I do want that transformation researched, though, and if it's possible to do the transformation ourselves, preferably without the collar and Enhancement, and if it's possible to switch them back to two legs."

She glanced at Ginny, who shook herself. "Sorry, I was just thinking of the intelligence possibilities." She took a sip from her tea, returning it to the levitating tea-tray, then checked her notes. "I'll be flooing back to Moscow tomorrow, once I leave this meeting Connie and I will floo to the Leaky and then to Hyde Park, where we'll meet our new colleagues. That's only a block from the Russian Embassy on Kensington Palace. We then go to the Imperial Building where we get them checked in and started on background checks and so forth."

She glanced at Amy, "As far as the _Explorer_ class survey ships, I've touched base with Aurora, and they'll be 'white' ships, but they will have covert modules. We're planning on operating on a total unknown when we enter a star system, no idea as to stellar types, orbits, planets, anything. However, we'll be equipped for population surveys and ..."

"First contact," Connie put in. "We'll have everything from stellar and planetary specialists to exobiologists and linguists, using mapping and survey drones and stealth shuttles. That's why the ships are so large, we're looking at heavy cruiser or battlecruiser hulls."

"Long endurance ships, too," Amy put in. "We're not just looking at a quick 'in and out' survey, but the possibility of colonization or trade relationships. We'll also leave survey satellites in orbit..."

"Good," Mattie said, checking off her agenda. "Speaking of shipbuilding and small craft..."

"One of the things you'll be doing next week in Poland is visiting the Shipping Office outside Warsaw," Connie replied. "They're dealing with everything from drones and buoys to various small craft, they'll have a presentation for you. We're looking at several kinds in two categories, atmospheric and FTL, as well as both military and civilian. Thank God we have people that have done government contracting before." She shifted in her seat, adding, "We're doing this on fixed-price contracting, so John Deere™ can bid on things like drones and buoys and they've got an equal chance against Boeing™, Messerschmitt™, Lockheed™ or Tanaka Heavy Industries™."

"Who's John Deere and who are the other people?" Ginny asked.

Pansy covered her snicker with a cough as Connie replied, "Companies, not people. John Deere makes agricultural equipment, while the other three are aerospace and manufacturing companies, like Rolls-Royce™. The point is that it generates business and jobs and boosts the economy, because our survey ship would deploy drones to cover a star system."

"Don't forget the mapping drones and satellites, and any sort of installation we might build, either on-planet or on a moon, and those installations would require shuttles," Pansy put in.

"Right now, we're looking at two kinds of fighters, atmospheric and FTL, possibly with a catapult launch like the Navy has. The US Navy, that is," Connie clarified. "We're also looking at both assault boats and gunboats for warships, shuttle or helicopter sized," she added. "Last, there's 'tween-ships cutters and dirt-to-space shuttles."

"Don't forget work pods," Amy put in.

"Right, right, lots of those."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, February 2, 2003: 14:55 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Hyde Park:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Dana watched the two young women as they approached. They needed training, she glanced at Yuri, on an opposite bench, who rolled his eyes. One of them, a redhead sat on her bench, opened a copy of the _Sun_, and started to read. "Why look, the East is Red," she said.

"Sunrises usually are," she replied with the agreed-upon phrase.

"If it starts to burn off the snow," she agreed.

"That is truly terrible, the snow is lovely," Dana replied, which wasn't in the script, but was true. "I am Dana, you are Ginevra?"

"Ginny, please. I hate that name." She folded her newspaper as Dana said, "Your tradecraft is non- existent. You need training, fortunately Yuri and I are here."

"Your orders?"

"Assume command of counter-intelligence for IR & S, with our loyalties to the Empire, not to Mother Russia, directly from President Putin. We are setting a nodal arrangement?"

"We are," Connie agreed as she sat next to Ginny. "Local fleets, local intelligence, if you can consider something the size of a stellar cluster of several hundred stars 'local'. It's a big job."

"That's true, and conditions on each planet are going to vary tremendously," Dana mused, then shook herself. "A question, do your Imperial passes require a photograph?"

"For general access, not for IR & S," Ginny replied. "Why?"

"I am wearing a glamour charm," the normal-looking young woman replied. "Cover identities?"

"Generic, secretaries, maintenance workers, accountants and bookkeepers," she replied.

"Good. One way to catch a spy is when they are foolish with money. Buying an expensive car when their income does not support it, that type of thing." She reached down and picked up a generic backpack, nodding to Yuri. "Let us get started with your education," she said.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Sunday, February 2, 2003: 18:04 (GMT)  
Deimos, Test platform (vacuum):  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Chantal watched the monitor as the incoming target drone bobbed and weaved as it followed an evasion program. Her laser mount tracked it, then fired a three-shot burst. The first laser missed, the second grazed the drone, the third exploded it. The integrated subspace tracking radar continued to rotate for a minute, then swiveled with the laser to the 'standby' position. She input the 'safe' command, and the glowing Fresnel lenses of the subspace field faded from their generator brackets above the emitter crystals as the status lights changed on the mount.

"Not bad shootin', Beaver," Tex commented.

"Y' want to fly a manned test?" she asked with a grin. "That's ten successful tests, I think it's ready for deployment. Let me go unplug it and fetch the data cartridge."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, February 3, 2003: 04:48 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 22 Tertius, 163, 08:03 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, coastal road:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Woah," George called, pulling back on the reins, and slowly the two paired teams of shonnen came to a halt. He turned and called, "Slaves, halt!" and the two lines of leashed slaves stopped before they impacted the trailing supply cart. He set the brake, jumping down and inspecting the three large wagons of stasis-tubed slaves, then going back to eye the hooded, leashed slaves who knelt in the Inspection position. "Slaves, release. Time to suction," he told them, even though they couldn't reply.

* * *

"You're next," and the slave 10181 felt a tug on her leash. A hand on her arm guided her, she placed her ankles in the correct brackets and leaned far forward, allowing her present master to connect her for suction. She felt a steadying hand on her body, and the presence in her mind was outraged. '_He's ... groping me_!' he said in shock.

'_No, he is a master and we are slave_,' she replied patiently as she relaxed. Her cuffed fingertips moved slightly as she continued, '_This is why I do not allow you control. You still think like a free male, when we are a bred, Enhanced female slave. Even if that is not what we started out as, and my memories are very different than yours, that is what we are NOW. If we are to succeed in our master's assigned task, that is how we must behave. You may offer advice, but unless our masters decide differently and place you in control, we are slave and that is how we must behave_.'

'_But he was ... handling us_,' he protested.

'_Certainly, as far as he knows we are an off-planet bred slave_,' she replied. '_This is like your complaint about not having clothing. Slaves being transported are shipped naked. Why should masters pay the expense of shipping clothing which will only become dirty? It is similar to your objections to our being gagged and hooded. We are more easily fed and controlled, and it keeps road dust out of our eyes. You will become accustomed to it, do not be concerned. I am wondering if we have already been sold, or will still need to mount the block and perform for our sale_.'

'_Our sale_?'

'_Of course! We are slave, slaves are sold. To use one of your phrases, Terran, D' oh_!'

Steven Murchinson, formerly of CIA and now biosculpted and Enhanced into the slave girl 10181, grumbled into the recesses of their shared mind. The Enhancement put the slave girl firmly in the metaphorical driver's seat, and as a professional agent, he knew the value of a solid cover identity. He was just having problems with the more physical aspects of that cover. '_All right, all right_,' he thought. '_I'm just not used to this_.'

'_You had best become adjusted to it_,' she replied. '_We have finished suction, and are ready to move forward_.' Not knowing of the internal byplay, George replaced the slave's 'tail' in her belt's anal socket, pulling her back upright and giving her a gentle push on the shoulder. She stepped forward with a soft jingle from her ankle and wrist bells, her body fur soft under his hand, her wrists locked behind her in her slave belt's cuffs. She wore a white canvas hood locked on her head; and her leash chain clinked softly as it looped up to the preceding slave, and another took her place. Her leash reached up to 10181's leash collar, the slaves' fur and skin dirty from road dust.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, February 3, 2003: 06:48 (GMT)  
Fourthday, 22 Tertius, 163, 09:03 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, north Riverside, greenhouses:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The slave 90144, once known as Yoshi, then as Yuki Fukuda, now simply a tightly hooded, nameless slave girl, knelt in the Inspection position, left leg up to show her brands, bent forward at the waist to show her cuffed hands, her leash attached to the back of her mistress' cart. She could hear the noise and feel the vibrations as her former sister-slaves unloaded mistress' cart. She knelt and wondered, '_Is Mistress taking me to my Owner, George_?' She remembered her owner as a kind master, and shuddered as she remembered the horrible dreams, of her uncollared, wearing the clothing of a free female, and even worse, of her being a free male, dealing with reams of paper. She fixed on the mental image of herself as a free female, wearing a properly short skirt, and for some reason it calmed her. She remembered running her hands down her legs, feeling the smooth, silky sensation of ... of stockings, of shoes that elevated her heels, made her legs look so attractive, and almost lurched as something unlocked in her mind. '_I ... I love my collar, it is something I have wanted, in secret, for so long. I ... I love the feeling of being properly bound, of being a slave girl, of being obedient to masters, but the feelings of the free female's clothing_...' She almost lurched again as phrases came into focus, along with images of slaves, her sister slaves, and she felt the gag riveted in her mouth, the tight hood locked on her head, her leash chain as it swung next to her raised left leg. '_I want my owner George_...' she thought, and heard the loading bay door rolled down. Her mistress' steps were heard on the gravel, she was pulled her up by her leash, "We're ready to go, girl."

* * *

Bella checked the last of the supplies against her clipboard, then shooed the slaves off into the greenhouses, rolling the door down. Walking down the invisible steps, she turned to inspect the hidden complex, admiring once again the job Yuki had done. With a crunch of gravel, she pulled the slave 90144 up by her chain, the former Yuki Fukuda, now a mind-controlled slave leashed to the right rear of her wagon, and told her, "We're ready to go, girl." She walked around the harnessed hexataurs, climbed into the driver's seat and released the brake. Cracking the reins, she called, "Go!"

* * *

With a jerk on her leash chain and her mistress' command, the slave 90144 started walking. She could smell the animals, and hear the creak of the wagon, and she started to think about the phrases and the images of herself and her sister-slaves in the greenhouses.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, February 3, 2003: 12:08 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Infirmary, private rooms:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"So, when will you get out?" Sprink asked as she dropped off her notes and homework for Monday morning's classes.

"Last I heard, tomorrow's my last day, unless Warden Pomfrey decides on an extended sentence..."

"I heard that, Miss Wayne," Poppy said as she sailed into the room. "I'm sure you remember the taste of Skele-Gro®? I've potions that taste _worse_..." She waggled her finger, then flicked her wand over her patient, as Sprink tried to sneak out. "Stay right there, Miss Tonks. I want to look you over too."

"But I feel fine..."

"That's what your sister used to tell me, and with the new, revised Wolfsbane® potion, even though you brew it under Severus' supervision..." She pointed at a spare bed, "Lie down, I'll be with you in a moment."

With a sigh, Sprink complied, taking off her boots. "Now my skirt will get all wrinkled for class..."

"I find it difficult to believe that in the wonderous Slytherin library you don't have any ironing spells," Poppy replied over her shoulder. "I know we did in Ravenclaw. Now lie there quietly, I have more than enough potions for the both of you."

* * *

Looking up from her homework, Mattie called, "Come in, Professor. You too, Headmistress."

Albus peeked around the door frame, "How are you feeling, and how did you know we were here?"

"Perimeter spell, and I'm feeling fine," she replied, lifting a hand and two visitor's chairs zoomed next to the bed. She shifted to sit up cross-legged in bed, the sheets and blankets under her. Albus paused, "I did not mean to visit with you in your underthings..."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Minerva said, taking one of the seats. "Sit down, dear. She's not in her underwear." Somewhat cautiously, Albus took a seat on the bed, observing "Your spellcasting seems to have improved," nodding at the floating textbook.

"Except my conjuring and transfig still needs help," Miss Wayne said, and tapped her wooden lap desk. "Madame Pomfrey had to change this from a pillow." She shifted, bookmarking her place, and asked, "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to discuss your visit to Russia and the meeting with Mr. Rasputin. May I look at your memories of the event?"

"If you limit yourself to that. There are things related to the Empire that are need-to-know, Professor."

"Of course," he agreed, and they gazed at each other for a minute or so. Eventually, they broke the connection, and he nodded to himself. "Most interesting," he offered. "Mental combat as a basis of blind alleys and traps, followed by spell-casting. You've vastly improved, Miss Wayne."

"I worry about going dark, though," she confessed. She held up her textbook, her place held by a pencil, and said, "These are not fluffy-bunny spells."

"As you yourself have observed, it is not a nice galaxy we are entering," Minerva said. "You asked about formal training in mental defense as part of the school curriculum?"

"Yes," Mattie said. "Witches and wizards are going to be in sensitive positions in the Empire, and the Institute for the study of Magic in Moscow includes training in Legilimency and Occlumency, which is useful on various levels, primarily in security and intelligence work." She shifted in the bed, adjusting the covers on her crossed legs as she sat against the bed's headboard. "We're already looking at training courses for our special forces and covert agents, and defending the minds of our muggle personnel in sensitive positions, and there are the cases of Eleanor and Marie. We should have someone in at least the sector headquarters able to fix that kind of situation."

Albus grunted, "I can see your point," he admitted, adding, "I do so miss teaching. The law can be so tedious and dry. What of the young ladies who you have found on other worlds that will come here?"

"Those are the disposable seventy-series slaves, similar to Emma Sinestra," Mattie replied. "The last I heard they were being educated in the basics, reading, writing, and arithmetic on Tosul," Mattie said. "I've got the Stockwell orphanage that I'm acting as sugar momma to, they're remodeling, while a Church of England orphanage will be moving in with them. That can be their legal residence while they attend Hogwarts, and if they're adopted, great. Right now, they're owned by the government of Windfall, I don't know how many of them will want to come to school."

"If all of them come?" Minerva asked.

"A hundred or so, I think," Mattie replied. "Right now they're being trained in office work, filing, answering the phone, typing letters, that kind of thing. They don't know they're witches, they're just glad to be alive and not experimental animals for something. However, several of them got red and yellow and blue sparks, but like I said, they don't know they're zarroji. Roughly twelve percent of the girls we tested, the others went on to Windfall. I don't know how we're going to inform them and keep the actual existence of zarroji secret."

"Well, we have a few months to consider that," Minerva said. "I'll bring that up at the staff meeting, which I want you to resume attending, Miss Wayne."

"That ... might be difficult, with the schedule of appearances I've got," she hedged. "This week, I'm supposed to be in Geneva to address the Imperial economy with Gringotts, central bankers and finance ministers. Tax rates, tariffs, that kind of thing, which I should be studying, only I got caught up in looking up a curse in _Moste Nastye_," (she tapped the book). "We still need to figure out who my Heir Presumptive is, right now I'm leaning toward Connie, my Chief of Staff." She gazed at Minerva, one of her Privy Council, who snorted, "You forget your 'twin', Miss Wayne."

Albus snorted in amusement, and Miss Wayne waggled a finger at him. "I have an assignment for you, Mr. Dumbledore. No more lazing about in pubs for you, I'm putting you to work. I want you working on expanding tremendously the instruction on Legilimency and Occlumency. Ideally, every witch and wizard we send off world should be trained, especially if they're working in security or intelligence. Do you need an introduction to the heads of KGB or Mossad?" Albus blinked, and Miss Wayne nodded once. "Good. Dress warmly, the Russian winter is fully on Moscow. When I was there it was twenty below zero, centigrade. I'll expect your report." She returned her focus to Minerva, who subconsciously straightened up. "Headmistress, about those girls..."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, February 4, 2003: 06:34 (GMT +2)  
Terra, Corfu, Holo training #3, **_M/V Jacksonville_**:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Elena chewed her lip inside her combat armor. She knew it was a training holo, but god, was it _realistic_. The Terran merchie _Jacksonville_ had been taken by pirates, who had flooded the ship with capture gas. The pirates had slaves who were wearing breathing masks as they worked to find, collect and collar the ship's crew, she was following one of these working parties. Unfortunately, their small frigate, the _Alwernia_, didn't have much crew aboard, and had to take two hostile ships, the pirate ship _P'tah_ and the _Jacksonville_, which was considered hostile while captured.

Furthermore, the pirates were a short, naturally armored species, pale blue, with overly large heads and a preference for Van Dyke beards. They were also suited up, although in normal skinsuits. Her partner for this exercise, Dan Phillips, made a hand gesture after examining the passage through a fiber-optic viewer. She advanced, sword in her right hand, shield (which they had just received) in her left, partially covering her body, and moved to the next intersection of passageways. She crouched, hiding behind her shield and checked the display she had velcro'd into her shield. She turned the pickup sensor this way and that, not forgetting to look up at the deckhead, then waved Dan forward. He passed her, and she took a paint stick, marking the wall at knee level, then sliding the stick back into a cargo pocket as Dan waved her forward.

* * *

Elena had a quick glimpse inside the mess hall when the work party maneuvered their (overloaded) antigrav cart full of bodies through the doors. She crouched against a wall behind her shield, extending the pickup's sensor as she activated a stealth field which echoed the wall onto her field. As long as one of the slaves or a pirate didn't actually walk into her, and didn't see the black hemisphere of the pickup (the size of a pencil eraser), she could hide. A click, and Dan whispered into his short-range com, "You good?"

"Yeah," she replied. "You hear from the others?"

"Just heard from the LT. We've got this deck, I want to clear some of these side corridors once we take this room. Got any locking sticks left?"

"Two." They heard the 'bing' of the lift, and she crouched lower as she waited. A locking stick penetrated into a door, clamping and locking the sliding doors together, using micro-welds to stay in place. It could also be used to clamp a door into the frame, the major problem was disabling the door sensor field which automatically opened the doors. However, the easiest way around that was to slide into place against the wall, then a simple knife thrust into the enunciator panel; slapping the stick into place before anyone inside could react to the alarm. She saw on her pickup the waddling stroll of a suited pirate officer, Dan whispered "He's mine!" and she watched him uncoil from behind his shield, a quick thrust into the pirate's side, followed by a swing and his head bounced off, trailing a spatter of orange blood.

"That was stupid!" she hissed over her comm. "They could be on a timetable, he could have check-in times!"

"Oh. Yeah," he said belatedly. "Well, we need to take out the mess anyway. I've got a flash-bang we can use."

"Great, we capture a sergeant, when we could have taken an officer!" she snapped. "Which would have better information?"

"Okay, okay, I screwed up," he admitted. "Mea culpa and all that. Do we take the mess or not? We've still got the rest of this deck to clear."

"Yeah, yeah," she said. "Let's go."

* * *

The pirate looked up as the doors slid open, a small cylinder sailing into the chamber. It exploded with a bang and an intense white light, but his suit automatically filtered these out. He drew his personal weapon, shoving the slaves aside as two suited figures advanced under cover of the thick smoke. His spread-needle weapon spoke, the projectiles whining off the walls and burrowing into the unconscious slaves on the tables. One of the figures replied with his own weapon while he called on his comm, "Intruders! We missed some of the crew!"

"There is a Terran naval ship!" one of his crewmates replied from another deck. "They are fighting us and on the _P'tah_! Why have you not heard?" He ignored this, firing again at a shadowy figure, when one other figure used a long blade to slam into his helmet. It cracked, and it used the edge of the blade to cut his air line, he naturally breathed in capture gas, and staggered, dropping his weapon and collapsing as the gas did as it was designed.

* * *

Elena sheathed her sword, twisting off the pirate's helmet and inspecting him. Aside from orange slivers of blood on his face from cut glass, he was fine, and she used plastic binders to secure his hands behind him, and then his ankles around a table's supports. Dan looked around the mess, then said, "We can leave them, let's check the other compartments."

"Yeah, yeah, swashbuckler," she said as he locked the doors behind her, scribbling on the door with his own paint stick.

* * *

Lieutenant Hearns watched her display from the holodeck's control room as her platoons worked their way through the _Jacksonville_ and the pirate ship, the _P'tah_. Making a note on her clipboard, the former Royal Marine changed her display to a different deck.

* * *

Freshly showered and in utilities, the platoon gathered for the after-action review by their LT. She entered, and they jumped to their feet, standing at attention. Lt. Hearns looked them over, finally saying, "At ease. Be seated." Some of them noted she had not said 'Please be seated,' and started to worry. "After-action review, recapture of _Jacksonville_ from pirates by _Alwernia_. Let us start with an overview of the situation. _Alwernia_ comes upon _Jacksonville_ transmitting a code 17-A on the secondary guard channel, which means what, A'bama?"

"I have been taken by pirates, ma'am," the tall, rail-thin Kenyan man replied.

The LT grunted, "How is that different from a 17-C, M'afsa?"

The other Kenyan replied, "Charlie is an automated signal, ma'am, when a live crew cannot be detected. It will blow the pile and the ship."

"How so?"

"By lack of authorized computer usage, ma'am. If a ship's officer is compromised, they are to use a secondary login instead of their primary. Ten hours later," he gestured with his hands, "Ka-boom."

"Ka-boom indeed," the LT replied. She turned to another page in her notes, "Beez, rendezvous and assault of the _Jacksonville_ from _Alwernia_. Why did you decide to ..."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, February 4, 2003: 12:03 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2nd year Mathematics:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Bill, wait up!" Ami Bones called as her possible-maybe-if-she-got-really-lucky-because-he-was-a-good-bloke boyfriend left their Math class. He paused, waiting in the corridor outside the classroom as her sister Susan, their replacement (and not nearly as good) instructor packed her stuff together. Ami slid one last book into her bag, then hurried out, catching his elbow with her hand. "Ever since we came back from Christmas break, you've been avoiding me, and I want to know why. It's been driving me strange, is it something I've said or done?" she asked, chewing her lip as they made their way down the Mathematics corridor.

"Well, I … um," and he tapped his wand on a classroom's doorframe, pulling her in. He sat her in a chair, pulling another one close as he pulled their book bags off, dropping them to the floor. He didn't notice the other two occupants of the room stop their own snogging to watch. "Y'see, Ami, I've wanted to tell you now, but … I couldn't. It's about Arthur…"

"What, he … he supports his own team?" she asked. He blinked, and she rephrased, "He likes guys instead of girls? Is that why Mattie became so angry, because he was leading her on? There are potions to fix that…"

"No, no, no," he said. "He's not gay, it's that, well, it's a family matter, and I've been trying to figure out how to tell you without breaking my word…"

"Oh, _you're_ the one who likes boys!" she said, in a 'It's all plain to me now' kind of voice. "I … I understand, I'll … I won't trouble you again …" she added in a small, pain-filled voice. She rose, then sobbing, ran out the door.

"Go after her, mate, and apologize," Charlie said, clapping his hand on Bill's shoulder as Sprink hurried after Ami.

"But I… I didn't do anything," he said.

"I know that, and you know that, but if you want her, go apologize to her for making her cry. It's how women are, mate. G'wan, hurry. Sprink will try to get her ready for you." He gave Bill a friendly shove, then bent over to collect everyone's book bags.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, February 5, 2003: 06:06 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty lounge:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Mattie-alpha yawned as she entered the faculty lounge. Professor Harry nodded to her, and Hagrid grunted as he filled his massive tea mug (draining a pot to do it). He filled another, equally large mug with coffee for her, which she gratefully accepted. "Thank you," she murmured, and he grunted again. "Norbert came ta visit," he said. "Y' wanna arrange a field trip f' th' orphans y' keepin' an eye out f'?"

"Some of them are rather young," she replied, taking a gulp of coffee. "We don't want to frighten them with beasties that are _too_ … interesting."

"I weren't thinkin' 'bout a Nundu," he said. "Somp'in like Fluffy, 'r m'be a salamander, an' Buckbeak likes ta meet new friends…"

"I'll pass on the suggestion," she said. "I don't know why the Headmistress wanted me here, I'm not teaching anymore…"

"Because of two reasons," Minerva said as she sailed in the door. "Formal meetings with an agenda instead of your on-the-fly method are best, and I had a job offer for you." Severus and Pomona had followed her in, while Filius put down his own tea mug. Aurora Sinestra came in, hiding a jaw-cracking yawn in her hand. "Job offer?" she asked as she accepted a mug of tea from Callista Vector. "That's what she said," Callista confirmed.

"Ma'am, with respect, I really don't think I have time, no matter what the job is," Mattie protested. "I had to twin myself as it is."

"Yes, I know," Minerva replied. "However …" she took a deep breath, "I would count it a favor if you would consider it. Ms. Susan Bones has informed me that yesterday's class was her last, she has been hired for an off-world position, and I am thus in need of an instructor for second-year Mathematics. You are known by the student body, are a decent instructor, your Business class was a success, the students made quite a bit of money…"

"Which reminds me, I'll need to award the prize," she said, tenting her fingers as she considered. The assembled faculty waited with baited breath, a small smile appeared as she said, "Let's negotiate…"

* * *

"I cannot speak for Albus!" Minerva protested. She sputtered, "I may be married to him, but…"

"That's got it," Severus stage-whispered to Harry, who nodded. "What else, the Crown Jewels?"

"I have some, thank you," Miss Wayne stage-whispered back. "Diamonds the size of basketballs, remember? No, I was working on a project with Professor Dumbledore, but that's something I'll discuss with him." She cracked her knuckles, "Now, then, Headmistress, we need to discuss salary and benefits…" Pomona made a 'whoop, whoop' sound, circling her fist in the air, and Callista, the Deputy Headmistress (and Slytherin) inspected her fingernails. "You should have asked me first, Minerva. You remember the old saying, 'Bring your own Slytherin to a negotiation,' I'm sure…"

"Whose side are you on?" Minerva muttered, and Callista smiled. "My own, at the moment."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, February 5, 2003: 07:55 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2nd year Potions:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Bill waited outside the Potions lab with the rest of his class. Ami was frostily ignoring him, and he wasn't having a good week. Professor Snape finally sailed into view, and ripples of shock spread - he was _smiling_! "Good morning," he said, tapping the door with his wand and muttering a password. The door unlocked, and he threw it open. "My apologies for my lateness. The faculty meeting went longer than planned, but oh, what a wonderful meeting it was." He settled down on a corner of his worktable, completely uncharacteristic behavior, "I am sure some of you have heard the phrase 'Bring your own Slytherin to a negotiation,' and I have just had a sterling example of it. As you will no doubt hear at lunch, Miss Wayne has consented to teach your mathematics class, as Miss Bones has accepted another position." He glanced at Ami, then at Bill. "In short, Miss Wayne, as part of her contract negotiations, has also kindly negotiated a very nice bump in the staff's pay packet. A very _nice_ bump, indeed." He took a deep breath, then clapped his hands. "On to business. Monday morning, we discussed the Swelling Solution, which you brewed, successfully I presume. We shall brew the Deflating Draught today in the first hour, the second in which you shall test with Monday's brew." He unlocked a cabinet, fetching out a rack of vials. Not all of them looked correct, and Bill swallowed nervously.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, February 5, 2003: 08:46 (GMT)  
Tosul approach, **_IMV Ngthsestr_**, Flight deck:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Good morning, Mr. Donaldson," Yael said from her command chair. "I have quite a bit of mail for you, a Mr. Kevin Whitbey as passenger out from Earth, and some light cargo." He nodded on her screen, "I've been in touch with the Portmaster's office, and I'll offload at the station here."

"You can't offload down here?"

"Unfortunately, all but one of my crew are Enhanced slaves like C'ari here (she gestured at the helm), and it would be a major pain in the arse to do that. They would need to be registered and tagged if they set one toe off the ship, the Portmaster has to have a witness present…" She waved a hand. "At the station, it's unloading at the transit docks, Mr. Whitbey will escort the cargo down to you once it clears Tosul Customs."

"I see…" Gene replied. "Is the mail electronic?"

"It is, but it's burned onto some DVD's, and part of that light cargo is additional equipment to send and receive mail properly with passing ships like the _Ngthsestr_." (She patted the command chair.) "It apparently was not included in your original kit. Mr. Whitbey has additional information for you."

"I see…" Gene said again. "Very well. I'll look forward to Mr. Whitbey's arrival. Is he temporary or permanent?"

"Permanent, I understand," Yael replied. "He's working for the Empire now, he'll be taking over as a site manager for the people coming from Earth. You've got some staff there?"

"Yes, some seventy-series slaves the government of Windfall bought, roughly a hundred. They're being trained as secretaries and so forth." He paused, then said carefully, "My understanding was that they were going to be sent off to school…"

"That was my understanding, but we still have seven months before school starts in September," she replied equally carefully. "Mr. Whitbey has more information on that, classified information." C'ari turned to look at her, and she smiled at her crew-person. "In addition, this is a notice that your employer, Parkinson, needs to have you shipped out to another planet, P'wheel, where you'll be installing and upgrading another network."

"Not without some help," he almost snapped. "I'm taking some of my girls here with me. How many can you carry, and what's the weather like there?"

"I've been there, it's a tropical island, Mr. Donaldson. Think a trade port in the Caribbean, although there is also an orbiting station. Very relaxed, and we can take six, including you, if you don't mind doubling up."

"I don't, although I'll need a single cabin for myself. I'll take four girls, we'll be ready when Mr. Whitbey arrives. I'll need time to brief him, though."

"I've got a thirty hour window to make my departure, Mr. Donaldson, although I would prefer sooner rather than later. What is the US Mail phrase? 'Neither snow, nor rain…'"

"'…keeps these carriers from their appointed rounds,'" he finished. "I'll get started arranging Mr. Whitbey's housing. I presume he has a Gringotts account?"

* * *

Gene Donaldson sat back in his chair, and looked over at Rhonda 375, his assistant where she knelt off camera. "Now you know a bit more," he said.

"Some, master," she replied. "What school is this? Who is going?"

"There is a school on Earth, my son is going to start there in a few months," he replied. "I don't know what I can tell you, we'll have to wait until this fellow gets here." He slapped the arms of his wheely chair, then said, "Call our residential building, we're getting a new free male to live there. I'll need someone who's learned the city the best assigned to help him out, show him where places are, that kind of thing." Rhonda nodded, flipping to a fresh page on her legal pad as she made notes. "Yes, master. Who is going?"

"That I'm going to leave up to you. You'll be staying and training your assistant, I'll need four of the network and computer girls, and I'm upgrading your status to 'root'. Think you can handle that?"

Rhonda inhaled sharply, "Master, I am…"

"You are a network administrator, one very tiny step down from the Source on this network. You know all, you see all, you say nothing. If some arrogant free person tries to bully you, you tell them you are under my orders. If I had the legal right, I'd free you and the other girls, but you belong to the planetary government of Windfall. You will train new girls, set scheduling, all that kind of thing. Think of yourself as the network's First Girl, if that helps." Rhonda nodded as he typed at the console. "I'm copying my notes to your directory. Study them, for now, I need your choices on who to send with me of the experienced girls, but don't short your own needs."

"'Short my needs, master?'"

"Don't impair the functionality of your own network," he said. "This is now _your_ network, Rhonda 375. I am a guest." He stood, holding the wheely chair for her, and she gingerly sat down in it. "I am going to my apartment to pack while this new fellow is in transit down. I should be back in a few hours. You have my comm?"

"Yes, master. I … oh, master, I am frightened!"

"Perfectly understandable. I'll be back soon," and he gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and left her. She took a deep breath, looking at the network login prompt, and hesitantly typed in her information.

* * *

"Master, there is a Master Whitbey here to see you," the slave with reception-desk duty called.

"Thank you, I'll be down to fetch him," Gene said, and disconnected. He looked at Rhonda, "Ready to meet one of your new clients?"

"No, master, but that won't stop it," she replied with a tentative smile. He tossed her his ring of keys, and she clipped it to her slave belt. She smoothed down her light green (government owned) slave tunic and skirt as he replied, "I'll go lay down the law with him, but you're going to have to keep things in control." He held the door for her, and she paused in the corridor, waiting for him to precede her.

* * *

Kevin waited in the lobby, while a news programme played on the video. He looked up as Gene came in, trailed by a young slave in a light green outfit. He stood, offering his hand, "Mr. Donaldson? I'm Kevin Whitbey. He ignored the slave, who picked up his luggage as he shook hands. Mr. Donaldson turned, "Rhonda, we'll have someone tend to that. Mr. Whitbey, this is Rhonda 375, the Network Admin and First Girl."

She dropped his luggage, and he frowned. "Master Whitbey," she said politely.

"Slave," he replied, and held out his hand. "Keys."

She glanced at Gene, who shook his head. "Master, these are mine. I will have a set made for you."

"I think we can take this into the office," Gene said. "Rhonda, Mr. Whitbey? This way, please."

* * *

"This is your office, master," Rhonda said politely, and Kevin took two steps in, then said, "This won't work. I'm the site administrator, I am God here. I want a full corner office on the top floor, and I want it now."

"What is wrong with this office, master?"

"It's on the ground floor, in the middle, and looks out on the bloody parking lot!" He turned to Rhonda, grabbing the front of her collar and lifting her off her feet. She shrieked in pain, and was dropped as Gene grabbed the younger man by the front of his shirt, lifting him and slamming him against the wall.

"First off, asshole, you never, ever, grab a girl by her collar. That collar is tied into her spine and her nervous system, you can kill a girl like that." He pulled the other by his shirt away, then slammed him back against the wall. "Second, this was my office. You don't rate a corner office, which are assigned to other people. Third, you are not God, the Source, Jesus, or whatever else you want to call yourself. You're a god-damn clerk, who makes sure the carpets are vacuumed and fixes the jammed toilets. You get the keys you need to get, and the privileges on Rhonda's network that _she_ allows you. _She_ is God, or the Source, or whatever you want to call it. I call her First Girl."

He opened his fist and let the younger man drop to the floor. "If you're a result of Hogwarts, then I'll be damned if I let my son, much less these girls go there. If I had the legal authority to do so, I'd free them all. Now, I want you to think very carefully about this. Rhonda, please close the door." She did so, and he said, "Do you remember when you were first bought? We had you wave a stick around."

"Yes, master. I've wondered why."

"I'll show you. Wand, please," and he held out his hand to Kevin, who spluttered, "You can't…"

"Inform at least Rhonda of what her potential future is? Keep her as an ignorant slave? No." He turned to the girl, "The school is known as Hogwarts, and my son is going to be starting there in a few months, as you heard." He snapped his fingers, "Wand, or do I have to physically search you?"

"All right," he said, and surrendered a slim stick to Gene, who continued, "Now, Rhonda, this is something in which you must, absolutely _must_ keep secret. Your life, and the lives of all the girls here, and the people coming out depend on it." She nodded, and he swished the wand through the air. Nothing happened, and he flipped it, "You do it. Dominant hand, please."

"No, you can't…" Kevin moaned. "I had such plans…"

"And if you cooperate, you can realize some of them," Gene replied, and nodded to Rhonda. She swished, and a fountain of colored sparks came out of the wand tip. She goggled, holding it up to examine the tip, then swished again. "I do not understand, master. It is a simple wooden stick." She gave it back to Gene, who swished again without generating sparks. "Now you, Mr. Whitbey." He reluctantly swished, getting a few yellow sparks, then hiding his wand.

"You noticed that you had much more sparks than either Mr. Whitbey or myself," Gene said, and crossed his arms. "You and every other girl we kept here generated sparks, in several cases a lot of different colored sparks." Kevin moaned "No…" and he continued. "The other girls went on to Windfall, where the government will integrate them into the colony there, as citizens, not as slaves."

"But, master, I do not understand."

"Have you heard of zarroji?"

Rhonda blinked, even more confused by the apparent turn in the conversation. "Yes, master. They are mythical beings of legend, said to be able to make things appear out of nothing but thin air, and…" She blinked again, making connections. Gene helped her out, "There are two zarroji in this room right now, and I'm not one of them." She blinked again, and Gene continued, "The school which my son, and possibly you, will attend, is formally called 'Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry'. You, Rhonda 375, are a witch, a female zarroj, as are all the girls we have in this building." Her eyes rolled up and she fainted.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*******  
Wednesday, February 5, 2003: ****18:25 (GMT)****  
Terra, Pigeon Breast, Hank McCoy's home:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Hank accepted the platter of chicken from his wife, Gayle, and placed a couple slices on his plate as his daughter spooned some succotash. He traded with her, asking, "How was school today?"

"Same old, same old," she replied. "However, I used my study period in the library to look up stuff on the Belter economy."

"You've got your homework done, Abby? Brian?"

"I'll finish mine tonight, mom," he replied. "We wanted to take advantage of the Internet connection at school."

"Same," Abby put in. "I've got some diagrams and such, but we wanted to look up stuff on our ship, and how we can make money on it."

"It's not decided yet," Hank said. "We're going to have another clan meeting to decide, but I'm not sure how it would work with the shop. Anyway, go on, Abby."

She took a swallow of milk, then held up her glass. "Some of it goes back to history, the old 'Triangle Trade', only this isn't with slaves, it's with products, everything from ten kilometer long I-beams to drinking glasses. The belters export ore, or in a few cases, finished metals, to the orbital refineries. They're paid in either grams of tungsten or more commonly, Euros through Gringotts Bank. Everything's synchronized through GMT in London."

Hank had heard some of this, but not all, so he nodded, and his daughter continued. "Earth exports high-tech stuff like computers and skin suits, which we'll all need to have, and Orbit, which includes the Moon, Mars and its moons Deimos and Phobos, as well as the stations, export manufactured goods and food, so everyone trades around, a lot of it goes through the huge warehouse in Phobos."

"I looked up our ship, which would be a _Stevedore_ class," Brian put in. "The crew would need to be certified by the Solar Guard, and I've divided it into crew, which would operate the ship, and staff, who would buy, sell, and trade stuff. I've got deck layouts and so forth, and some things I think would sell to the miners. I've got our preliminary plans saved under the ship name _Mountaineer_, with the password PigeonBreast."

"Printouts?" Gayle asked.

"With my school stuff, mom. Anyway, Ms. Evans said a couple things to you, and I've talked to Susan, Mrs. Evans' kid. She, and they, are just as excited as we are, so I think we've got at least one customer. Anyway, Susan said that her big sister Chantal was working on stuff for the Empire on Deimos, and that there was a lot of independent business going on in the Belt, and in Orbit, including the first commercial radio station. Some of that's independent bands, and she said some of them were really, really good, and some of them sucked, but there's all sorts of music, from heavy metal to country to blues."

He stopped to eat a bit, then continued, "Anyway, music isn't the only thing, there's all sorts of botany experiments going on, especially in the Belt. Lots of different plants, including some you smoke."

"Pot? No way am I carrying that!" his dad said. "The stuff just leads to harder drugs, and it's illegal and addictive!"

"Dad…" Brian put in, "It's profitable, the Guard looks on it like booze or tobacco. They don't say it's illegal unless you're flying while high, just like flying while drunk. If we're going to carry booze…" His mother glanced at him, and he changed the subject. "Anyway, some of the plants are teas, and Mars has some Arabica coffee, and there are plants that clean the air. Anyway, the way the … originators, I guess you'd call them, of the music and so forth get their money is by licensing."

"We looked at what services we could offer, and two come to mind, dad. One would be legal services, Aunt Bailey just got her law degree and she's renting a room. Another would be medical, a doctor, dentist and vet. A lot of the Belters grow the basics, but they also import stuff like coffee."

"My kid wants me to become a dope fiend," Hank grumbled. "What about the ship and crew?"

Abby answered, "Most ships are using three watches, four on, eight off. While we're flying around, we'd need a helm, comm, and engine watch, plus a C.O. for each watch. They would all need to be Guard-certified, so that's nine or ten people. Staff would be the merchants, so we'd have a legal officer in Aunt Bailey, the Cubans have medical people if nobody in the clan is available, plus our traders, figure three or four of those would help out the crew. We're looking at maybe twenty people."

"Don't forget the hitchhikers," Brian said. "There's people that need to get from point A to point B in the Belt, they can either go all the way in to Earth or Mars, or they hitch a ride, where they trade services or pay passage, or some combination of that." His sister put in, "I looked at message boards for the Belt, there's that, there's also times where the Guard needs to transport someone, so I think we could add in a couple of cells and half a dozen passenger cabins. We'd also need some people in the clan to act as security. Don't we have a couple of Army vets?"

"I think they're Marines, dear," her mom put in. "We'd also need someone really tightfisted with money to do the business side."

"But flexible, one that can strike a good bargain," Abby said. "A business manager."

"I want to see what you've got, but for now, dinner's getting cold, and you two need to finish your homework," her father said.

"Daaaaad!"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, February 5, 2003: 2****1:25 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, Severus Snape's office:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Severus looked up as the fire flared green, and a small figure stepped out. He fetched the brush, stating, "You're late."

"Sorry about that. There was a last minute change of plans, we went to Zürich instead of Geneva, and discussions ran long," Miss Wayne said. "Connie got back all right?"

"She's in the dormitory, as is your twin," Severus replied as she doffed her black leather coat. She folded it, tossing it over a chair back and placing her briefcase on the seat. She rolled her shoulders. "I feel so stupid," she admitted. "I thought I knew something about finance, but meeting with central bankers arguing about tenths of a point differences in basis points…" she shook her head. "There's a considerable difference between corporate finance, personal investment, and public economics and monetary policy."

"True, but it is a specialist's field." He turned, picking up a copy of _Potions Monthly_, and handed it to her. "You will get something out of it, as you would other specialist publications like _Transfiguration Today_, but not as much as I or Albus would out of our respective periodicals. You need to understand what a basis point is, but not the subtleties of it. That is the job of your Finance Minister." She nodded and handed back the magazine, and he asked, "That being said, what is a basis point? I have never heard of it."

"It's one-one hundredth of a percentage point," she replied. "It's used to discuss interest rates of less than a percent, so ten basis points is a tenth of a percent." She paced, and he poured her a glass of ice water, which she nodded gratefully and drank deeply. She tapped the glass with her wand, and it refilled. "You're getting better," he observed.

"Thank you," she said. "Both for the water and the advice. I don't need to know the molecular or magical structure of … Erumpent fluid in order to use it in a potion."

"Precisely, although what you'd do with that…" he shook his head. "What is giving you the most difficulty?"

"Different forms of government revenue," she replied. "We've already got the flat tax, five percent, but there are also non-tax revenue, such as government corporations and sovereign funds, like sales of asteroids and seigniorage."

"Excuse me?"

"Seigniorage is the difference in value in production or over time." She went into her bag, then pulled out a ten pound note. "The government prints these notes, which is worth ten pounds, correct?" He nodded, and she said, "However, these are just printed notes, they cost about the same to print as a hundred pound note, but they are worth the ten pound face value because _the government says they are_."

"Fiat currency."

"Correct. The seigniorage in that case is the difference between the cost of printing, say ten pence, and the value it has in the market, ten pounds." She made an Imperial coin appear. "This is a two hundred gram coin, which has precisely two hundred grams of tungsten metal. However, we can buy tungsten in large quantities, which gives us a discount, so that two hundred gram coin would cost us one hundred eighty grams." She made a galleon appear. "This is supposedly worth about five pounds, but the price of gold fluctuates, which makes me wonder how the goblins are profiting by using hard money. You would do better by melting it down and buying pounds or Euros." She made an Imperial bill appear, "A ten kilo bill. You can turn this in to a branch of Lantern Bank and walk out with ten kilos of tungsten, it's a representative currency, the only real difference between us and the Galactics is they prefer computer chips. This is still legal tender on any planet in the thirty-one local galaxies with a Lantern Bank, though. That's one way a government makes money."

"Other ways would be…" he asked as she continued to pace.

"Government bonds, short term, which is under a year, and long term which is over ten years. I can approve of that, because we're paying an interest rate to borrow money for a fixed amount of time. What I can't get my mind around is some financial types who think long-term deficit spending is a _good_ thing."

Severus took his seat, leaning back as she continued to pace. "Start with the bonds."

"Bonds are issued for a specific purpose, generally infrastructure, and are secured by that. In our case, it's like my taking out a loan to buy a car; the car secures the loan. The Empire would issue a bond for the construction costs to build a ship, and pay interest on it. A government loan is considered safer because the government has the power to tax to cover those payments, or to simply print more money. However that devalues the currency, and here we get into things like inflation, too much money in circulation." She took another long drink of water, "With bonds, we're spending the money, but we're also paying the loan back. With deficit spending, it's like overdrawing your bank account and promising that someone else will pay for it, in the case of current governments, our children and grandchildren." She finished the glass and tapped it to refill it as she continued to pace, "That's why politicians love it, they can spend money on the electorate to stay in power, and who doesn't love free money? While people know it has to be paid back, it's a case of '_I'll worry about it later_.' However, when your entire tax revenue goes to paying for those things like NHS and other social programs and interest on the debt…"

Severus quietly asked, "It's that bad?"

"Getting there, another twenty or thirty years. That means that current discretionary spending for things like education, public works projects and national defense are being paid by our children's and grandchildren's taxes. However, politicians have painted us into a corner, and don't have the spine to propose what must be done to fix it. They'll 'study the problem', like it hasn't been studied before, and they don't want to propose the higher taxes, reductions in public benefits, and pushing back the retirement age…" She shook her head, "I can see some benefits to a planned economy, and that's why I like a representative currency."

He grunted, "You've given me a great deal to think on," he admitted. "For now, you've got two more days in Zürich, and they're long ones. Get to bed, I'll call Poppy and let her know you're back. She may pop in on you."

She drained the glass, nodded and collected her coat and bag. "Thanks for providing a friendly ear."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Thursday, February 6, 2003: 12****:15 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Ami Bones looked around and up at a tap on her shoulder, "Yes, Miss Morton?" she asked coldly.

Julie asked, "A word in private, if you don't mind?" Folding her napkin neatly, she laid her soup spoon on it, stood, and followed the Gryffindor third year to an out-of-the-way corner. Julie cast a privacy spell, then demanded "What's wrong with you and my brother?"

"That's between us. If you don't mind…"

"No, it's not. He's going slowly crazy trying to figure out what he said or didn't say to offend you. Spill."

"It's about your other brother, Arthur. He won't talk about it, won't tell me the truth."

"Because he gave his word that he wouldn't. He's keeping his word, and wouldn't you prefer that to someone that breaks his word _that_ easily?" She regarded the slightly younger girl, "You have secrets, we all do. He respects yours, so why won't you return the courtesy?"

"It's not anything … communicable, is it?"

"With Arthur? No. Nor does Bill have anything that I know of, so you're safe there."

Ami glanced at Julie, then said, "You used present tense when referring to Arthur." She crossed her arms, "That means that he's alive, not dead." She regarded Julie, then added slowly, "Nobody in the family has actually confirmed his death, and Mattie… she may have melted down Manhattan, but nothing like she could have…"

"I'm not confirming or denying anything, I don't have permission either. It was Fifth Avenue, not the entirety of Manhattan, by the way."

"And the demons?"

"The Horsemen, and Jesu? They were there, and those poker games were _intense_. Never play Mattie for money, you'll lose your shirt."

Ami took a deep breath, "It looks like I've jumped to a conclusion. Thanks, and I'll apologize to Bill, even if he did get his big sister to intervene."

"He didn't," Julie replied. "We're done here?" Ami nodded, and Julie collapsed the privacy spell.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, February 7, 2003: 03****:45 (GMT) ****  
Firsday, 24 Tertius, 163, 10:58 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, West Port:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

George pulled his heavily laden wagon to a stop, calling back to the lines of chained slaves, "Slaves, stop!" Still in the grip of their Enhancement, they stopped immediately, standing rigidly as he set the brake and grabbed his manifest. He climbed down to meet the blue-caped slaver sauntering toward him, who waved in a friendly manner, calling, "Good morning!"

"Good morning," he replied. "This is my first time here, where do I pick up slaves and drop some of these off? I need to get these slaves sorted out, I've got different groups." Turning slightly, he called, "Slaves, Inspection, and release!" The slaves immediately knelt, left leg up, bent at the waist. "When they left the Farm, they were loaded in collar order, and I've got these slaves in stasis tubes. Some go on to High Town, others to Riverside, and others I don't know."

"That seems to be standard practice, so why should you be any different?" the slaver snorted. He looked up at the three heavy wagons loaded with twenty stasis tubes each, and then at the trailing cart with additional cargo. "I'm a little surprised to see a Terran with slaves," he ventured.

"I was working at the Farm, and needed to come here to pick up a slave on the way to High Town," George explained, and gestured. "That's how I came to driving these here."

"Well, you're in the wrong place for all that," the slaver said. "If I can drive, we'll get them sorted." George gestured, then turned and called, "Slaves, stand, and restrict!" The wagon started moving, and he called, "On the left, march!"

* * *

"For a Terran, you seem like a reasonable fellow," the slaver said from the driver's seat, and George snorted. "For a Traditionalist, you seem like one. Mind explaining some things about your politics that don't make sense?"

"If you'll do the same," he said. "I don't understand your objection to slavery, even the slaves don't object. Why do you?"

"Up until three or four hundred years ago, we had slaves," George said slowly. "However, it wasn't sexually based."

The slaver grunted, then asked, "If you had slaves as recently as three hundred years ago, why did you stop?"

"A religious group, known as the Quakers, was behind that. They made the point that if you cut a slave and a free man, they both bled red, they were both similar, and it was immoral to sell an intelligent being." The wagon turned, and he continued, "You know there's usually a difference between law and reality. The shonnen are not intelligent, the slaves are, but they are both considered animals in law. You know that your sisters are intelligent, you can hold a conversation with them, but the Traditionalists consider them no more intelligent than one of those shonnen." He then asked, "Have you collared them?"

"And Enhanced them, but I own them."

"You collared and Enhanced your own sisters? They must have been happy about that."

The slaver made a tossing-off gesture. "Yes, although I didn't understand why. They were only females, they should have expected it as females. They are smaller, and thus have a smaller brain, and are thus less intelligent."

"Which is _not_ true," George replied. "I'm a surgeon, a healer, and I can tell you from handling the actual brains, female brains are larger than male brains. Other claims based on biology are just as wrong. Now, as you're a local, and I'm a Terran, there are some slight differences between us." The slaver raised an eyebrow, and George said, "Differences in organs and placement, blood type, muscle mass, that kind of thing. Your original colonists from the homeworld were from a heavier-gravity planet than Windfall, so your muscles are a little more dense. However, over time, that's fading out because it's not reinforced by the environment."

The slaver grunted, and George continued, "You've sold slaves that were bio-sculpted?" The slaver nodded, George said, "I can take you, biosculpt you into a female, collar and sell you. Your DNA would still be male, you would just have the appearance of a ten-kilo slave girl. Does that make you any less intelligent?" He tapped the side of his head, "Inside, you'd still be male, your bones and so forth would be male, but you'd look like a female, but according to the Traditionalists, you'd now be an inferior, much less intelligent female. How is that logical?"

"But I would know differently."

"Yes, but remember, you now have the appearance of a slave girl. Nobody would _care_ that a day ago, you were a free male. All they care about is making a profit off you."

The slaver grunted, "What about Enhancing the females?"

"Not necessary, and I can tell you that Terrans would not like that being done to their female relatives. For criminals, ones that have been convicted of a crime, that's one thing, but not a slave who happens to be wearing a judicial collar because her owner just wanted a bit of extra security. Since we can track the slaves by their collars to within a meter, that's sufficient security. However, your average slave, it's not really necessary. Why do it, why have the expense?"

"For the extra control and security."

"And any slave is going to obey if she doesn't want to get punished."

The slaver gestured "The red building." After a minute, he pulled to a stop, then called, "Slaves, stop! Inspection!"

* * *

George stretched and drove the slave wagons up the hill. This was a long, curving hill on the way to High Town, where he would deliver the slaves to a facility in the 'suburbs'. The shonnen snorted as they made their slow way up the hill.

The former Yuki Fukuda, now slave 90144, was happy to be reunited with her master George, even if she was neck-ringed in a slave wagon. At least she wasn't marching behind!

The slave 10181 swayed as the wagon she was neck-ringed in hit a bump. '_Haven't these people heard of a suspension_?' her mental passenger Steven asked in their shared mind. '_You would prefer to be walking again_?' she replied to him. '_Point_,' he admitted. '_Definitely a point. Any idea what's going to happen to us_?' She snorted mentally, '_When our owner decides what and when we need to know, we shall be informed. You are familiar with the concept of need-to-know_.' He grumbled, '_We could at least be unhooded_…'

The slave 73536, informally named 'Kris' by master George, swayed in her neck ring as the wagon hit a bump. She was happy to be out of the Farm, but would like to have her Enhancement turned off and be able to see the passing scenery…

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, February 7, 2003: 12****:15 (GMT)****  
Deimos, LSB Engineering:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Tex walked into the small office suite LSB rented, and Egg looked up, "How was your test?"

"Like it was modeled," he replied. "I had an idea about mounting a gamma laser on a torpedo frame for a mine…" He poured a cup of coffee, and waved the pot in Egg's direction.

"Please," and he pushed his mug toward Tex, who asked, "Where's the Beav?"

"She's meeting with our attorney, we're getting more funding for the drive," he replied. "We need to figure out how to scale the thing, and the Beav thinks we should look into getting some office help."

"Probably wouldn't be a bad idea, I'm getting tired of dealing with paperwork." He took a gulp of coffee as he put down the communal coffee-stirring spoon. He ambled to his desk, and booted his computer, "Now, as for scaling the drive, I had an idea 'bout that. Let me bounce it off you…"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Friday, February 7, 2003: ****19:50 (GMT)****  
Terra, North Hertfordshire, ****Royston, Bones flat: ****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"You couldn't complete your contract?" Amelia asked her eldest daughter. "You have to go running off to some … planet in the far depths of space?"

"I … I couldn't deal with it," Susan said from her side of the dinner table. She poked at her chicken, "I'm not suited to teach, and I talked to Minerva, so when this came up for P'wheel, I grabbed it." She took a deep breath, and covered her eyes, "I feel terrible."

"You should. How do you think you'll be able to manage a colony?"

"I'll be the assistant," Susan replied. "I can learn on the job…"

"The assistant usually deals with the day-to-day problems," Amelia said. "Would you like me to arrange a part-time job at the Ministry?"

"I've got something lined up at the Imperial building, although I'll need to get some muggle business wear. My first class there is Monday…"

Amelia sighed, "Well, we can go shopping tomorrow. Let me owl Minerva and see if we can get Ami to join us."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, February 10, 2003: 02****:45 (GMT)****  
Thirday, 26 Tertius, 163, 10:58 (WFT +2)** **  
Windfall, Island, High Town:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

George drove the wagons into the courtyard of the Ministry of Commerce facility, and a few guards came out to meet him. He smiled and waved, "Got some slaves to deliver here," he said, setting the brake.

"These are the ones from the Farm?" one asked, peering through the mesh into the slave cage. "They're not moving," he said.

"They're restricted, idiot," one of his friends said, looking up from the paperwork. He raised his voice, "Slaves, release!" and the slaves relaxed into their neck rings. "He's new," he explained to George, adding, "Straight off the farm, only had un-Enhanced slaves there." He took a few steps, commenting to the new fellow, "Now WorkForce designed some of their programming differently, you'll have to say the model first, like this: 'Model 128 slaves, release!'." Several of the other slaves relaxed, and the tailgate was released and swung up.

* * *

George did not like the next part of his orders, and definitely planned on demanding an explanation. However, that was for later, and for now… He grabbed Yuki, "Slave 90144! Your performance is completely unacceptable!" He dragged her to a support column in full view of both the slaves and the guards, pulling her up and hooking her wrist bracelets high, pulling her ankles wide with other chains. She whimpered through her thick black gag as she was held against the column, twisting to look at her master. He growled, "So you wanted to be a female, to be a slave girl? It's not only being pretty, you must also serve, and you've forgotten that. You'll remember your red collar now!" He turned to Kris, "Slave 73536, you are now First Girl, and this slave is Low Girl. Once she has been disciplined, cut her hair and brand her, she will be under your supervision. Keep her heavily chained and under strict discipline." Kris whimpered once through her own gag.

"Now wait," one of the guards said. "Why are you appointing her First Girl?"

"Because the orders let him do it, he's our new boss," the older guard said. "We've got a current First Girl, milord, you'll want to review her service."

"I will, but that doesn't change this low slave," George said, hating every word and action. "For now, let me use your slave whip, this slave needs to be disciplined," and held out his hand.

* * *

"Dr. Brenner? Come walk with me," the younger man said as he intercepted George, who was implacably steaming toward the Commerce Ministry. "I am Yuri, Security Minister, and the originator of your orders." He tugged at George's sleeve, "Come, I will buy you a cup of tea."

"Tea? Give me one reason why I shouldn't take your head off," George growled, looming over the much smaller man, fists clenched in rage.

"Because you wish to help your girls," Yuri replied calmly. George didn't move, and Yuri reached up to gently shove his shoulder. "Come, I will buy you tea and answer questions. This is Cam, she is the current Commerce Minister." The blonde nodded, "Greetings, master," she said to the large, angry man.

* * *

"So how is my beating my slave helping the girls?" George asked, hands wrapped around a thin ceramic mug of tea. He sat on a park bench, watching house slaves keeping an eye on their young children as they played.

"First, a little background," Yuri said, leaning back against the bench. "Governor Sullivan, with the best of intentions, appointed Cam as head of the Commerce Ministry. However, despite her best efforts, she has been ineffective, and has agreed to her removal and replacement with a Terran male."

"I have two strikes against me," Cam said from where she knelt in the grass. "I am female, and a collared slave. The slaves in the Ministry are still following orders from their previous owners, who are now Traditionalists, and threw up roadblocks at every turn."

"Wait just a minute," George said. "'Two strikes?' 'roadblocks?' You sound like a Terran yourself."

"I am, master, although it's not known in High Town. I'm Sgt. Camanetti from the US Marines. Please keep that quiet," she replied. "You, on the other hand, are a large Terran, and as I recall, you played for the Falcons before your knee blew out." He nodded. "I made some money off you in Fantasy Football, Doc. Small galaxy. Anyway, from the Traditionalist's viewpoint, you've shown an open mind and willingness to keep slaves in their proper place," she finger-quoted. "This is one reason your slave was to be beaten in public, or at least in front of Ministry employees and slaves. This will be reported by them to their controllers in the Traditionalist Party, who have gained through fear effective control of the slaves."

Yuri took a swallow of tea, "Effective control, not willing cooperation. In addition, they have no conception of modern microelectronics, but that is my concern, not yours."

Cam said, "When you did this, it reinforced your reputation with the Traditionalists. The girls you brought in will be put into place in the Commerce and Finance Ministries to replace the girls we had shipped back to the Farm. Coming from Traditonalist-controlled facilities they will be less likely to be suspect."

"That is my concern, Dr. Brenner. All you need do is implement my suggestions," Yuri said.

"While I," Cam said, "Or rather, this slave, will be stolen and hung from the public gallows …"

"What?" George almost shouted.

"Calm down, Doc, I have an armored neck, it won't hurt me," Cam replied, shushing George. "You'll get the credit with the Traditionalists for taking out an arrogant slave, meaning me, and I'll be rescued and shipped out in a plain coffin."

"She'll be officially dead," Yuri said. "We'll then ship her up to one of the departing ships, where she's going to another world, Metis. You, on the other hand, will blame the Traditionalists, and I, as Security Minister, will not find enough evidence to charge anyone."

"This eliminates the uppity slave, and cements your position as Commerce Minister, which also gives you control of the SCA," Cam concluded.

"By the way, the good Doctor Tannenbaum was arrested and is currently occupying one of my cells," Yuri added. "As a free female, it is a rather luxurious cell, with a sleeping pad and chamber pot, but she is still chained by the neck a meter from the door."

"Much better than a slave cell," Cam commented.

"Cloak and dagger, spy stuff."

"Indeed, I am not only Russian, but former KGB." He took another swallow of tea, "Your immediate actions are almost complete, Dr. Brenner. You may need to take certain actions later that I will specify. We must limit need-to-know, of course."

"Of course. How does this help my girls?"

"You will be a powerful man, in charge of the Ministry of Commerce and the subsidiary agencies," Yuri replied, adding, "Including the Slave Control Agency. The fish-slaves can be installed in a suitable island in the DHL archipelago."

George grunted, "I don't have to do anything unusual? And what about the girls I brought in?"

"Those slaves … let us just say that not all is as it appears, and it is necessary for them to be run through a Traditionalist-controlled facility."

George leaned forward, saying softly, "They're Enhanced slaves … as spies?"

"Need to know, Dr. Brenner. You will simply assign them according to the requests forwarded to you, or rather, your assistants will. They are slaves, after all, and Dr. Tannenbaum is a talented physician. An offer will be made to her, one that she will find difficult to decline. I mention her only to clarify that she will not be a threat to you."

"And to illustrate the potential threat to me," George said. "I can read between the lines."

"Dr. Brenner, if you have a difficulty with one of my suggestions, you need only pick up the telephone and request a meeting."

"And my position, and Yuki's?"

"Yuki? Your slave? By what she will consider harsh discipline from you, her love, combined with your inattention, she will become confused, and seek advice from other slaves, which will come to the attention of the Traditionalists. She is what we call a 'dangle', which is bait on our hook. This will allow us to spread disinformation and penetrate the Traditionalist slave spy networks. You will also receive feelers, you will be noncommittal, and simply mention them to my wife, who will remain as your assistant."

"Your wife?"

"My daughter also works in the Commerce Ministry as a go-fer," Yuri replied. "However, she is a gossip, which has its own uses as disinformation. They are also Russian, Dr. Brenner." He looked at his wrist comp, "Was there anything else we needed to discuss?"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Monday, February 10, 2003: 09****:11 (GMT +1)****  
Terra, Warsaw, Sejm (National Assembly) building****: ****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

("Thank you,") Mattie said to the politician in Russian, and nodded to the aide who had appeared at her elbow. ("If you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for my speech.")

("Of course, of course,") he said, and nodded politely to her.

* * *

Stepping up behind the podium, Mattie heard the soft whine of the teleprompters as they rose into place. However, she couldn't see over the podium, and so took her file folder, grabbed a mike, and stepped away from the podium. ("I'm sorry, but when you're as short as I am, it's hard to see sometimes,") she said from the side, and there was some laughter. Dropping the file folder on the table, she added, ("I'm going to speak from the heart, which is dangerous, I know, in a public speaker,") and there was more laughter.

("I'd like to thank the President of Poland for inviting me, and to the Sejm of Poland for letting me speak.") She sipped from a water glass, then continued. ("I'd like to address something that a lot of people are concerned with: jobs. I will say that the Empire is facing a manpower crunch at the moment, so let me go into that.") She took a few steps, ("As you may know, the Empire currently has roughly sixty to seventy associated worlds, but that's fairly average for an interstellar political association. I've broken them down into several categories. Let me describe them briefly.")

She sipped from her water glass. ("The first one is what I call Protectorates. These are inhabited worlds whose dominant cultures are what I would classify as high as feudal. These are city-states whose local governments are roughly two to five hundred square kilometers, with a technology of wrought iron or bronze; wooden sailing ships and carts with animal power, and who worship assorted gods, like the ancient Greeks. We generally keep a discreet monitor through small robots, like false birds, or have established an observation post as the local shaman, witch doctor, or an itinerant peddler. In orbit, we have a small supply station, with an on-planet base over-the-horizon from the main settlements. We currently have ten of those, where we are enforcing a non-interference directive.") She took a sip of water, ("Where do jobs come in with relation to the Protectorates? First, with building and supplying the orbital stations and as those monitors. Jobs on-planet would be as those peddlers, and as supply, small local outposts, so any actors would be welcome, but you'd be living as the locals do.")

("The next category is what I would classify as Medieval. These planets have a tech base around the 1500's. They may be a colony that has back-slid, or one that's native to that world. However, they know there's something on the other side of the sky, because they have telescopes and can see planets and moons. We have trading ports there, and knowledge is considered a trade item. Who can we use there? Once again, we live as they do, we're honest with them, eating their foods and using their transport. We use their labor and materials to build our castles, their basic tech is gunpowder and carbon steel plows with animal or water power. Who can we use? People who are used to working with their hands, blacksmiths, potters, chemists, but also those people who will support our orbital stations and our on-planet facilities. We can also use traders to conduct business and people to work with the local powers-that-be. We can generally get the local king to see things our way, business, and thus tax revenue, generally increases with our presence.") She took another sip of water, ("We also introduce things like regular hygiene, soaps and bathing, and keeping the animals healthy so they'll produce healthier foods, and chemical refrigeration to produce ice for sale. There are twenty five of these worlds, and thirty five I've mentioned so far.")

She refilled her water glass, ("Our own colony worlds are among the Modern worlds. There's a total of thirty of these, and they're pretty much where we are, mid twentieth to twenty-first century tech, with chemical fuels, electric distribution, communications. These also are planets which may be already part of another political entity. In that case we have set up commercial, diplomatic and trade relations with them. For these worlds, we may have orbital stations, but we have trade relations with them, which require personnel for the trade ships, stations, and any warships we have posted there. We're up to sixty five planets so far, each one just like Earth (she rapped the tabletop), with cultural, political and economic intricacies we have to learn.")

("That brings us to the last group of worlds, the Advanced worlds. We're associated with three of these, and negotiating with two others, where we have some form of embassy, trade office, or other facility. Their tech is somewhat higher than ours is, things like med-tanks are routinely available, and there's a lot of orbital industry, so we come to sixty eight to seventy worlds.")

She walked about a bit, ("This is where the manpower crunch comes in. In our galaxy, just one of the thirty-one galaxies in the local group, the Oans have divided it into 3600 sectors, which means the average three hundred billion stellar objects in our own galaxy come out to eighty three million per sector. We've gone several sectors to each side of our own, and are reconciling the Oan stellar databases with our own. In a large percentage of those entries, the data is either non-existent, simply listing stellar coordinates or severely out of date.") She took another contemplative sip of water, ("What that means is we, the Empire, and in particularly Imperial Research and Survey, need to visit and categorize those objects, because that's where wealth and our survival come in. In our sector alone, we know of almost ninety-one hundred planets, and over eight hundred inhabited ones, with various levels of social and technical advancement.") She paused a minute, then said, ("Eight hundred planets, people. Each of them having their own distinct culture, morals, and society, each of them with their own particular social setup, each of them a potential trade partner. Think about how Poland trades just with its seven neighbors, not to mention the rest of Europe and the world. How knowledge of social etiquette can make or break a business deal.") She waited a minute, ("That's business. We also need to know about the planet's military, economic and political climate, so Imperial Intelligence needs to have feet on the ground to tell us that. More people, plus the 'legals' in our official Trade offices, and those are just in one sector.")

She took another swallow of water. ("We're not only spies. We're also shippers, traders, whose products have to compete and win market share. We're Terran based manufacturers, boat-builders, shipwrights, iron workers, all of which grow the Empire's share of interstellar business, which increases both jobs and tax revenue. Your average worker doesn't have to go off-planet unless he or she wants to, but with business growth, we can re-open closed manufacturing plants in our cities, giving good jobs to those workers, allowing them to put not only bread on the supper table, but to educate their children, remodel or buy homes …") Mattie took a few steps, refilling the water glass from the pitcher again.

("Later this week,") she concluded, ("I'm going to be visiting our facilities at Babice airfield here in Warsaw, and to the weekend job fair. I'm looking forward to that, because it means jobs building everything from survey probes to work pods to shuttle craft. We've got seventy planets in our Empire, which means opportunities in the Imperial Army, Navy and Marines, but also jobs supplying all those positions. That's a lot of work, a lot of money available, and a huge market just in this one sector.") She looked around the Sejm, with the members of the upper house, the Senat, occupying seats in the back. Nodding, she said, ("Thank you for your time,") and collected her notes, walking off to applause.

* * *

("No, I'm a businesswoman,") Mattie corrected the Posel (member) of the Sejm. ("Centrally planned economies, as you know, don't work. However, I'm not opposed to having the government own stock in a company, especially if it's in a strategic industry. For that reason, I'm also in favor of a equal share represented by labor.") She took a drink, the politician's gaze being drawn to her gloved hand and the missing left finger. He wrenched his gaze back, and she smiled, ("I support my people. I lost that finger in a sword fight during an attempted coup, defending my Baroness and her government.")

("I'm sure there's a good story behind that,") he prompted.

("There is,") she agreed. He waited a minute, then cleared his throat when she didn't continue. ("You mentioned in your speech … ")

("Brief as it was,") she commented. ("My speech writer is going to kill me,") and she grinned. ("I mentioned …") she prompted.

("You said opening closed factories,") another member put in. ("How so?")

("You have a factory that's already zoned for industrial use,") she started. ("It makes sense to me to simply update that factory, hopefully with assorted government tax breaks. Let's take the example of a survey ship entering an unknown system. All they know is the galactic coordinates and course the central star is taking in its own orbit around the galaxy center. They don't even know the stellar type, much less any planets or civilizations.") The politicians nodded, one asking, ("No information at all?")

("We're using our own astronomers to merge our information with the Oan databases. So far, twenty to thirty percent of the Oan data is fundamentally empty, or on the order of thousands to millions of years old. We …(she waved her finger in a circle) were hunting with wooden spears fifty thousand years ago. The sun will expand into a red giant in about five million years.") The others nodded and grunted in agreement as she continued, ("We've built the ship, trained and crewed her, and armed her, because there are a lot of xenophobes and isolationists out there. We're using battlecruiser hulls, so we can defend ourselves, or run away if we need to.") They nodded again, ("When our ship arrives at the coordinates, the first thing we do is determine the type of star it is, and we scout for planets and civilizations. If that system is fortunate enough to have a habitable world, we'll need to look for claim buoys that state ownership.")

("If there are claim buoys?") someone asked.

("That would be the Captain's judgment call. If they're fairly recent, or we detect signs of occupation, we'll withdraw, or possibly negotiate with them for a trade station. If it looks like an abandoned or dead colony…") she shrugged. ("At least we'll know that much. Captain's call to continue the survey or withdraw. However, we'll say that it's a world with liquid water, roughly similar to our own. Water worlds that can be colonized are extremely valuable. Of those ninety-one hundred worlds in our sector, eight hundred, or about eight-point-seven percent are habitable.") She took a sip of water, ("Our survey ship will orbit the planet, looking for information about it. Flora, fauna, see if there's unusual radiation, bugs in the air, soil or water, that kind of thing. So far, Imperial Survey has several types of specialists, and this information is just from orbit, or using aerial drones. We're maybe a week into the system survey, and we've got several hundred survey drones and comm buoys, each maybe ten or twelve cubic meters. Those are placed, serviced and retrieved by small craft, which also have to be built.") The listening politicians nodded as she continued, ("Our refurbished factory is going to need subcontractors and sub-assemblies, even if they specialize in just one type of drone. Think of an auto plant - does Fiat or Ford only build one type of car? No, but there's no reason why our local plant can't build them, or even sub-assemblies.")

("That's a lot of drones,") one politician said.

("Which is why we recover and refurbish them, which also means spare parts, test equipment, training the techs … please go on,") another put in.

("Thank you. The Captain finally decides it's time to put boots on the ground, so they choose landing sites and do so. More testing, as well as remote, unmanned monitoring stations. More manufacturing. We'll continue and say there's a bug they find that blocks immediate colonization. That means the medical people need to develop an antigen for that, so the Captain withdraws those boots, leaving the monitoring stations and dropping a buoy to claim the system. We recover equipment, and after a month or so, the survey ship moves on to another system on their list, or goes back to the local fleet headquarters to report and resupply.")

("Hmm. You mentioned a 'local fleet headquarters',) she put in.

("That's right. We're looking at a local, nodal Fleet presence, and it makes sense to keep things like supply and Intelligence there too. The Imperial Army isn't looking for a lot of combat troops, like the hordes of infantry in the World Wars, but there would be some battalions and regiments available. No, the Army would primarily handle things like basing, supply, training, maintenance, primarily to avoid un-necessary duplication. Our survey Captain reports leaving monitoring stations and a comm station in the system he just left, along with other parts and supplies he needs. If necessary, he enters an orbital repair dock while those replacement supplies are loaded, and the crew enjoys some liberty. By basing that in one of our existing colony systems, it reinforces that colony's security, as well as increasing its trade. If it's a binary system, we might use the secondary star as an exercise area for fleet training.")

("And the local base reports back to Earth,") another commented as he sipped his vodka. ("When that planet is declared open for colonization?")

("Notice is given, both here and on other worlds of the Empire. One thing we're looking at is Colony Credits, where someone who is leaving Imperial service, like a military retiree, can get free credits toward a ship or colony equipment. Otherwise it would be in the form of a mortgage or loan. We'll have to develop certain standardized types of equipment for different environments,") she said. ("Arctic versus savanna versus forest, and to use draft animals versus a simple-to-use and maintain farm tractor.")

("Who would go?") a woman asked.

("Look in the telephone book,") Mattie replied. ("We'll need all kinds of craftsmen, which means education in everything from law to curing hides for leather and fur. Milking cows, plowing the fields, raising chickens and pigs. I know there are a lot of family farms in Poland, but a city girl like me … well, I don't know how to milk a cow.") There were chuckles at that, with one commenting, ("We'll need to increase the technical colleges.")

("Which adds to the trained labor market,") another agreed. ("What about defense of the new colony?")

("There would be naval units in place, but also fixed defenses,") she replied. ("Like we have here, minefields and missile batteries, as well as a Home Guard which serves as local militia and for disaster response. Each colony is founded as a business, the Crown Colony of whatever, with accounts with Gringotts, who is a licensee of the Oans' Lantern Bank so things can be bought and traded through our on-planet port of Hamburg and the Martian port of Phobos. Each colony would have both internal trade and an external balance of trade, so they're not only shipping fresh vegetables to the Fleet units in system, but merchandise to other planets.") She took a sip of her own water as someone else came up, ("Tsaritsa Wayne, I had a question … ") they asked in Russian.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Tuesday, February 11, 2003: 10****:03 (GMT)****  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2nd year mathematics:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Good morning, everyone, please take your seat," Mattie-alpha called, flipping open the roll and seeing notes in Arthur's hand. She took a deep breath, then said, "Miss Canby and Miss Whitloe, you know you're not supposed to sit next to each other." She waggled her left hand, "Go on, where you're supposed to be." She made a bo staff appear, walking it up and down her arm with the muscles, then it vanished again. "If I have to repeat that next week, you two, you will find out that I'm not as easy-going as Arthur. We're here to learn, by contract, and yes, that applies to you. By paying Hogwarts tuition, room and board, you, or rather your parents, entered into a contract. So, where are we? Mr. Morton?"

Bill replied, "We've just started on three-dimensional geometry with Ami's … I mean Ms. Bones, but I don't think she was too comfortable with it." He looked over at Ami, and mouthed 'Sorry.'

"Okay, and plane geometry? How far did Arthur get before … the Christmas holidays?"

Miss Canby replied, "We got through chapter five."

"Thank you," she replied, checking the textbook. "Okay, so we've done the various numeric formulas, the A squared plus B squared, the square and cube roots, and if I gave a pop quiz on that, everyone would pass that, right?" She smoothed her skirt and sat on the edge of a table as people grumbled and mumbled. "Everyone's really confident, I see. People, we're facing new, uncharted territory here, but we have to be able to figure things out. We're getting back to basics on a lot of our colony planets, we're going to have to figure things like crop yields per hectare and volumes, flow rates, that kind of thing. Even if you don't go off-planet, you're going to need to figure things out." She summoned the textbook, flipping through it. "End of the section, page 83. Even numbers, show your work, and no calculators or charms. I'll collect the answers at 11:30." There was the expected groan, and she grinned. "Hey, every groan is five minutes. It's now due at 11:25, and I've got to grade them!"

* * *

Mattie-alpha looked up as the timing charm went off. "Okay, people! Pass them up, please." Ami leaned forward, and Mattie took them. "Thank you, people. Now, until next week, you might want to review this, and then we're going to get into that three-dimensional geometry, and prep for the end-of-year finals. I'll give you decent warning here, my extra-credit question is seven-dimensional trig, used for navigation in space. That's worth thirty percent of my final exam. Questions? Miss Whitloe?"

"What use is all this?"

"It's a foundation," Mattie-alpha replied. "Just about anything you do is going to require geometry and math. Let's say you're going to out-migrate, and you need to measure the size of a field. You know that your horses require X amount of pasture, and your cows require Y. If you measure the size of the field, you'll know how many you can graze on it. If your cows give so many liters of milk per day, you'll be able to calculate the size of the holding tanks."

"And if I don't? If I stay here?"

"It depends on your job, but it will almost certainly require some form of math. Even if you're digging ditches, you'll need to be able to calculate slope, or gradient, because liquids flow downhill. Another question?"

"What's that book you've been studying," Ami Bones asked. Mattie leaned over and lifted it up, showing the cover: _Modern Government Tax Policy_. "You guys aren't the only ones getting into deep water, I'm working on strategic planning for the Empire. Want to trade headaches?" Ami motioned, and Mattie handed it over. "Chapter five, the Value Added Tax," she read. "This is a form of consumption tax levied on each stage of production …" She winced and handed it back, "I'm bloody sorry I asked."

"Talk to your Auntie," Mattie replied. "I really miss the days when all I had to worry about was catching the snitch. I'm not even allowed on a broom these days, much less riding Hagrid's motorcycle." She glanced at the clock, pointed at the door, which unlocked. "Since I haven't had to take any points today, why don't you lot sneak out while my back is turned, and head to the Great Hall for an early lunch?" She ostentatiously looked at her watch, then proceeded to clean the (already clean) chalkboard with her back to the class. There was an extended rustle, and when she turned around, the classroom was empty. She grinned to herself, packed up and left, locking the door behind her.

* * *

"So, you two are back together?" Mattie asked Ami and Bill, who were waiting for her in the corridor.

"I've forgiven him," Ami said with a lofty air, then giggled. Bill just grinned, and Mattie grinned back. "So, she or he is the one?" she asked. "Alfred, in the _McCoy_, will be coming back before Easter. Should I arrange for you both to meet him at Port Oldridge?"

"Port Oldridge?" Ami asked.

"Quick trip to the Moon, see the sights …" Bill said. Ami looked between the two of them, "I'll ask Auntie Amelia."

"Good," Bill said, then pulled her after him to the Hufflepuff table. Mattie grinned to herself, then found a place at the Slytherin table.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Wednesday, February 12, 2003: 18****:37 (relative)****  
In transit, Republican Naval Ship **_Seren the Wise_**:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

The Princess strolled onto her flag deck, sitting in the command chair, and crossing her legs as her personal slaves caught the thick blanket of her hair and carefully arranged it over the back. Tightly gagged and belted, they then knelt in the Inspection position on either side of her command chair as she studied the reports on her screen. She was a small girl, slightly over 152 centimeters, with long, thick black hair arranged in a complex floor length style. That hairstyle signified her exalted rank and ruling status as the Heir of the interstellar Republic, as did her clothing and body armor.

The Princess sat back, reading her reports and ignoring the shivers of the slaves chained in place on her flag bridge. Her ship was kept at a cool 5 degrees, which was a comfortable temperature for her, compensating for the insulation of what she wore. She wasn't taking chances - she had eliminated two of her brothers and an older sister to gain the status of Heir to the Republic, and blaming their deaths on her political enemies, which had not only been profitable, it placed her one heartbeat (her father's) away from ruling the Republic, a totalitarian, absolute monarchy in all but name.

She smiled to herself, remembering after her elder sister's murder, she had taken her supporters' property and divided it between herself and her two brothers. She had then promised her covert support to both of them, and in a neat little double-cross, had both of them eliminated. Her father had been outraged, but his (public) grief had been sated by the arrest, torture and execution of the supposed perpetrators, a minor political group wanting civil liberties restored from the original Republic. Dividing up the spoils from her brothers with her father had not only been immensely profitable, but had also cemented her position as her father's right hand and sole Heir.

This mission was an important one, and so had received her father's support with troops and ships. The original slaver, one of her more reliable political supporters, had arrived with sensor data and details on a Class 14 system with four habitable worlds, a primary world just expanding into local space. She had wondered why the system hadn't been taken before, a bit of research on her part had revealed the reason, or rather _reasons_: It was where the last known Kryptonian lived, along with several of the Source-damned interfering Lanterns. The local contact, a minor government official, was selling off their political opponent's females, and using torture of the males to produce Grey Ecstasy, which was always profitable.

Well, she had prepared for the intervention of the Kryptonian, and of the interfering Lanterns. Yellow was such a happy color, the color of the profit the sale of these slaves would bring her, and the political power she would gain when she sold parts of the system to the industrialists that backed her. True, she wouldn't be able to sell all of the system's estimated seven billion inhabitants, but the males could be used in the production of Grey Ecstasy and other addictive (and profitable!) drugs, the elders could be easily disposed of, and the younger females … she estimated half of the marketable, ten-to-fifteen population were females, the males could be evaluated for breeding stock and then either killed or used as labor.

Smiling happily, she thought of the billion or so slave females she would bring into the market. She wouldn't dump them all in at once, that would depress the market prices, but perhaps a hundred thousand for the first lot. She would have to be certain to Enhance them before their first sale, of course…

She turned as the door unlocked, her ship's Captain entered, kneeling out of arm's reach in her presence. "Mistress, I ask permission to submit the daily status report."

Still in a good mood, she smiled, and he swallowed nervously. "Mistress, we are an estimated two days from the target system, and the fleet status is …"

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, February 15, 2003: 07****:31 (GMT +1)****  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture****: ****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"I don't like those crowds," Crystal fretted as she watched a monitor.

"They've come to see me, my adoring public," Mattie said from where she sat on a folding chair, a bottle of water in her hand.

"You do know I can't let you get away with that," Connie said. "We're supposed to keep your ego properly deflated."

"You keep big-head here, I will fetch in security man," Maria Putina said in English. "If necessary, we lock in steel box!" She left, her security passes bouncing on her chest.

"More likely they've come to job-hunt," Connie put in, "You're just another useless politician."

"But I'm cuter than most," Mattie objected with puppy-dog eyes.

"Hip boots. Where are my hip boots when I really need them?" Connie replied. There was a knock on the door, Maria entered with the security chief, and Crystal started to discuss her concerns with him.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, February 15, 2003: 08****:37 (relative)****  
Terran system entry, **_Seren the Wise_**, flag deck:  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Entering the Terran system, mistress," one of the Princess' slaves reported. "Receiving a comm buoy transmission."

"Destroy it, we don't care about what these primitive barbarians want," the Princess replied. The order was relayed, and the fleet advanced.

"Mistress, reports of a minefield," another slave relayed. She added, "Antimatter, mistress."

"What? There was no report of that! How do these barbarians produce antimatter?" She touched her comm, snapping, "What are these reports of antimatter mines? Find that useless slaver and discover what else he's forgotten to mention!" She savagely snapped the switch closed. "Continue the advance."

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
****Saturday, February 15, 2003: 09****:41 (GMT +1)****  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture****: ****  
*******-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

"Environmental science? Well, we do like to keep things as green as we can on our colony worlds," Mattie said, signing an autograph. "We're trying to learn from our mistakes … excuse me," she told another autograph hound. She accepted the comm relay, which looked like an older grey flip phone, "Wayne." She stopped dead, absently handing the autograph back. "How many? What composition?" She nodded, then said, "Stand-to, alert the commands, System defense condition five. Alert NATO, the different military commands, the Justice League … oh, crap. Okay. Man our ships, even the ones building. What's the rate of advance? Okay. Okay. National governments too. No, I'm staying here in Warsaw, this is a big, heavy Soviet building, we should be safe enough." She looked over at Crystal and the Security chief, who were both on their radios. "Right, the last thing we want is that. I'm already getting worried looks from the people here. Later." She turned away, motioning Connie and Maria into a huddle. "We're being invaded," she said quietly in English. "Possibly fifty ships, they've already blown away one of our perimeter ships and system buoys, and encountered the minefields. We're safest here, I think, but Superman and our Lanterns are out of the system, so it's just us." They looked up as air raid sirens began to sound.


	12. 16 28 February 2003

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For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Chapter XII: 16 ~ 28 February 2003

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Sunday, February 16, 2003: 03:04 (GMT)  
Terran system, _Seren the Wise_, flag deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The ship rocked again, sharply this time, and a new set of alarms began to wail, along with a hissing sound. "Pressure loss!" the Princess said, and ran out of the room, ignoring the cries of the slaves chained there.

"By the Source, what was it THAT time?" the Princess demanded when she arrived at the command deck, where the ship's Captain commanded. He looked up at her, "The Terrans have a new weapon, my Princess, a gamma-pulse cannon that shreds a ship. It ignores our shields. That jolt was one of the engines of the _Bountiful Source_ bouncing off us."

"There was a pressure breach on my command deck. I'll need new slaves once it's re-sealed. I'll take some of yours."

He stood straighter, "There was more damage than a minor pressure leak and a few slaves dead. I don't think you understand, my Princess. The _Bountiful Source_ is destroyed, ripped apart. Gone, along with her supplies and troops. Our only benefit is the Terrans seem to have a limited quantity of those cannon." The ship lurched again, and without asking permission, he stepped away from her to check the damage control station. Her eyes followed him, and she was shocked to see areas of the ship's schematic sprinkled with red, yellow, and purple (vacuum) areas. He stepped back to her, looking to where she did, and he said, "We're encountering more of their system-defense missiles, my Princess." He tapped part of the schematic, "That was a chunk of one of our mail ships hitting one of our fold-space drives. It's not responding to diagnostics, and the compartment it's in is in vacuum. We're unbalanced now, limited to normal and subspace drives. If one of _those_ is hit, we'll have to abandon until we can make repairs, or spend several standard years …"

"In normal-space?" She was horrified. "Order those civilian slave ships to hard-dock to our larger warships, we can use them as shields." There was another lurch, and a yellow section turned purple. "Recommendations?"

The Captain hid his surprise. "That will help, but we will need to request supplies and reinforcements, and …"

"No. Not this early. We were sent out with more than enough troops and supplies to take an undefended Class 14 system. We cannot request them, not this early, or those at home in the Republic would question our competence." She looked at him, and he swallowed and nodded. His survival, and that of his fleet, depended on the Princess' survival and political support. She _had_ to deliver this system and its riches into the hands of the Republic; and therefore he had to support her. She was inexperienced in a military sense, but far above him politically. This had turned into a fight for survival, and he privately wondered what it would be like on the ground.

"Assuming we reach orbit," she murmured softly, and he was surprised to see her thinking along the same lines as they both studied the damage plot. The ship lurched again, and she asked, "Any sign of the Kryptonian, or of one of those Source-damned Lanterns?"

"No, my Princess. We have detected some of their lighter system-defense units following us out of weapons range, and we can detect the usual Lantern Bank and Oan signal buoys in orbit."

"Source help us if one of them show up," she murmured softly. "They can tear our ships apart without effort. Once we achieve orbit, we'll be able to subdue the barbarians and use them as shields." She turned to study the tactical plot, "There is a time and place for political maneuvers, Captain," she added. "Between us, this is not it. I need fast, accurate information, even if the news is bad. For our survival, both here and at home in the Republic, we must take this world, and if that means harsh, even cruel methods, the Source wills it." The ship groaned and lurched as they absorbed another hit, and more sections of the ship turned red, yellow, and purple.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, February 16, 2003: 04:47 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The Polish Army had arrived and assisted in setting up a forward command post. Mattie and Connie had made the trip un-split into their 'twins', and had decided to stay together, and in Poland, which had been favorably received by the people of Eastern Europe and especially the Poles, who remembered 1939 and their betrayal to Hitler by the British. However, Mattie had drawn the line at moving into the building's basements, simply requesting the normal movable curtains usually used by trade shows. An Army mess and field services had been set up, as well as a briefing room for the press, who had swelled once it was known Tsaritsa Wayne was most emphatically _not_ leaving. Hotel rooms throughout Warsaw were booked solid by the press, even though the 'no broadcasting' rule was in force, though, delighting the printed press and angering TV and radio news. In addition, the people who had been showing and attending the job fair had mostly stayed, helping out as they could, aware that they were present for a pivotal moment in history.

"Good morning," Mattie said as she entered the operations area, yawning. The OOD at this early hour looked up, smiled, and replied in English, "Good morning, Milady. Don't let the medical officer catch you out of bed so early."

"Are all medics mother hens?" she asked, and the duty nurse looked over from her post, smiled, and said (also in English), "It comes with the Hippocratic Oath, Milady. Why _are_ you out of bed?"

"Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd come in for a status report …" she admitted. "Between us and the fence post, I'm rather nervous, this is my first invasion."

There was a chuckle among the duty personnel, which produced the desired release of tension; and the OOD waved her over to the tactical holo tank. "The Saturn missile batteries are out of range of their course, milady, but they still need to get through the asteroid belt and _those_ batteries. Our recon ships show considerable damage to one of their larger ships, enough they had to abandon her. Our SAR ships have it as a troop and supply ship, the _Bountiful Source_. We see air bleeding from several of their ships, their command ship, the battlecruiser _Seren the Wise_ has major damage to one of her fold-space drives. While they've got one mail boat left, they also have several frigates and they've moved the civilian ships in to tractor them on the _Seren_'s flanks as improvised shields. Think of really expensive sandbags, milady."

Mattie grinned, "Should we let them surrender?"

"Prisoner interrogation says they won't surrender to barbarians, they're outraged at the thought. Legally, since this is an unprovoked attack without a state of war, they're pirates, although they think of themselves as businessmen. Their leader is referred to as 'The Princess' …" He paused, then looked at her, motioned her to a workstation, and murmured in Polish. The NCO there nodded, typed a bit, then waved her over to see. "The Princess, Milady Wayne."

Mattie blinked, the girl on the screen looked like a slightly older version of herself. The Princess had thick black hair in a complex 'net' braid that reached just below her knees, without her own white patches over the temples, hard, icy blue eyes, and a cruel mouth. She looked up, meeting the eyes of the OOD and the Intel NCO, then looked back at the photo. "God, I hope I never look like that," she said softly.

"Uncanny, milady," the NCO said. "Reports are you're about three centimeters shorter than she is, and she speaks Trade with a bit of an accent. We have recordings from SAR that are inbound, it does offer up some interesting disinformation possibilities…"

"Whatever I can do to help," she replied, still studying the face of her enemy. "What's her motivation?"

"Political power, milady. The Republic is one in name only, otherwise a brutal, repressive oligarchy headed by a King, and she's the Heir. Her two older brothers and older sister died under what we would call suspicious circumstances, blamed on political opponents, who were publicly executed after torture. She will do what is necessary to seize power, and is not a nice person."

Mattie considered, then said, "In that environment, she's not going to call home for support unless there's absolutely no other choice; it would weaken her politically. Her troops, assuming any of them reach the ground, are going to live off the land, so to speak. They're looking to gain territory and industry from us. What's the rest of their Republic like?"

"Twelve systems, thoroughly industrialized and held by the Republic anywhere from five thousand to five hundred years. Like any oligarchy, a tiny few with ninety - plus percent of the wealth, a couple layers of management, and the rest are slaves. They expected us to be bronze-age barbarians, armed with bows and arrows, so this has so far come as a rude surprise to them." The Intel NCO smiled, "Apparently their information comes from our friend the slaver that got away, who has apparently 'edited' (he finger-quoted) his report. I would think the Princess would not be happy with him, and would take it out in blood - his." He cleared his throat, "They were expecting a walk-over, milady. For now, I think it best that you stay out of view and let us brief our friends in the press. This is a military situation, and while you can be seen, we cannot have you photographed."

"I am not hiding in a cave, I will share in problems…"

"Very noble, milady," the Intel NCO said. "We appreciate that, but we want to preserve as long as possible the disinformation potential." She grimaced, and he added, "We'll also do a data search for images of you on the 'Net."

"And video, have news organizations and blogs …"

"Places like youTube and other web sites…" she put in. "Not happy, but if it will help … I just don't want rumors to spread, you know."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, February 16, 2003: 06:05 (GMT)  
Terran system, _Seren the Wise_, Interrogation:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The man strapped to the rack screamed as the torturer applied the tools of his bloody trade. He looked up, swallowing nervously, and switched the mind-sifter on again as the Princess looked on from a few meters away, booted foot tapping impatiently. His victim convulsed, screaming again as the metallic device went through its start up procedure, and she moved to the small table where the information was displayed. Frowning, she went through his brain's images as the former slaver convulsed on the rack. "It's not here," she told the torturer. "The information we need. He never saw their military forces, they've been hiding it." She sifted more mental images as the victim screamed and fought against his bonds. She clicked off, and motioned dismissively. "Have him sent to Protein Reclamation, live. He has failed the Republic." The ship lurched again, and she turned, her long hair swirling, and strode off. The torturer exhaled in relief; she hadn't included him.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, February 16, 2003: 06:15 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Headmistress' office:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Minerva yawned and sipped her tea as she went through her daily email. There was one from Connie Koslowski, and she clicked on it.

_To: Headmistress McGonagall  
CC: Ms. Wayne, Mrs. Morton  
From: Connie Koslowski  
Date: 16 February 2003  
Subject: Attendance_

_Unfortunately, due to the incoming invasion threat, the Tsaritsa and I do not know when we will be able to return to classes at Hogwarts. We are safe in Warsaw with the Polish Army and NATO.  
Connie Koslowski with Mattie Wayne  
_

Minerva took a deep, shuddering breath, whispered a quick prayer, then clicked on 'Reply All'.

_Good luck to you, and to all of us. Please do not hesitate to call upon us if necessary.  
Minerva McGonagall _

She moved on to the next email, from the muggle Ministry of Education in London. Her lips pursed in dismay as she considered it, then forwarded it to her faculty with her thoughts.

Julie Morton stumbled into the Great Hall for breakfast. As it was a Sunday, she wore her favorite pair of comfy jeans, but the radio in her dorm had been full of news, and she wanted to get Mattie's take on it; she was sure to have accurate information. She sat at the Gryffindor table, pouring herself a cup of coffee, then looked up as the Headmistress stood, rapping her bread knife against her water goblet.

"Your attention, please," the Headmistress said, and the buzz of early morning (and weekend) conversation died down. Minerva paused, waiting, then said, "As you may be aware, our planet faces an invasion from pirates. Their stated intention is murder and enslavement of our population in order to add us as their property." She waited for the inevitable reaction, then tapped her goblet again. "Their targets are young, salable girls from ten years on up, and the murder of those over fifty." Once again, she waited, then tapped her water goblet. "People! We have a great deal to go over! The faculty has come up with a plan of action." She gazed around the Great Hall, then raised her wand, muttering an incantation. "First, the House system is suspended. We are all Hogwartians, not Slytherin or Hufflepuff."

"Where will we sleep?" someone from Gryffindor called.

"Mr. Enderby, I did not say we were changing the housing arrangements," the Headmistress said dourly, and there was some laughter. "What is intended is that we are all together in this, so if you see someone from another house in difficulty, do not refuse them aid simply because they are Gryffindor or Slytherin."

Professor Snape rose, addressing his house, "I am also authorizing you to teach spells from the Slytherin library." He sat, and a murmur swept through Slytherin. The Headmistress tapped her goblet again. "Thank you, Severus. At noon, we shall be holding classes, the ladies in the Hufflepuff gymnasium, the gentlemen in the Defense classroom." She looked around, "Attendance for everyone, staff and student, is mandatory. The only exceptions are those in the Infirmary. I am also authorizing your carrying at all times your Potions knife."

Julie shot her hand up, "Headmistress, when are they expected? The radio didn't say."

"According to my information, the pirates are expected to assume orbit by Wednesday. They are currently in the vicinity of Saturn, and our system defenses are engaging them." She gave a thin smile, "We are having some success, but we cannot wager on complete success. We must be prepared to fight for our homes." She looked around, "That includes killing the pirates, not their victims or their slaves." A shudder went through the student body, and someone from Slytherin stood, "Ma'am, what about the Unforgivables?"

"If it saves one life, muggle or wizard, I will gladly spend the rest of my life in Azkaban," she replied. "However, I would prefer you not." She looked around her school, "I will expect to see full attendance at noon." She nodded and sat down, and the Great Hall erupted with conversation.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, February 16, 2003: 08:57:58 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The briefing officer tapped on his microphone, "Two minutes, people," he called, and the assembled journalists found their places as he stood at parade rest. Precisely two minutes later, he acknowledged the signal, tapping his microphone again. "Welcome to Poland and Warsaw, ladies and gentlemen. I am Lieutenant Vladimir Piast, and the system is now under martial law. Please turn off any recording devices and stow any and all photographic equipment, including camera phones." There was a howl of protest, but the officer was unmoved. "We are being invaded, ladies and gentlemen. You are now under military control, you will be escorted to an area where you can compose your story, which will be sent by secured equipment. With your cooperation, we are looking into embedding you into active military units, however you will report through your press officers."

"This is censorship!" one reporter shouted.

The briefing officer simply nodded, the man was politely but firmly ejected. "He will be escorted to his lodgings, where we shall help him pack, and then drive him to the airport. He is now persona non grata in Poland." He looked around, "You may quote from, and attribute Imperial press releases. As I said, ladies and gentlemen, we are being invaded and are under martial law, and part of that is denial of information to the enemy." He looked around, challenging. "Second and final warning. Disable all recording devices, including removing their batteries. We will enable a field at five minutes after, which is in … (he checked his watch) seventy-five seconds. If you have not done so, your equipment will short-circuit, and the batteries will explode. Sixty seconds." There was a frantic rush as people pulled equipment out, batteries flying. "Thirty seconds," he calmly informed them. "Ten seconds. Five … four … three … two … one." There was a hum, and two tape recorders exploded. The reporter was evacuated by medics, assisted by unsmiling armed military police.

Lt. Piast nodded to someone, and another officer strode out. "Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce Generalmajor Heinrike von Hesse of the Planning and Operations staff." He turned, "Frau General?"

The trim, athletic form of the General stood, placed her briefing folder on the podium, and assumed a parade rest position. She was every inch a senior military officer, and the lights dimmed as a large holo tank was pushed out. "The situation as of midnight Zulu, ladies and gentlemen is this: This is a tactical plot of the enemy's course inbound. As you can see, they have managed to avoid our system defense artillery near Saturn, although of an original 56 ships, we have managed to damage all but three, who have somehow gotten through without their paint being scraped. They consist of …"

"Excuse me, Lois Lane of the _Daily Planet_. What do you mean, 'damage'?"

"My apologies, Frau Lane, I did not specify questions would be answered at the end of the briefing. However, the ships we have monitoring the enemy and doing Search and Rescue have reported debris, and most ships are bleeding atmosphere. In addition, the enemy command ship, the battlecruiser _Seren the Wise_ has ordered the remaining civilian ships to grapple to her flanks as additional protection. If I may continue?"

Clearing her throat, she continued, "The enemy fleet, as I mentioned, combines warships such as the _Seren_ as well as an original sixteen frigates. Of these frigates, six have been destroyed or suffered extensive damage by minefields and missile fire as well as other weapons." She looked at Lois and raised a finger as she was about to speak. She smiled, "The Tsaritsa warned us about you, Frau Lane…" and waggled her finger to general chuckles.

"Where is she? Is she here?"

"The Tsaritsa is safe, Frau Lane, and working to destroy the enemy. If I may continue?" She cleared her throat, "Legally, according to both Terran and Interstellar law, these ships are pirates, as they are attacking an independent star nation without formal declaration of war. Based on interrogation of captured personnel as well as their ship's databases, their intention is to steal the four habitable planets and their industry, and convert the population into slaves. Additional interrogation of the enemy reveals their plan is to exterminate undesirables such as those over fifty and enslave the rest. Females over the age of ten will be collared and sold as slaves off-world." She cleared her throat. "Among the warships are combined troop transport and supply ships, not the way we would do it, admittedly. The balance of the enemy fleet are large slave ships."

"On our side, planetary defense and regional militias are being called up, and plans are being formed for civilian instruction in firearms, upon which surplus weapons will be issued from state armories. Given the current rate of advance, we anticipate the surviving enemy ships to achieve orbit within three days." She looked the assembled newsies over. "As the enemy wishes to capture a functional economy, including the industry and workforce, we anticipate they will leave the manufacturing and industrial base as intact as possible. Naturally, we do not plan on destroying our own industry."

She looked around, "One other thing, ladies and gentlemen. The enemy comes from a totalitarian, oligarchical society. They will not respect your press credentials, they regard the citizens of this planet as barbarians. Consider that if you expect to get an interview out of them. We will not ride to your rescue, they are likely to shoot you out of hand." Her gaze slowly panned over the stunned reporters. "As the lieutenant said, this system is now under martial law. Questions?"

"Frau Lane, a minute?" Lieutenant Piast was polite, but insistent. "The Tsaritsa wishes to see her aunt. I was to make clear to you that she was asking for her aunt, not the famed reporter, Lois Lane. Is that clear?"

"Yes, I'm worried about her."

"And she of you," he replied. He pulled a lanyard with a different pass from his pocket and offered it to her.

* * *

Lieutenant Piast escorted Lois to a room deep within the building's bowels. "This is the press center," he informed her, "You may take a vacant position on any table, power for your laptop is marked, so North America is 110 volts, 60 cycles. Once you have composed your story, transmit it to our press center, where it will be reviewed by our press officers and forwarded to the _Daily Planet_." He added, "I am personally assigned as your Press Officer, Frau Lane. The Tsaritsa is currently in a video conference (he gestured to a glassed-in area). Coffee and tea are at the side." He moved away, and Lois found a seat at a wooden table.

"Hello, there," her neighbor said, offering his hand. "Larry Ullage, _Detroit Free Press_. You'll need to use this to set up," and he offered her a printed sheet of instructions in a plastic sleeve.

"Thanks," she said, "Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_." She shook his hand, opened her bag and pulled out her laptop. Larry stood, accepting her power adapter, and plugging it into a power strip. He snaked out a network cable and offered it to her, and she nodded in thanks. "At least I can smoke," she said, fishing out a pack. He snagged an overflowing ashtray and pushed it toward her.

"I'm about ready to start," he admitted. "I'm not happy with this situation, but better half-a-loaf," he admitted. "Is what she said about interviews with the aliens true?"

"I would think so," she replied. "I've run into my share of aliens, and they would just shoot us out of hand." She looked at the sheet of instructions and worked at her laptop. "You're not trying to bypass the setup?" he asked.

"No. If I did, I'd lose my press accreditation, and my niece wouldn't lift a finger to help me out," she replied. "She's a 'stew in your own juices' type for that kind of thing, and she won't reveal secrets, either. Mattie's like a bank vault with secrets."

"She says the sweetest things," Lois heard, and twisted around. "Hello, Aunt Lois!" She got a hug, and Mattie said, "Hello, Mr. Ullage. How are things going?"

"It could be better," he admitted. "Hello yourself, Miss Wayne, or should I say 'Tsaritsa'?"

"Whichever, the Russians named me that," she replied. "As long as you don't call me late to dinner," and she grinned. There were some chuckles from the other newsies, and another journalist said, "Why don't we see you at the briefings, Miss Wayne?"

"Off the record," she said, and Lois grumbled, "I should never have taught you that phrase. Okay." The others reluctantly agreed, and Mattie said, "The enemy CO looks a lot like me, as in 'older sister' alike. We're looking to use that similarity, but we don't want them knowing that. My appearing in a broadcast would clue them in, and General von Hesse is more reassuring to the public."

"If we could broadcast," one newsy grumbled.

"Once again, denial of information to the enemy," Lieutenant Piast replied, as he re-appeared. "You have recordings available on the web site that have been suitably scrubbed of information useful to the enemy."

"What are you doing with captured personnel and equipment?" Lois asked.

"They are currently on ice, quite literally," the Lieutenant replied. "We are building suitably large camps in the Australian outback, but as pirates and thieves, they do not qualify for POW status. They are kept unconscious in an asteroid until the camps are complete, under medical supervision, whereupon they will be shipped to the outback. There are four categories, the civilians, the officers, the enlisted, and their slaves." He continued, "Captured equipment and ships are being examined for anything useful, including codes and other data, and repaired if possible for our use."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, February 16, 2003: 11:58 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff gymnasium:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Julie waited with the other girls, turning as Professor Trelawney entered, eyes wide, looking somewhat shell-shocked. "Sober-up potion," someone whispered, and others giggled as Trelawney staggered to the back wall. Professor Vector moved to the center of the gym as Ginny called from the door, "That's everyone."

Ami Bones asked, "Where are Mattie and Connie?"

Professor Vector replied, "They're staying in Warsaw." She cleared her throat, "People, this is very simple. The invaders are pirates, thieves, and slavers. They want to steal property, and they regard _us_ as property. Our information is that they will distribute a knockout gas either before or after they land, then send out their existing slaves to collect the local population." She waited out the resultant murmurs, "Should you be in the vicinity, I am told that the capture gas has the scent of peaches. Should you smell that, use a bubblehead charm on yourself and anyone else, and follow the instructions of local police or military personnel."

She waited a bit, then said, "If you come upon such a scene without the muggle police and military, if for example the slavers are just setting up their equipment, try to destroy the gas generators with blasting hexes. Try not to damage their slaves, they are victims themselves." She waited again, then continued, "If possible, try to capture the slavers for interrogation, a stunner or trip jinx will be useful, but if necessary …" she paused to write something with her wand in midair:

_**KILL THE  
BASTARDS**_

Callista Vector waited while this was absorbed. "You need not use an AK on them, a simple blasting hex to their eyes or throat will be sufficient."

"Kill?" one of the first-years asked. "I don't know if I can, ma'am."

"If it's the choice between a collar on your throat or their death, I think you can, Miss Hathaway," Poppy told the young Hufflepuff. "Remember, we are at war, and it is preferable to simply stun and bind them." She moved to the center of the circle. "Ladies, there is a time to be demure and retiring, to let the men handle the violence. If it is a choice between the safety and freedom of yourself or others, I expect you to do what is necessary to the enemy." She flicked her wand, and a humanoid figure appeared. "This is from medical information we have received from prisoners. They are more sensitive to cold than we are, so try a freezing charm on them. There are also vulnerable areas common to most males, those of you with brothers have occasionally been required to give them a swift kick in the shorts." She highlighted the crotch area as the girls tittered nervously. "Our information is that the slavers will most probably send down a shuttle from their larger ships with a crew of worker-slaves and three or four slavers, most probably males, although female slavers are not ruled out."

Madame Pomfrey turned, looking at the watching girls. "Should you need to, restrict their mobility by using a stunner, or if they are armored, a blasting hex to their kneecaps." She highlighted those areas. "Trip jinxes or body-binds, or should you need to kill, their heart is slightly lower than ours," and she highlighted an area. "Use two different spells, what the muggles call a 'double-tap', and if you need to kill them, aim for the bridge of their nose, preferably going upward." She highlighted again, "This will send fragments of their skull into their brain, or …" she turned the figure around, "… here at the base of the skull, which will destroy their brain stem. A shot to the temple is not a guaranteed kill, and as Professor Vector said, a stunner is preferable so the slaver can be captured."

"What about the shuttle, ma'am, capturing it?" Julie asked, morbidly fascinated.

"Try to break or vanish the glass at the front, over the cockpit," Professor Vector said. "It may be simple glass, or transparent steel, but the idea is to violate the pressure integrity, so they can't fly back up into space. That may be your best opening move, a few square inch opening means they can't fly, even if everything else is working, and that means they have to fight it out on the ground while waiting for help."

Someone asked, "Ma'am, what about…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, February 16, 2003: 12:05 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Defense classroom:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

There was a swell of noise as the Headmistress raised her wand, shooting off sparks. "Gentlemen, if I may have your attention?" she asked. "We are faced with invasion by pirates, slavers and thieves, who believe what we have is rightfully theirs. They believe us to be barbarians, who do not deserve to own our property and our planet, and therefore they will relieve us of it, as well as our women, our sisters, mothers, daughters and aunts." There was a growl of anger, and she smiled thinly, "The ladies are receiving much the same information, we need to capture the enemy if possible for the information. However, if it comes to that point, I want you to kill. I don't want to see a single girl collared if there is a Hogwarts student or faculty member nearby to assist."

"Remove the girl's collar?" someone asked.

"No, it is tied into the nervous system," Narcissa Black replied. "Rescue her and her sisters, but do not try to remove the collar, because you will likely kill her."

"Thank you," Minerva said. "The slavers' plan is to land shuttles in large open areas such as parks or the parking lots of shopping centres, whereupon their existing slaves will set out generators for capture gas. This is a clear gas originally designed for spacecraft, so it will hug the ground, rising not more than three meters. I am told it has a faint scent of peaches, and it is very fast-acting. Should you smell this, immediately cast a bubble-head charm on yourself and anyone nearby. Follow the instructions of any muggle police or military, but in the event you are by yourself …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, February 16, 2003: 16:55 (GMT)  
Terran system, _Seren the Wise_, Command deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"My Princess, your quarters and your command deck have been repressurized, and the dead slaves removed," the Captain said.

"Are you trying to get me to leave?" she replied quietly, only she smiled briefly when she said it, and he exhaled nervously. "Certainly not, my Princess," he said. "You are welcome to stay as long as you wish," he added.

"Good, as it is my fleet," she said, then louder, "The fleet status report?"

"The barbarians' tactics have changed, my Princess," he replied. "They are now going after the drive components on the ships with their gamma cannons. Those are areas that we can increase the armor, but we cannot shield. The cannon are destroying the fold-space drives as well as the subspace drives and the associated engine compartments. With the _Benefits of the Source_ and the _Source Provides_, they also took out the generator and life support rooms, forcing the ships to surrender or die." He watched as she winced, asking, "That's three of our troop ships, isn't it?"

"Four, my Princess. The _Benefits_, the _Provides_, the _Generosity_ and the _Bountiful_. The _Generosity of the Source_ was hit and exploded, destroying three frigates with the fragments, the _Lord Saaren_, the _Lord_ …"

She waved this off. "How did they get Fuel to explode with gamma radiation?"

"Unknown, my Princess. We currently have only two ships with fully operable drive sections, the frigate _Lady T'saa_ and the mail boat _M'reen_. However, both have other damage, we shall have to find if the barbarians have a shipyard. We shall need to salvage parts from ships to make other ships good."

She closed her eyes in pain, "Source damn these barbarians! We shall need to take the repairs out of them in blood, we cannot ask for the Republic to send replacements when we have not even reached the inner system! We can only hope to squeeze our profit out of them, and they do not look like the types to lie down and die for us." She turned to look at her Captain, "We shall need to reach new heights to destroy any resistance to us, something we have not done for centuries, since Alizon was conquered and brought into the Republic."

"Even Alizon was not as resistant as these barbarians have already proven to be, my Princess."

She took a deep breath, then used her hands to lift her heavy curtain of hair for a minute. She glanced at him, saying softly, "Even I have a limit to the amount of blood I can endure, Captain. We have not yet reached that, yet I fear we shall both need to far exceed that in order to perform our duties to the Republic." She let her hair down, rearranging it to cover her front as well as her sides and back. "I am cold," she said. "I shall be in my quarters, inspecting the repairs. Are replacement slaves in place?"

"They are, my Princess," he replied. "Be warm."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, February 17, 2003: 08:15 (GMT +10)  
Terra, Queensland, Julia Creek Camp A:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

John Miles took off his hard hat for a minute to wipe the sweat on his sleeve. It was already in the low thirty degree range, and the day was just started. This camp was going to go to the captured enemy slaves, and it was going to be a lot nicer than the other three. While all four camps met UN codes for prison construction, these were air conditioned buildings with a good quantity of recreational facilities, whereas the 'D' camp, for the civilian pirates, had a football pitch and ceiling fans. He had heard the idea was to entice the rescued slaves to enlist in the Imperial Army, who had done an about-face with the sudden need for personnel.

'_At least here we don't have to worry about the concrete_ …' he thought. The camps were located forty kilometers out of town, off a single dirt road in the scrub with razor wire fences. The camps were designed to be expandable, and while the civilian pirates in 'D' would have tents on dirt floors, the military officers in 'B' and the enlisted in 'C' would have similar quarters to what he had in the Army. '_Let the damned pirates sweat_,' he thought, and got back to work.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, February 17, 2003: 08:15 (GMT)  
Ceres vicinity, ship inspection buoy 16:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Chantal Rivers walked down the main passage of the enemy frigate _Lord M'isa_. The ship had been captured when its environmental sections had been destroyed and her surviving crew had abandoned, but the structural frame was in decent shape, and a great deal of equipment could be salvaged and used to repair other ships. What she hadn't liked was the crew leaving the ship's slaves to suffocate and die, chained and otherwise confined while the crew abandoned. To say the slaves were overjoyed at their rescue, and totally cooperative was an understatement. Since the slaves did the routine operations and maintenance, they were able to bring her back to a serviceable state once power and environment were restored, and actually tow two other ships here.

Entering the ship's command deck, Chantal waited while the acting Captain finished with someone else. He turned, nodding, "Ms. Rivers, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, offering him a datapadd. "Once we know the status of the shipyards, we can bring her back up to snuff pretty easily. The crew abandoned when they didn't really have to, they panicked. The structural frame needs some reinforcement, and environmental is on a wing and a prayer, but we'll be able to bring her back, if we have a yard to do it in."

"The enemy's training is simply going through the motions, and making sure their paperwork is correct," he agreed. "Any actual work is done by the slaves. I hope we can keep them, trained crew is always preferred to someone who knows forms but not functions." He sat back as he gestured to the crew, the former slaves, who had been happy to be treated as intelligent persons, not as ignorant animals.

"They'd still need to run through Army basic, though," Chantal commented.

"What would I run, mistress?" the slave sitting the helm watch asked.

"It means that you would be put through initial training for the Imperial Army, before moving on to specialized training for the Imperial Navy," the Captain replied. "Weapons training, organizational details, uniforms and physical conditioning, that kind of thing."

"_Weapons_, master?" the slave sitting comm watch asked. "We are slaves, master."

"You _were_ slaves," he corrected. "You do not have to remain slaves, though. If you wish, you may serve in the Imperial military, which includes training in personal weapons." The two slaves looked at each other, their eyes wide.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, February 17, 2003: 17:24 (GMT)  
Terran system, _Seren the Wise_, Flag deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Entering the system's asteroid belt, mistress," the comm slave reported.

"Acknowledged," the Princess replied, then resumed studying the fleet status report. The only thing that had so far prevented _Seren's_ destruction had been the privately owned slave ships tractored to her flanks. The local barbarians had set up a system of rotating small patrol boats with their damned gamma cannon to harass her fleet, and while they had scored an occasional hit with their ship's lasers against them, they were light-speed weapons against the nimble little boats, and really designed for close-in missile defense. A hand of frigates had been advanced as scouts, only one, _Lord M'isa_ had survived to transmit its report before being destroyed. On the positive side, the barbarians had a shipyard and orbital forges, on the negative, _Lord M'isa_ had reported at least three hands of large warships docked, far larger than _Seren_; including rarely seen BattleStar class ships.

"How can these barbarians afford those ships?" she wondered, then keyed the comm, "Captain!"

"Yes, my Princess?" he replied.

"The report from _Lord M'isa_. You have seen it?" She demanded. "How can these barbarians build, much less afford BattleStars? The entire Republic's war budget would pay for _one_, and it would take years to build! How can these barbarians build _fifteen_ of them?"

"From the report I saw, they look mostly complete," he agreed. "I do not know, my Princess. I wonder if they are not simple shells. We would not know without examination, because the original report from the slaver (he saw her lips tighten) did not have any of this in his sensor data, and we are retracing his course. I would also point out the other ships in the docks, and the amount of near-space traffic. The local barbarians are certainly aware of our purpose, yet this looks like normal operations for this level of system."

"They are … disregarding us?" she asked.

"I would not say that, my Princess, so much as it might be a tactic." He regarded her, "My Princess, they are certainly aware of your leadership, and they seek to manipulate you." She seemed to swell in anger, and he put in, "My Princess, anger will affect your judgment. I would assume the ships in the building docks were shells until we have other information."

She took a breath, another, then nodded, and he continued, "My Princess, we will need to continuously revise our list of planetary landing sites given the reduction in our forces. I point out the orbital report _Lord M'ress_ forwarded to _Lord M'isa_ before her destruction. It confirms the original slaver's report regarding population centers, at least as far as light pollution on the night side. There was also an intercept of data from their planetary network, so we have mapping data, as well as some political information. They are ruled by a young female, known as a 'Tsaritsa', apparently some form of monarchy based in a city known as 'Paris'." He took a breath, "This is somewhat contradictory, but we also have some images of this Tsaritsa, my Princess." A deep breath, "She looks like a younger sister of yours, my Princess."

She pursed her lips, frowning as she called up the report. "_Lord M'ress_ has been destroyed in orbit?" she asked in confirmation.

"The barbarians tried to board her," he said. "They were unable to do so successfully, and withdrew their forces, planting charges that broke her back and destroyed her power center. Their subspace comm was destroyed, they could only use a short-range docking radio on battery power. At that, we did not get the last three sections of her report, forwarded to _Lord M'isa_. She has also been written off as destroyed, my Princess."

She regarded the tactical plot for a few minutes in thought. "Forward the planetary maps to the barrage ship _Caanae_," she ordered. "Specifically target this Tsaritsa's capital, this 'Paris'. We shall see what they do when it is reduced to fine, drifting dust."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, February 18, 2003: 06:27 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Metropolis, _Daily Planet_ newsroom:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

With a bing, the computer on Perry White's desk announced new mail. He turned, bringing up his email client, and gave a small whoop. "Lois, I could kiss you," he said to the air. "Now if you could just learn to spell…"

_17 February, 2003  
Press centre, Warsaw  
Cleared by Imperial Army review _

_Warsaw, Poland (GNN) by Lois Lane, __Daily Planet__ reporter _

_The looming conflict with the invading fleet of pirates has taken a new turn as the invading force has reached the asteroid belt. Prisoner interrogation and review of captured databases has revealed initial plans of the Sodolokve enemy forces to attack large commercial gathering places, such as shopping centers, large industrial plants, colleges and universities. Intended plans are to land large capacity shuttles, use knockout gas generators and then have their own existing slaves collect, strip and collar their victims. _

_Retaliatory plans are for a separate quick response force to be available. National Guard and reserve troops are being called up, and willing citizens are being trained in the use of military small arms. Should you see a landing, please call Emergency Services and go to higher floors - at least the fourth floor, as the gas is designed to hover under thirty-five feet (ten meters). Breathing the gas will render someone unconscious within ten seconds. Tests on improvised protective gear have given damp sea-salt impregnated paper painter's masks are good for at least two minutes against the gas. _

_Imperial Army sources have asked that armed citizens try to disable the pirates by shooting knees, to allow prisoner capture and interrogation. Shooting at the slaves is not recommended, as they are innocent victims and good sources of intelligence. Sodolokve military forces should be left to Imperial or other Terran military units to capture. If these are unavailable, officer deaths are preferable to destabilize the chain of command. _

_Living Sodolokve captives are being transferred to holding camps in the Australian Outback. These are not Prisoners of War, as there has been no formal declaration of war by the Republic of Sodolokve on the Terran Empire. Captives will be given a trial and held until the end of hostilities. _

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, February 18, 2003: 07:23 (relative)  
Oa, Science cells:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Ganthet regarded the unconscious Kryptonian floating in the cell with satisfaction. '_Disrupt my research? Throw me through a wall? I said I would recall the event, Kal-El. You will be released when I desire, no sooner, and will retain no memories of this occurrence_,' he thought. '_We shall see how young Cir-El grows without your guidance of her development, and with mine_.'

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, February 18, 2003: 04:42 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Mattie wandered into the operations center, heading for the coffee table against the wall. General von Hesse was fixing a cup, and passed over the sugar canister, observing "You are up early, Frau Wayne."

"I couldn't sleep. Nightmares about this plan," she confessed quietly. "Did you ever …"

"Have second thoughts? What-if this or that?" the older woman replied, equally quietly. "All the time. It is one of the prices of command, it shows your concern." She turned, leaning against the coffee table. "From my perspective, you have made very few mistakes. You are accepting advice from those with more experience, carefully considering the various options, and asking intelligent questions. You are then making reasoned decisions, which I can accept, even if I might not have made the same decisions. Where you lack is confidence in your decisions, which will come with experience. This is a learning situation for all of us, and is one reason why experienced noncoms guide inexperienced young officers." She took a sip of her coffee and smiled, "Think of me as your feldwebel, my Tsaritsa. I hope the other side does not have the same structure, but I must assume they do."

"How so?" she asked as she took a sip.

"If their commander, their Princess is operating solely on political constraints, she will make military mistakes. However, my observation is that she has someone, or some military command council, that is advising her. My estimation is that her military commander is operating from a 'Book', without much actual experience in taking and holding territory."

"Space is a different territory than on the ground," Mattie objected.

"In some aspects that is true," the General agreed. "Think of the British operation 'Market Garden'. That was an air assault, but it was paratroops, light infantry forces. While it achieved tactical surprise, they failed to link up with their heavier ground forces, and were destroyed by the Heer. What are the similarities and differences with our situation, my Tsaritsa?"

Mattie took a few steps, thinking. She sipped her coffee; then said, "If I remember my history, the differences are the Republic has lost strategic surprise, although they retain tactical surprise. We don't know their point of actual attack, so we have to be ready planet-wide. We'll have some warning of their attack point." She sipped again, "We also know they're sensitive to cold, so they would prefer tropical or semi-tropical areas; within ten or fifteen degrees of the equator."

The General nodded, "They can wear parkas, though. What else?"

"That would mean clothing their slaves, so they don't die of hypothermia, which ties into their supply and reinforcement issues," the Tsaritsa said after a minute. "I think it would reduce the odds of an attack in the higher latitudes." The General nodded again as Mattie continued, "Like in Market Garden with the British, they have to fight with what they brought, or what they can steal from us, living off the land. We have no information of any expected, scheduled resupply or reinforcements, they brought what would be needed to conquer barbarians with swords and arrows. They didn't plan on tanks and fighters. That means poor intelligence on their part."

"So why don't they request resupply?" the General asked.

Taking a sip of coffee, Mattie mused, "I would assume political reasons, a loss of face. Their Princess can't go back this early to request reinforcements against primitives with arrows and swords. They are also expecting to capture a fully functional economy, which reduces the odds of their bombing us. They can't use a 'scorched earth' strategy (she finger-quoted with one hand)." She took another sip of coffee, "What did you mean by the 'Book'?"

"We know from prisoner interrogations and their databases the Republic has no personnel with current combat experience. Their last military action was the conquest of Alizon, some five hundred years ago. They are therefore refighting that war, and Alizon was an abandoned colony world with minimal defenses and population." She took a sip of her own coffee, adding, "A problem the French General Staff has had. The individual French soldier is good enough, it is their upper-level command that has a fixation with the last war."

The General sipped from her coffee, adding, "Tactics by the Book is a problem with strictly-disciplined armies. If the enemy does 'A' you respond with action 'B'. A small-unit officer who responds with any other action, even if it is effective, is disciplined for disobedience to orders. With the PLA and other Communist armies, with a firing squad." She shook her head, "To change from action 'B' to action 'C' would require permission from higher authority, which can be difficult to obtain in combat. In the urban fighting of the Eastern Front, like Leningrad, Stalin issued an order 'Not one step back' for political reasons. This meant the political organs in the Red Army prohibited any sort of retreat, even when it made good tactical or strategic sense." The General took another sip of coffee. "The Heer, on the other hand, gives the unit leader a mission and allows him to plan his own tactics, given his available resources. That means that when the enemy does action 'A', we may reply with 'C', 'D', or 'E', given those variables."

"So … if the Republican forces encounter a situation we present, for instance heavy armor, their commander will consult his 'Book' and use the anti-armor response …" she mused. "Whereas the armor is simply a feint, the real threat would be artillery or infantry." She took another swallow of coffee, walking a few steps back and forth. "They'll attack, trying that air assault, and we'll be able to determine what their 'Book' says, what their 'logical' response will be." She finger-quoted with one hand as she paced. "Given the warm reception their ships have received, their military forces can expect an equally friendly welcome on the way down. We don't know how well armed or armored their assault shuttles are." She walked over to get a refill, waving the coffee pot in the General's direction.

"Danke. Examination of captured equipment presumes their shuttles will not be heavily armored," General von Hesse replied, placing her mug to be refilled. "What is the American phrase … ah, 'hillbilly armor'. We don't know if their repair bays have up-armored their attack boats or not. Danke, mein frau," she added as she accepted the sugar cannister. "Their shuttles are designed and intended for routine space-to-planet traffic, moving slaves up and down. Not a combat assault, and this will also tell us the level of internal discipline. If we find add-on armor, it implies flexibility, if they are not armored, their discipline is rigid and their commanders follow their 'Book' strictly."

"Hmm …" Mattie thought. "One option we can present them is a planet-side refuge, once they've tried a few assaults and come up short. Someplace that's less-defended by air, someplace their remaining forces can dig in …"

"And then be entrapped?" the General thought aloud. She sipped coffee, thinking in silence, then added, "If their Princess is allowed that refuge, and then requests reinforcements, to which we give the same warm welcome …"

"We can bleed the Republicans of their military forces," Mattie agreed. "Where is our 'refuge', though?"

"Someplace that would be logical to be less-defended, but also attractive to the Republicans. The Phillipines, the Carribean, the Mediterranian …" the General mused. "I shall have to consider this, work our plans."

* * *

"Hi, Stan," Mattie said as she took a seat on the shoeshine stand.

"Morning, Miss Wayne," Stanislaw the Shine replied. He accepted the folded Euros and started to work. She leaned forward, lowering her voice, "What's public opinion on the pirates?"

"Don't know nothing about public opinion," he replied, and accepted more bills. "According to my informants," he said as he spread black polish, "People are nervous about the invasion, but have confidence that the Army knows what it's doing. Forty-eight percent like Generalmajor von Hesse, twelve percent don't simply because she's female in a male setting, and thirty-three percent will wait and see. Seven percent are ready to welcome the invaders with open arms." He buffed the left boot, and she passed him more bills. "Should we start conscription? We're in a manpower crunch."

"I'd wait until after an atrocity or large death count, like Pearl Harbor or Stalingrad, or a surprise attack with a lot of slaves taken," he said as he buffed. "If you can take a slave ship with a public rescue of slaves, that will drive recruitment, as people will think the Empire can rescue them." He looked up and accepted more bills. "Even if that's not true."

"What do we do with the Princess, assuming we can capture her live?" Ms. Wayne asked, passing over more Euros.

"Three options, collar or kill her, keep her captive, or work a deal with her," Stanislaw replied. "The last one prevents follow-up attacks, but requires a Fabian strategy of attrition warfare and false reports to the Republic, leading to reinforcements that you must successfully capture. That will give you a fleet that can be used to take the Republic."

"Not as satisfactory …" she mused. He finished with her right boot, cracked his rag, and accepted a last bundle of Euros as she stood up, saying in a normal voice, "Thanks for the shine, Stan." She walked out, past a row of people waiting. She heard one person say in Russian, ("Stanislaw, how do I …")

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, February 18, 2003: 19:53 (GMT +10)  
Terra, Queensland, Julia Creek Camp D:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Move along, mistress," the slave said in Trade to D'riath with a savage smile, and she clutched the thin clothing to herself as she moved through the wooden building. She had woken aboard a shuttle, stripped of all her clothing and equipment, and been sorted by gender. Dazed and compliant as a slave, she and the other females went through one door, the males through another. Pushing through a door, she saw long benches where others were dressing, so she put the bright pink clothing down and started to pull it on. The left leg had bold, black lettering in Trade and (she assumed) the local language saying '**PIRATE**' which was also on the back of her tunic.

"You notice they have not given us strings of any sort," the neighboring female said. "I am C'hroot, formerly of the _Gleaming Collar_, and you?"

"D'riath, of the _Polished Shackle_," she replied. She examined a strange white halter-like garment, and C'hroot smiled thinly. "That is a breast-support garment. It fastens in front, as the Source-damned tunics do, with adhesive cloth." There was a ripping sound, and she pulled off her tunic. "Arms through the straps, the thick band under your breasts. Lean forward when you don it, the soft triangular cups will encase your breasts." She adjusted clips on the straps, then tossed the tunic to D'raith and sat down on the bench. "Do you know what will happen to us?"

"What we would do in their position, I assume," D'raith replied. "However, if we are to be collared and sold as slaves, why did they bother to clothe us?"

"At all," C'hroot agreed. "All I have seen is the building we are in, and the high wire fencing. At least the area is decently warm. I wonder, if we are to be sold as slaves, as I would do to them, why did they keep the males instead of simply killing them?"

"We do not know if they haven't, or they are biosculpting them before they are collared," D'raith pointed out. "We have only been in the system a short time, although I do not know how long we were kept unconscious." She pointed to the front, where a male in uniform had appeared.

"Good day," he said in accented Trade. "You are in Camp D, reserved for civilian pirates. Your housing and accommodations meet all relevant legal codes. That does not mean they are luxurious, you are criminals and pirates, after all. You will be monitored and tracked continuously, we do not trust you." He smiled thinly, "You are forty kilometers from the nearest town, and you will be wearing tracking collars, not slave collars."

"Easy enough to change," someone called.

"True. As I said, we do not trust you. You will be given a sheet of rules and regulations, which is also posted in your tents. First violation will result in isolation, second violation gives a slave collar and belt, third is death. When you leave this building, look to your left, you will see the gallows and its current occupants, who are swinging in the breeze. The sheet also gives benefits for cooperation, for instance signing up for gardening duty, which will gain you fresh vegetables to eat."

"We aren't pirates!" someone called. "We're loyal to the Republic!"

"Slaves are a class two item in this system, and you are slavers," he replied. "Furthermore, you have invaded the system without a declaration of war with the announced intent of stealing our property for your own use. Under both system law and the Interstellar Commercial Code, that is theft and piracy. The ICC makes no distinction regarding the relevant classes of the system." He looked around, "Any further questions? Then the first row of benches will form a line and go through that door to receive your tracking collars. If you don't wish to wear one, you will spend all your time in an isolation cell until you agree." He turned and walked off, and another Terran male opened a door, calling, "Through here, please."

C'hroot said softly, "He is only armed with a stick. We can take him …"

"And go where?" D'raith asked. "I am certain they have heavier weapons than sticks …"

"I will not wear a Terran collar!" C'hroot said softly and vehemently. "I am not a slave! I buy and sell slaves!"

"We have no choice," D'raith replied softly. "They regard us as criminals, no matter the truth of the matter. The Republic will take this system and rescue us …"

"Will they?" C'hroot said softly. "The fleet was severely damaged, and even if the entire Republic's armed forces come through, these Terrans will fight. We would need to sterilize the surface, which would gain us nothing. No, I will not wear a tracking collar, and I will determine a method of escape …"

"It is our turn," D'raith said softly as the rest of the females stood. She stood, as did C'hroot, who told the guard, "I will not wear your collar, barbarian."

"As you wish," he said, spinning her around and securing her hands behind her. He pushed her at another guard, and she was pulled through another door as D'raith moved forward in line.

* * *

"Be seated, mistress," a slave said, and D'raith's hands and feet were secured with straps, while her hair was pulled up and twisted, secured with a clip. Another slave secured the ring of the slaver machine on her neck, stepping back, "It only hurts for a minute, mistress. Ready, master," and a Terran worked the control panel. D'raith screamed in pain, she was released from the chair, and shown her reflection in a sheet of silvered glass. "Through that door, mistress," and she went on.

* * *

"Things all right so far?" the Terran asked C'hroot, who replied in English, "So far. A few days in solitary, I'm collared and rejoin the group. What about the gallows?"

"Realistic dummies," the Intelligence officer replied. "Visible from both the male and female sub-camps. Have you thought about what your second 'crime' will be?"

"I've already sworn to escape," the agent-in-place replied. "I'll have to work out a way to do it, though, and block the collar's signal. The slavers don't know we don't have the tracking satellites in orbit."

"Because we're barbarians, and they're _civilized_," he agreed with a snort, finger quoting. "What about your day job?"

"I'm sure that a black market will develop," she replied. "I'll probably do something with that, get the equivalent of cigarettes and illicit materials."

"Their diet requires calcium diglutamate as a digestive aid. For us, it's a flavor enhancer, so you can arrange that, as it's not in the standard Army rations they'll get."

"Sounds good," she agreed. "A small salt shaker of it, easily concealed." She tapped her jaw, resetting her implant to Trade, then recuffing herself. ("Imprison me, barbarian.")

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 00:41 (GMT)  
Terran system, _Seren the Wise_, Flag deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Finally," the Princess said to herself as she watched her holographic plot as the fleet entered the inner system. "Contact the system government. I will be gracious and allow them a chance to submit to me."

"Yes, mistress," the comm slave replied, then a minute later the image of a reclining Terran appeared on her screen. His uniform cap was forward over his eyes, and his snoring moved his bushy mustache. She waited, then called in Trade, ("Terran! This is your new owner! I demand to speak to this Tsaritsa of yours!") He ignored her, continuing to doze, and she called again, ("TERRAN! Wake up, so you may submit to me!")

On the screen, his arm moved, slapping at some switches as he raised his cap, one eye blinking. "¿Sí? ¡Oh, eres tú. Vete, yo tengo veinte minutos para ir en mi descanso." (Yes? Oh, it's you. Go away, I've got twenty minutes to go on my break.) The connection closed, and she sputtered in outrage. "Re-establish contact! I will demand this Tsaritsa submit to me!"

"Yes, mistress," the comm slave replied. After a minute, another Terran male appeared, with a proper, neat uniform and a thin mustache on a thin, scowling, disapproving face. ("Imperial Interstellar Communications Center, Paris,") he said in Trade, then sneered. ("Oh, it's you. Don't you know what time it is?")

("I demand to speak to this Tsaritsa of yours!") she shouted.

("It's after midnight, you fool. Have the decency to call back during business hours. I'm not waking her up for something as minor as you. Now go away, or better yet simply leave the system before we start to take you seriously.")

The Princess sputtered, ("You … minor … take me seriously? I demand your name, slave!")

He shrugged, ("Lieutenant Jean Petain, and a Frenchman is nobody's slave. We'll be billing the Republic for your damages. Now go away, foolish little girl.") He terminated the connection, and she was left staring at a blank screen.

"Should I re-establish communication, mistress?" her comm slave asked. The ship rocked, and the Princess' gaze flicked back to her tactical plot. A double-hand of frigates, with an accompanying heavy and light cruiser had just passed them, firing on them, then flew up, above the ecliptic. They met three large cargo ships, and vanished.

"We're … we're inside the Limit," she stammered. "Where did they go? They can't use a Jump Drive inside the Limit … They can't go FTL, but there was no Jump field, where did they go?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 06:28 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Good morning, Aunt Lois," Mattie said, giving her Aunt a hug as Lois entered the ground-floor Army mess. She passed over a cup of NATO-standard Army coffee (triple caffeine), and Lois jolted awake, shaking her head. "Wow. That clears out the cobwebs."

"Oh, yeah," her niece agreed. "Well, this little poker game is going nicely. The enemy has assumed orbit and offered to let us submit to them."

"Very nice of them," Lois said.

"Yep. We're insulting them right back, make this Princess mad, because when you're mad, you make mistakes." She leaned forward, asking quietly, "Where's Uncle Clark?"

Lois looked around, then whispered, "Called off-planet by the Guardians. I think he's on Oa."

"Joy. I'm going to wring Ganthet's skinny blue neck."

"If he's done something to Clark, you'll have to beat me to it," Lois replied, then took a deep breath and raised her voice slightly. "What's the next step in this card game?"

"The Republicans have come all this way to get some slaves. The question is where they'll land. Anti-air is standing by all over the world, and recruitment has picked up nicely," her niece replied. "We should see the first landing attempts soon."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 11:54 (GMT)  
Terran system, _Seren the Wise_, Command deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The Captain nodded politely as the Princess entered, striding to the tactical plot. She was obviously angered at something, and he thought back on anything he might have done. She said, "Begin the operation. Launch the shuttles."

"Yes, my Princess," he replied, and nodded at his comm slave.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 13:58 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Shuttles launching," the Ops officer said. "We'll have to let them go until they hit the forty kilometer height for anti-air. We only have the prototype fighters."

"Make this part of the evaluation," General von Hesse replied. "Weapons free."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

The flight of shuttles descended cautiously. They had seen the savage reception their ships had received from these barbarians, and had no illusions. They were lightly armed, primarily for hostile landings, but had nothing to defend themselves with between orbit and the ground. The pilot of one jerked around as his co-pilot warned, "Incoming attack ships!"

Spiraling, twisting, and firing, the small ships attacked, and shuttles began to fall from the sky toward the oceans and the planet below.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 12:58 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Julie watched as the TVs that had been moved to the Great Hall showed the high blossoms of fire and the black dots that were Imperial fighters and the pirates' shuttles over the Mediterranean. Inset, a view from the Hubble Telescope showed the enemy fleet in orbit. The Headmistress cleared her throat, "While I am as reluctant as you to leave, the third and fourth year girls have lessons in Inverness. Please take the portkey with Professor Vector, ladies. It will activate at one pm precisely."

* * *

With a 'pop', Julie arrived in Inverness with the other girls. A British Army sergeant was waiting for them as Professor Vector coiled the light cord used as a portkey, and held the door for them.

"This is the SA80 assault rifle, precisely the L85A2 in 5.56x45 NATO," the sergeant said. "You will be learning this, as well as the Browning L9A1 pistol in 9x19 Parabellum, also NATO standard." He held up the rifle, "As you can see, the rifle uses a bullpup design, where the magazine inserts behind the trigger assembly, like so." With a snap, a thirty round magazine was inserted, and he continued, "The parts of the rifle are as follows …"

* * *

Professor Lupin regarded the class of second-years. "Well, the enemy is here. Let's go over some useful spells we can use against them."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 13:40 (GMT)  
Terra, Mediterranean Sea, US Sixth Fleet:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The Hornets launched from the supercarrier _Eisenhower_ (CVN-69) off the Italian 'boot', orbiting while they tanked, along with fighters from the Spanish, French, and Italian air forces. Further east, other air forces from Greece and Israel were aloft, while to the north, German, Polish and Russian forces were aloft, all waiting to engage the enemy. There was a click, and a voice said over the Guard frequency, "All fighters, course plots for incoming shuttles show Eastern Med. ETA five minutes. Flight plan Gamma Three."

"Let's show these bastards how things are done," one anonymous pilot replied. "Western Med, you lot play beater and drive them into our welcoming arms."

"Mon Ami, we've come all this way without being allowed to dance?" a French pilot replied. "If any survive, you may have them."

"I'm not returning to _Ike_ without at least one kill," a woman's voice came up. "Feminism and all that."

"I hate to interrupt this excess of testosterone," someone said from the carrier. "We'd like to have a captive or two to interrogate, if you don't mind."

"That's the problem with the brass, interfering with our fun," someone else said. "Okay, people, give them a chance to land at a nice, friendly air force base. One chance, then fill them full of holes."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 13:56 (GMT)  
Terran system, _Seren the Wise_, Command deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Shuttles at sixty kilometer altitude," the Captain said. "We've lost two hands of them, and there are attack craft circling, waiting for them." He gazed at the holo tank along with the Princess, waiting.

* * *

On the descending shuttles, the flight continued, with random shuttles exploding after meeting a line of white smoke. One shuttle's pilot looked left, and saw a silver attack craft, colorfully painted, whose helmeted pilot looked at him, then pointed down and turned away.

"He wants us to follow him down. Do we?" the co-pilot asked. "There's one on this side as well."

"We're going down," the pilot decided. "Just not where the plan has us. Once we're on the ground…"

"Yes…" his co-pilot agreed. "I'll tell the others."

* * *

"Shuttles are spreading out, accepting escort," the radio announced. "Handoff to the close air support and choppers at five klicks altitude."

* * *

"Source, what are those?" the co-pilot asked, looking at the thin, black flying object with stubby wings and a rotating disk.

"Don't know," the pilot replied. "I'm going to get us down and capture some slaves, I'm not facing the Princess without some. Time to say no to their landing place, there's a grassy field with buildings ahead." He twisted in midair, cutting his antigrav and dropping in between trees. The antigrav was cut back on at the last second, the landing struts groaning as they absorbed the shock.

* * *

The pilot of the attack chopper was _pissed_. The damned shuttles he had tried to escort had slipped past him, landing at a college. He twisted the controls, standing his chopper on it's nose, but he couldn't do anything. "Let the Army deal with these bastards," he said, and relayed the coordinates.

* * *

"Thank the Source," the co-pilot breathed in relief, while the pilot simply sat back, his helmet off. He looked over, "We've still got to get back up with our slaves," he reminded the other. "Then we fly back down, land and capture some more, fly back up…"

"Source …" the co-pilot groaned. "We should never have come to this miserable system."

"Agreed, but we don't have a choice." He reached for his helmet, "Let's go trap some animals."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 16:09 (GMT +2)  
Terra, University of Haifa, commons:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Your attention, please," the PA said. "Hostile aliens have landed on the commons. Please remain on the upper floors of your building. Thank you."

Brenda Geller was chatting with her friend when she saw the crouching shape of the shuttle. She screamed and turned to run, but inhaled some of the capture gas, and collapsed next to her friend.

"Ah, good," the slaver said, protected by his helmet. Motioning, he said, "Go on, slaves, collect the animals." His slaves, protected by breathing masks and controlled by their Enhancement, did as their master bid, picking up the two girls and dragging them to the rear hatch of the shuttle.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 16:12 (GMT +2)  
Terra, University of Cyprus, forest:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"I don't care about the damned Turks," the lieutenant shouted in Greek. "Fire!" The grenade launcher whooshed, and the shuttle's cockpit exploded in flames, accompanied by screams and the chatter of automatic weapons.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 20:31 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, _Seren the Wise_, Command deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"My Princess, the Terrans have sent you a message with this pilot," the Captain said, indicating a kneeling pilot.

"Speak," she commanded. "Tell me of your flight." She took the Captain's command seat, her attending slaves carefully arranging her elaborate hair net across the back of the chair.

"Yes, my Princess," the pilot replied, raising his head. He licked his lips, and she motioned, "Speak truthfully, my pilot," she ordered. "You will not be punished for the truth, no matter how distasteful."

"Yes, my Princess," he swallowed, and started. "We separated and flew away from the fleet. We had an even fifty hands of shuttles, each with a capacity of two hundred raw slaves, the passenger slavers and their work-slaves. We were only a few kilometers from the fleet when the first space attack craft started."

The Princess' head jerked, "That close? We did not detect them until later."

"I speak of what I know, my Princess. May I continue?" She gestured, "My Princess, we were continually attacked, until the attack craft suddenly moved away at two hundred kilometers altitude."

"Why?" the Captain wondered. "At that point, my Princess, we had only lost two hands of shuttles. Continue, pilot."

"Yes, my Captain. We were not attacked from that point until we had reached sixty kilometers altitude. At that point, my Princess, we could detect waiting attack craft below us, but the barbarians fired rockets at us," and he swallowed, hard. "Many, many rockets, my Princess, and we lost more shuttles. They were exploding all around us." He swallowed again, "My Princess, later I would envy them. They received a quick death."

"Why do you say that?" she demanded.

"My Princess," the kneeling pilot replied. "The barbarians attacked our flight areas, so we could not maintain pressure, neither could we fly. We became large steel rocks, my Princess, and we fell out of the sky. The fortunate ones burned up, the less fortunate drowned. The only safety lay in letting another shuttle receive the attacks. That was from forty kilometers to about five kilometers altitude, where we were directed to land at certain points. Military bases, my Princess, where we were faced with large attack vehicles and troops. Professional military forces, my Princess."

"They have no professional forces, they are barbarians!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, my Princess. They are barbarians," the pilot agreed. He waited in silence as the Princess seethed in anger. "How many of my shuttles have survived, and how many slaves were taken?" she finally demanded.

"My Princess, this shuttle is the only one to return to the fleet. We have three hands of shuttles that are trapped on the ground, they report a total of …" the Captain swallowed. "They report a total of … thirty-seven slaves taken, my Princess."

"Let me understand this correctly," the Princess said with icy fury. "We launched fifty hands, two hundred fifty shuttles from the fleet. Of those, three hands are trapped by the barbarians, and only ONE shuttle escaped? Instead of ten thousand hands of slaves, we have only … seven hands?"

"My Princess …" the pilot started, then hesitated. Her infuriated gaze locked on him, and he seemed to shrink.

"My Princess," the Captain started, hesitated, then continued. "We do not have those slaves until they are returned to the fleet and properly Enhanced. Until then, they are collared, this is truth, but they are still raw slaves and of no value to us."

"Thank you, my Captain," she said, then looked at her pilot. "Speak. You were going to say something. What is it?"

"My Princess," the pilot hesitated again. "Properly, I did not escape. I was _released_, and escorted up to the forty kilometer altitude. The barbarians allowed me to witness what would happen." He swallowed, then continued, "My Princess, the slaves we had were treated with gentleness. The Republican military forces were allowed to surrender, and treated with what I can only call professional courtesy. The civilians, the slavers, they …" He swallowed, "My Princess, the Terrans, as they call themselves, showed their opinion of slavers. They used large knives, my Princess, on those who did not surrender. While they were alive, my Princess." He offered a chip to the Captain, adding, "They called it 'scalping', my Princess. Do not view it after you have eaten."

"Barbarians," the Princess said with an involuntary shudder. "What would you have done, my pilot?"

"My Princess …" the pilot hesitated, then plunged forward. "My Princess, make arrangements to leave this system and these Terrans to themselves."

"We cannot do that," she replied. "What else?"

"Then, my Princess, either destroy the planet, to bare rock, or have our own attack craft escort our shuttles. My Princess, the Terrans referred to our flight as a 'Turkey Shoot'. They explained it as shooting helpless birds, for sport, my Princess. They enjoy a good fight, but they are disappointed in us, my Princess. One Terran explained that they have been fighting continuously for at least fifty thousand years, but we have given them a common enemy." The pilot waited while the Princess digested this news. "My Princess, on the chip is a message. Should you wish to speak to them, use a shuttle broadcasting the message 'White Flag' on a particular frequency. They will escort, but will not harm the shuttle. However, my Princess, they specifically warned that if it were used as a trick, they would not further honor the message, raising what they called a 'Red Flag', which means they would not allow surrender. They would kill all of us."

"They cannot do that!" the Princess declared, but the Captain detected a hint of worry in her voice. She reflected on this, then said, "You have done well, my pilot, to inform us of this. Captain, raise his rank a grade. You are not to speak of this to others, my pilot. You are dismissed."

"Yes, my Princess," he replied, bowed, then backed out of her presence.

* * *

The Princess sat, head forward, hands cupping her chin as she thought. "This cannot stand, my Captain. We cannot leave and admit defeat, we must deliver this system to the Republic, we must show this system, these Terrans the error of their ways. We hold the orbitals, my Captain." She looked up, "We will show the Terrans the power of the Republic. Have the _Cannae_ destroy their planetary capital, this Paris."

"My Princess …" the Captain hesitated. "If these Terrans have indeed been fighting for the last fifty thousand years, they will be much more experienced than we are. They will have made plans to move their government. In their place, I would have." The Princess was still furious, he saw. "My Princess, do not let anger rule your judgment."

"So you have said, my Captain," she replied, her lips twisting. She took several deep breaths, then continued, "However, the destruction of their capital worked with Alizon, so it shall work with the Terrans."

"Alizon was a farming planet, my Princess. Farmers and metal workers with their tools. They did not have the attack craft reported by the pilot. They did not have the orbital works we have seen here; they did not have the ships being built in the docks," he warned.

"I see the differences, but the Alizon attack plan was the one given us," she replied. "That is what we must use, what the Republic's command staff think best. We must use it, we cannot request reinforcements, at least not yet," she admitted. "Losses of ninety-four percent of our shuttles to these Terrans have forced me to consider this, but we must step carefully. We must prove to the command staff that their plans are … not optimal." She smiled ruefully. "Trust me, my Captain, if I were to ask for resupply and reinforcements at this point, they would reply in a manner neither of us would like. We would be called home and replaced," and they both shuddered. "Until we have a functional vessel to use as a mail boat, I will review the information received by my pilot, while you inquire of the ship-masters what would be required to arm and armor the shuttles. Extract the recordings of the returned shuttle for analysis, while _Cannae_ destroys the city of Paris."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 20:45 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, _Cannae_, Command deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

_Cannae's_ Captain adjusted his orbit with precision, centering his ship above the city below, while his barrage cannon went through final checks. His XO rechecked, then nodded, "All is in readiness."

"Begin."

* * *

Thirty seconds later, the first of thousands of incoming projectiles hit. Simple steel poles, ten meters long, they were accelerated to thousands of gravities, and each one hit with the equivalent of a small atomic bomb. Thousands of them, fired by _Cannae_, blanketed the city of Paris, vaporizing buildings, streets, and people, driving down through the soft rock the city was built on, through the long-abandoned limestone and chalk mines, through the network of catacombs, down, down until it impacted and destroyed the granite bedrock beneath the city.

There was no escape for the majority of the residents, although the people living in the outermost suburbs were able to flee into the countryside, where they could watch and shiver in the cold, listening to the distant thunderstorm of the assault, appalled, as the steel rain of destruction walked east to west, north to south, as the _Cannae's_ cannon worked over the city. Fires flared and died as their fuel sources were pounded to fine powder, the kinetic heat of the impactors lifting the powdery residue high into the sky, underlit by the fires into a glimpse of hell, giving the former residents of Paris their first direct view of a mushroom cloud.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 20:50 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Oh, my god…" someone said, and Julie looked up at one of the large-screen TV's. Across the bottom, GNN had the crawler script: _The death of Paris - LIVE_. On the inset, she could see the roughly diamond-shaped ship, tilted down, with a black rain blurring out, toward the fire-lit city below.

"Orbital barrage," Amy Johnson said into the silence. "Mattie can now say 'I told you so' about the orbitals."

"What can we do?" someone asked.

"I'm not taking this lying down," someone said from Gryffindor. "The bloody hell with my NEWTS. I'm joining up. Tomorrow I'm enlisting, even if I have to fly my bloody damned broom across the Loch into Inverness." He stood, looking around, "Are you with me, or are you bloody _**COWARDS**_?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 15:53 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cincinnati, McCain home:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Oh, my god…" Brenda said as she watched GNN. There was a crawler script that announced: _The death of Paris - LIVE_. She buried her face in her hands as her brother Chris said, "Oh, _cool_! Dad, you gotta see this!"

"Oh, my god…" Walt said as he entered the living room, dropping the bowl of popcorn. He picked up the remote, un-muting the sound as Brenda turned on her brother, "COOL? Millions of people have just been killed, and you say that's COOL?" She hauled off and slapped him, hard, and he rocked back. "What did you do that for?"

"You're admiring the death of millions and the destruction of one of the world's great cities?" his father asked. "Go to your room, Chris, before I take my belt to you. NOW!"

"Geez … okay, I'm going…" Walt sat down heavily as his son left, the talking head wasn't saying anything, so he re-muted the sound. "What do we do, Dad?"

"Me, I'm going downtown tomorrow to enlist, you two are going to Aunt Sophie in Boston."

"Forget that, dad. I'm in line next to you. Let the dweeb go to Boston. I want revenge."

"You're sure?" She just pointed at the TV. "Yeah, dad. I'm sure."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 16:03 (GMT -8)  
Terra, Seattle, King County medical center:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Good afternoon," Dr. Clement said as she closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry I'm late, I had to take a call. How are things with you?"

"S'okay, Doc," her patient replied. The former Harleen Quinzell, now Harri King replied. "Been watching the news while I waited. You saw that thing about Paris?"

Dr. Clement drew a deep breath, "Yes, Harri, I have. It's horrible."

"Doc, I may have killed some people when I was with … him. I never … well, I want your okay ta join up. Like we discussed last month, doc, 'cause I'm gonna see my parole officer t'morrow morning, an' I'm gonna tell him th' same thing." She stood, starting to pace, and sipped from her Starbucks® cup. "Doc, I'm somewhat in my right mind, but I'm gonna do this by the book. I got an old friend that's in London now, he's engaged, but he can get me an in with IR & S." She stopped, putting her coffee on the doctor's desk, and crossed her arms. "Doc, I gotta lot of makin' up ta do, an' if one o' them is wearin' a collar an' bein' a spy for my planet, than' that's wha' I'm gonna do. I'm crap with a gun, and I can't follow directions ta save my life, but I spread my legs ta get through college like most girls, so I can do it ta help out here." She took two steps, looming over the suddenly nervous doctor, and hissed, "You gonna help me out, Doc, or do I drop a dime o' my own ta the state licensin' board?"

"What … what do you mean, Harri?"

"I did a little research, doc, on some a' your professors, and some of the examiners, an' hey, they're men, we're women, an' some a' them are old fashioned. Hollywood ain't the only users o' the castin' couch, y'know. Even if it's all bull, doc, a girl's gotta protect her reputation."

"You … you wouldn't!"

Harri took a couple steps back and retrieved her coffee. "I'd rather not, tell th' truth, doc, I like ya, but I'm gonna do this thing. I _**NEED**_ to do this thing, doc. I may be wacko, but I'm gonna tell my parole officer I talked it over wi' you, and you'd send a letter. You send a good letter, you get my file o' my notes an' my corrections ta your school records. You don't, I don't fix up your records th' right way." She sipped her coffee, then settled on the edge of her chair. "So, what's up, Doc?"

**_Warning, combat._**

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, February 19, 2003: 22:46 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, _Cannae_, Emergency lock 13:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Elena Morton waited while the assault boat's computer sent the override code to the exterior hatch. One advantage to capturing several of the enemy vessels had been the codes for such a thing as this, the hatch cycled open slowly, with minor flakes of rust floating away in the vacuum. She reached across and grabbed the hand-bar, pulling herself into the lock, with the rest of her section behind her.

"This is too easy," Elena muttered over the general squad 'net. "All we've seen is some slaves. Where the hell is the crew? Don't they have any security, any Marines aboard?"

"Count your blessings, Corp," someone replied. "I'll take a cakewalk any day."

"I'm just waiting for a shoe to drop," she replied as her point girl crouched at the corner; putting her scanner probe around it. It rolled a bit on the deck with the vibrations from the portside launchers that were still working over Paris. "Well, we got a nice size shoe here," the point replied as the rest of the squad picked up the piggyback video. "Six of 'em coming at us - _FIRE IN THE HOLE_!" she said as she launched two AP grenades down the passage.

* * *

Elena fired her carbine at the Republican trooper, but the armor he wore bounced the light ammo off, impacting into the slaves he was escorting. Trapped by their Enhancement, they continued to stand rigidly, waiting for his next order as the small firefight swirled around them. Cursing, Elena dropped her carbine, knowing the lanyard would keep it attached to her armor, and drew her sword, crouching and swinging at his slave stick, which separated in a burst of sparks. She thrust upward, he made a horrible gurgle as the point penetrated his neck, then collapsed as the blade was twitched through the left side of his neck. He collapsed, the left side of his head cut open, blood bubbling out in spurts as his heart continued to function, not yet realizing he was dead. Elena spun, blade ready, then relaxed. She cleaned her blade on the troopers uniform, resheathing it and catching up her carbine as the medic looked at the slaves, bandaging and securing them. "We need better ammo," she commented as the deck continued to vibrate. "This is crap against their armor. Where are we?"

"Fifty meters or so from the bridge," someone said, checking his armor's computer.

The vibrations suddenly stopped, and she started to run, "Let's go!"

* * *

"Why have you stopped firing?" the Princess demanded from the main screen on _Cannae's_ bridge. "The target is not completely destroyed … what is that?" she said as two small, black cylinders flew in from the port and starboard entrances. They detonated with an intense bright white light and a loud bang, followed by the entrance of several armored figures.

"What is happening?" the Princess demanded from the screen.

"This ship has been taken by the Imperial Army," Sgt. Whitloe said as Corporal Morton directed the securing of the crew.

"Barbarians!" the Princess hissed from the screen. "You cannot …"

"Already did," Elena replied cheerfully from where she had the ship's Captain secured. She was giving him a search as others from her squad and Whitloe's secured the pirates. She pulled back the Captain's head by the hair, holding her combat knife against his throat. "Command codes, please."

"The _correct_ codes," Toni Whitloe clarified. "If they do something we don't like, we'll show you why we're barbarians." She took a few paces, circling around a collared girl that was chained to the base of the command chair. She examined the tightly gagged girl, who looked up at her, then looked at the large screen. "She looks a lot like the Princess…"

"Who looks a lot like my sister-in-law," Elena agreed. She poked the Captain with the point of her knife, "C'mon, keys for the slaves and command codes. Helm, move us out of range of the other ships. Straight up, five light seconds."

"Yes, mistress," the helm-slave replied, and the comm slave said, "My mistresses, the girl is not a slave, she has not submitted to a master. She is clothed, slaves are not."

"Very interesting," Whitloe said. "Still, she's of no use to us, we might as well slit her throat …"

"No! Please …" the Princess said frantically from the screen. The two Terrans regarded her, then the collared girl, then Elena poked the Captain again. "What's the deal with the girl?"

"She is … important to the Republic," he got out, eying the large combat knife with its steel blade.

"She is … important politically," the Princess said from the screen. "Please do not harm her."

"But she's just another slave," Toni said. "We'll just collar and Enhance her …"

"_**NO**_!" the Princess and the Captain both shouted. The girl didn't like the idea either, she whimpered through her thick gag.

"Five light seconds, mistress," the helm-slave said. "What are your orders, mistress?"

"Break the communication," Sgt. Whitloe said, and the Princess disappeared from the main screen, replaced by the normal starfield. "Broadcast this signal on this frequency," she told the comm-slave, handing her a note as three other troopers formed up around the Captain, who Elena prodded to his feet. "Let's go to your cabin," as Toni told the helm, "Come to a different course," and handed over a note.

* * *

"She's been captured …" the Princess whispered in shock and pain. "In the hands of those barbarians …"

"She's just a slave … isn't she?" the Captain asked.

"No, she's a political hostage, and the future of the ruling house," the Princess replied, almost absently. "She's my sister's only surviving daughter, because I cannot bear children," she whispered. "If she is forced to submit, it would bring the downfall of the ruling house, because the children of a slave are slave. She was entrusted to the care of one of my father's loyal retainers, and now I have lost my sister's daughter …"

The Captain looked warily on her as he worked through the politics. "Keeping her alive and free means that her mother's … your sister's …"

"Yes, but she was kept out of my control," the Princess said. "Father did not like my killing my sister, and I did not want to, but she refused my offers of a coalition of forces. I had no choice, my Captain. I did not want to kill my sister, I loved her," and she took a ragged breath.

"The collar I saw?"

"Is a tracking collar, I hold the keys to that and her gag, part of the political compromise. The collar is not implanted, simply locked on her neck, while my father's Captain had control of her. _Did_ have control," she corrected. "As for her gag, she knows many political secrets, even though she is young. Now …" she took another deep, shuddering breath. "I must regain control of her."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, February 20, 2003: 03:46 (GMT)  
Firsday, 7 Quartus, 163, 04:47 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, Island, High Town, High Street:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The blonde slave struggled as she was carried up the stairs to the gallows. She tried to speak through the heavy gag she wore, and tried to scream as she saw the noose. Unfortunately for her, her ankle shackles were secured together, her wrists were cuffed behind her by her slave belt, and she was held on her knees as a sign was hung on her neck. She struggled, whimpering, and one of the men backhanded her. She fell back, dazed by the blow, and she was held up as the noose was slipped around her neck and tightened behind her head. "Stand there, slave," and slack was taken out, the loop in the rope was fixed by a fine thread, and the hanging party left, all but one. He hung back, waiting, enjoying the terror of the blonde slave, then pulled the lever to the side. She dropped, swinging and thrashing in midair as she strangled, the sign supported by her breasts read '_Arrogant slave_'. He waited until she hung still, the lights on her collar dark. "That should teach Terrans and their slaves their place," he said as he left. Behind him, the body of slave 81845, named 'Cam', the Terran-appointed Minister of Commerce, swung in the breeze.

* * *

The slave once known as Yuki Fukuda, now only the private slave 90144 stood with other slaves and watched as the body of the blonde slave swung on the rope. She was very aware of the heavy gag she and other slaves wore, the collar implanted on her throat with the red, yellow, and green lights, and the tight slave belt she wore. "Move aside, move aside," someone called, and of course she did.

* * *

"Wakey, wakey," Cam heard, and sat up in her coffin, whimpering through the gag she still wore. Yael Miller helped her, telling the blonde slave, "You're on board the _IMV Ngthsestr_, an Imperial mail boat. You're officially dead, murdered, and that's why you're in cargo, and not in one of my two passenger cabins. I have eyes-only orders for you from IR & S, so if you'll lean forward, I'll get your hands." Cam whimpered once, leaning forward.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, February 20, 2003: 07:53 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cincinnati, Imperial recruiting offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Walt McCain slowed to a stop as he saw the line of people snaking around the corner. "Save me a place, Dad," his daughter said, and ran down the line, tassles on her wool cap flying as Walt got in line. "For the Imperial Army, I assume," he said to one fellow.

"Yeah," he agreed. "You saw the news? Army troops captured that ship and flew it off, but Paris is just a smoking hole in the ground, man." He wrapped his bare hands around a paper cup of coffee, adding, "Estimated eight million dead, man. Paris is just a big fuckin' hole in the ground, sixty miles 'cross an' a couple thousand feet deep. I may not like the French all that much, but we're not gonna take that lying down." He showed his teeth, "This is war to the knife, man. You served?"

"Yep, got my DD-214**(1)** here, and my daughter's paperwork as well," Walt replied, tapping the folders inside his jacket. "She insisted on signing up, and I'm worried about her, but …"

"You're her dad, man. Only natural. Me, I can use some of that medical, hell, I don't care if I'm cannon fodder, man. Sure as hell beats unemployment an' livin' on the street."

"Yeah," Walt agreed. "Y'know, Miss Wayne on a couple interviews mentioned the orbitals, and she sure as hell had a point."

"High ground, man. Learned that in the 'Nam, man. Least she's got some good advice, good generals. I just hope they take me, busted up ol' Vietnam Vet."

"I wouldn't worry, they've got people from World War Two, that lady general you see was a grunt in the German army in Market Garden. I don't think they've got any World War One vets, they've pretty much all died out. Me, I did most of my time in Europe. I'm sweating the runs."

"You said that, Dad," Brenda said as she re-appeared, holding three cups of coffee. She offered one to the Vietnam Vet, "Here. Warm up, you look like you could use it."

Surprised, he said, "Thank you kindly, miss. 'Preciate that."

"Gotta keep an eye out for our vets, because I'll be one too," she said with a grin. "You look like you've, what's the term, 'seen the elephant'?"

"That I have, miss, that I have. Place called Vietnam." He gave her an eye, "My advice, young lady, is go home and finish school."

"Nope. This is my fight just as much as it is yours," she replied. "If anything, it's more. They want to put a collar on my throat and a computer in my brain, and force me to say crap like, 'Yes, my master. May this slave wipe your ass, my master?' Nope, it ain't gonna happen."

"Got a point," an older man said, turning around. "You listen up, missy. I wish someone had told me this before I was drafted for Korea. You pay attention to your sergeants. I'm not saying kiss up to them, but pay attention to them, not to any horsing around. Their job in Basic is to convert you from a civilian to a soldier. That involves physical conditioning, but it also involves converting you up here," and he reached to tap her forehead. "You need to know, know instinctively, that your buddies are there for you, and you're there for them. If you're hit, or killed, they're not going to leave you, and you're not leaving them. Like he said, Wayne's taken some good advice, she knows how to listen and learn."

The Vietnam vet said, "I wasn't too happy when she was wearing the Army uniform. She hadn't earned it. Good thing someone told her that. Yeah, she's young, we're all young once, but she's been thrown into the fire with this along with us, and I'm damn glad she's listening and learning."

"She'll make mistakes," the Korean vet agreed. "Nature of things. I was surprised she put together that attack on that barrage ship so quickly. Means she's got a good planning staff."

"Germans have always been good, flexible thinkers," Walt said. "Remember … no, you would have been too young, Brenda. Grafenwhor. Big frickin' armor base right on the Fulda Gap. I wonder how much of Corfu is going to be left to the civilians when the Empire ramps up for war."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, February 20, 2003: 12:05 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Julie entered the Great Hall, joining Tomas for lunch. People had segregated into three groups, the ones watching the large TV's, which were all set to news, the people reading newspapers, and the people studying and carrying on. As such, the tables had been somewhat re-arranged, with the news junkies farthest from the door, and the 'normal' people closest, where the Slytherin table normally was.

"Oh, my God," the Headmistress said as she crossed, catching her first sight of the enormous (still smoking) hole where Paris had been. As the helicopter flew along, zooming in, they could see a stream of water from a broken main pouring into the hole, and a bulldozer pushed the remains of a partially-collapsed building into the hole.

"Mattie can now say, 'I told you so,' although I don't think she will. I wonder how recruitment is going," Julie commented.

"Up, I should think," Minerva replied. "Several of our sixth and seventh years have flown into Inverness to sign up." She watched the helicopter's camera as it slowly flew along the edges of the hole.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, February 20, 2003: 12:31 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, _Seren the Wise_, Command deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"How do we get her back?" the Princess asked her Captain, who shook his head. "I do not know, my Princess. She could be anywhere in the system, or for that matter, outside of it." He regarded her, "You may attempt to bargain for her. The Terrans did give you a frequency to use."

The Princess closed her eyes in pain. "My sister's daughter, and I have lost her. If for no other reason than to keep her unharmed, I will call them. Make the arrangements, I wish to see her with my own eyes."

"Yes, my Princess."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, February 20, 2003: 13:45 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

("That's got it,") Selina said in Trade as she removed the collar from the girl's neck. She set it next to the removed gag, then patted the girl's shoulder. ("We need to get you some proper clothing. Lois and I will take care of that, while Sister Peter gives you a physical, a medical check.")

("Thank you, mistress,") the girl said, rolling her shoulders in the thin surgical scrubs she wore.

("Don't think anything of it,") Lois said. ("We both have daughters, what's one more?") she asked with a smile. She gently turned the girl to face the imposing nun, ("Go with Sister Peter.")

("Come, my child,") the nun said with a warm smile, aware of how her grey and white outfit could be intimidating, and took her hand as they walked to the improvised medical bay. Selina watched them, then turned to Lieutenant Piast, tapping her jaw to switch her implant to Russian. ("Now, Lieutenant, we need a shopping mall or three to equip my newest daughter with proper clothing.")

The Lieutenant bowed, ("Of course, Frau Wayne, Frau Lane. Let me arrange proper escort.")

Lois raised a finger, ("I want to see what the mood is, Lieutenant. Please make it a light one.")

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, February 21, 2003: 09:04 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The large main screen cleared, and Mattie looked up at it. The Princess looked back, "Hello? Can you hear me?" she asked in Trade.

"I can hear you, how am I?" Mattie replied, also in Trade, and the Princess nodded. "You're coming through well. I presume you are the Tsaritsa?"

"And you are the Princess of the High Republic of Sodolokve?" The Princess nodded and started to speak, but Mattie held up a finger. "First, this is recorded, second, this is an official communication between governments." The Princess nodded again, and Mattie continued, "You have received recordings of some of your landing party being scalped? I would like to say, officially and for the record, those actions were unauthorized, and the personnel responsible have been disciplined. The Empire does not torture, and we offer our apologies to the Republic; your personnel, and their families."

The Princess was shocked, and sat back in her chair. She blinked, then said, "You do not torture? How do you interrogate captives and slaves?"

"First, we consider torture immoral and unethical. Second, it does not produce reliable results. The victim will say what is necessary to stop the torture, even if it is not accurate." She smiled briefly, "That is, after all, the purpose of questioning, to gain accurate information. Third, as you may have been told, slaves are a class-two prohibited category in this system. We have other methods which we find more reliable. We are an Empire built on law, not who has the most power at the moment."

The Princess snorted in disbelief. "Built on law? You are a fool, barbarian. There is only power, and the will to use it."

"We may be barbarians, but we're whupping your skinny butt," Mattie replied. "The Army wants to know when you're going to come back down." She grinned, showing her teeth, "You're hiding in orbit, you cowards. Come out and play; our people want to … discuss … the damage you've done and the people you've killed. Our knives are long and sharp, as you've found out."

The Princess waved this off, "It is inevitable that you shall submit to the Republic. We have a dozen developed systems, you do not." She smiled, "I will leave you uncollared and ruling this system in the Republic's name."

"No deal," Mattie said coldly. "You have a dozen systems; we have colonies on seventy planets." The Princess' eyes narrowed in anger, and she snapped, "You lie, animal!"

Mattie ignored the interruption, "Tell me why we should we give those colonies to you? How long has it taken you to build your systems up? We've established those colonies within the last five years. When is the last time the Republic invented anything?"

She took a breath, "No, I reject your offer to rule as your proxy. In addition, what you've done is murdered over eight million of my people, and you've changed your fleet from a minor, buzzing irritant of an insect to a small mammal that needs to be killed." She cleared her throat, taking a sip of water. "I will give you two planetary days to surrender your personnel and your fleet. If you do not, we will not stop with collaring you, we will destroy all life on the planets of the Republic."

"You cannot! We are _civilized_!" the Princess screamed in rage.

"So you have said. You have also called us barbarians and animals. I have given you two days to decide if the Republic dies. This communication is over."

"Wait!" The Princess held up a hand. "How … how would you …"

Mattie shrugged, "Kill a planet? We have multiple ways." She gestured, and the screen went dark.

"I do _not_ want to play poker with you," the comm officer said. Mattie grinned faintly, and he asked, "Out of morbid curiosity, how would you …"

"That's one of the reasons I wanted the _Cannae_ taken," she replied. "It's simple, you put enough dust in a planet's stratosphere to raise the albedo, sunlight is reflected, the planet glaciates, and it is covered with ice. Everything dies and is covered with kilometers of ice, although that would take a century or more."

* * *

"Well, THAT went well," the Princess said angrily. She looked at her Captain, "The repairs?"

He swallowed nervously. She was always delicate to handle when she was angry. "We have brought five frigates back to operational status, but only by sacrificing the others. Normally, they would rate time in a proper shipyard, but I doubt the Terrans will permit our use of theirs." He checked a datapadd, keeping a wary eye on the fuming Princess. At least she wasn't throwing anything… "We have a total of forty-three remaining shuttles. By removing shielding from the non-functional frigates and their lighter lasers, we have armed and armored twenty-five of them, but they were not designed as escort craft. We do not know how well they will function."

The Princess nodded. "We need an on-planet base. I have considered this, someplace small enough to fortify, with good temperatures and places where we can start to collect the local slaves as well as their foods." She keyed her datapadd, "Here, this island."

The Captain nodded, examining the data. "I shall start immediate planning, my Princess. Is there any particular city you are concerned with?"

"Yes, I believe this would be best, this place on the northern coast known as Pal-er-mo."

* * *

"So did you get our little electronic spy planted?" Mattie asked the cracker.

"The rootkit virus?" he replied. "Of course. It will wait three hours, then copy itself to every one of their fleet." He took a swallow of coffee, "They use a variant of TCP/IP on their ships, and there's a lot of datasharing between ships. Having actual enemy ships to study is useful, the first thing they will encrypt and send to our commo satellites is the root-level command codes, so we can take control of their ships. After that, plans and information."

"And if they detect it and return the favor on my next chat with the Princess?"

"The virus is only a few hundred bytes," he replied. "As far as us, this network is physically isolated," he replied. "Also, their computer tech level is roughly 1950's, no GUI's, all text based. We'll keep an eye out, but I'm not too concerned. 1950's tech versus 2003, and different operating systems? They'd have to open a radio link and figure out a user and password, and we've got honeytraps set up on those systems. They'll think they're in, but they're not." He took a sip of coffee, "Miss Wayne, I'd like to know how you knew about me."

"I was referred to you by Oracle," she replied.

He goggled, "Oracle? From the JLA?"

"Yes, he referred me to you." Barbara had been explicit - Oracle was a _guy_. "He's attacking the Guardian's communication network. We want to know where our Lanterns and Superman are. They were last seen heading to Oa, but he has to be really, really careful. The Guardians are powerful enough to turn off the Sun with a finger snap."

"Yeah, that would be Bad," he agreed. He shook his head, "I remember that. Anyway, in three hours, we will have the ability to control their ships remotely. War is hell…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, February 21, 2003: 11:44 (GMT)  
Deimos, Fighter evaluation committee:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Thank you," the chairman told Karl-Heinz, the representative from Focke-Wulf. "You have the evaluation of the combat performance of your units against the enemy?"

"Ja," he replied.

"Then we shall resume at 14:00 with the Israeli entry and then at 16:00 the Japanese entry. Tomorrow we go to Lockheed and Rolls-Royce and then we finish up the fighter evaluations with the two Russian entries. On Monday we shall start with secondary vessels, AWACS and SAR, as well as attack and assault boats and the ship-to-ship pinnaces. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen; the board will retire to private session."

As the various people broke for lunch, gathering materials, 'Sam' Malone, the Boeing representative came up, "Karl-Heinz, I'd like to discuss a bit of business. Can I buy you lunch?"

"Regarding the _Hawk_-class fighters?" Karl-Heinz replied.

"The ground-to-space class?" Sam asked. "Yes, of course, we're still competitive there. I'm confident, because there are totally different requirements. It's basically a single-stage-to-orbit vehicle, which we've been working on for a while." Sam adjusted her purse, "So, lunch?"

"Certainly, if I can reciprocate with dinner."

"Ah, European savoir-faire," Sam replied with a smile as she took his elbow.

* * *

Deimos had a limited number of restaurants, and the Michelin guide hadn't made it out to Mars yet. Still, the local entrepreneurs worked hard to give a good experience. Karl-Heinz held Sam's chair for her, and the waiter appeared. Drinks were ordered, and business was resumed. Sam held her glass of wine, "The _Falcon_ class FTL fighters," she started. "I think you've got that one, Karl-Heinz. That class needs much more range, and the evaluation board liked the escape pod integrated with the cockpit."

"It makes sense," he agreed. "The Cubans are willing to work with us regarding their anti-grav tech, while the US still generates bad feelings there." He took a sip of his whiskey, "We can contract with local builders to build the space-frame, just exporting the personnel pod with the major electronics."

"The twenty-five AU range doesn't hurt, either, and I understand it's already designed for catapult launch, EMALS**(2)** capability," she agreed. "If we can agree on some commonality of parts, I think we can do good business with our suppliers as well as reducing the logistics overhead."

"Of course," he agreed. "On other things, Fiat and Ford seem to have the work-pod contract locked up, as they are already producing the things."

"As well as suit-pods for hostile environments like the Moon and Titan," she agreed. "Good contracts in themselves, and Fiat has that underwater base contract for … what is that planet…"

"Metis?" Karl-Heinz put in. He nodded, then sat back as the waiter returned with their salads. Fresh-grown Martian vegetables tasted better than frozen and shipped Terran, and they both paid proper attention to their food. After a minute, the waiter returned with the soup course (chicken vegetable).

"The question," Sam put in, "Is how quickly we can gear up to full production. I don't want to be a jingoist, wave-the-flag type, but it's a bottleneck for the fleet right now."

"I would think that Boeing, being a much larger company, would have more inertia," he offered.

"True, but Wayne, or someone, made a smart decision in specifying a fixed price structure," and Karl-Heinz nodded in agreement. "That means a lot of off-the-shelf parts," she continued. "We're also spending our own money in working out production issues and multiple-sourcing components. That's why I wanted to discuss commonality of sourcing, possibly do an independent company that would buy and we would therefore buy from."

"We would need to have a central logistics point, as well as buy-in from the other contract winners," Karl-Heinz agreed. "I would suggest Hamburg for the first. It is already a main source of supply for the Empire, we could simply move parts from one warehouse to another."

"However, logistics companies being how they are, to move from one side of the street to another, they would have to first move through Rome," and Karl-Heinz snorted in agreement. Sam continued, "Just my preliminary read on their static displays, Mercedes has the various small-craft locked up, and the Israelis are our only competitors for the AWACS."

"I think they have the AWACS," Karl-Heinz offered. "Not that Boeing will not contest for it, of course, but their entry is much smaller than yours, with longer range. Their base model is a Gulfstream, yours a 737 with a radome. We must also consider storage and maintenance volume, as a fleet carrier would be deploying six to eight in a star system, with one or two on hot standby while others will be in routine maintenance. That means a dozen of them per carrier." He sipped his wine, "Were I on the evaluation panel, that would be a considerable factor."

"True," she admitted. "While we'd all like a clean sweep, it's unlikely for any of us."

He gestured with his wine glass in agreement. "Small craft, such as assault boats and pinnaces are more of a toss-up. We shall see, however any one of these contracts is worth billions of Euros. What I wanted to discuss were your impressions for the various remotes and drones…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, February 21, 2003: 13:20 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Yesss!" the cracker said in triumph, pumping his fist in the air. He looked up, "Miss Wayne? We have control of their fleet," he called.

"Excellent," she replied, crossing over to him. "I believe you, but how do you know?"

"I programmed in a very minor fleet course change, sent it to their command ship, then reversed it a few minutes later," he explained. A nearby printer rattled, and he offered a printout to her. "My new command codes and root-level settings versus the older ones for their command ship, _Seren the Wise_," he said. "Total control, and I've changed the Princess' security level, as well as the ship's Captain. They are locked in orbit until I say differently."

"Very good," General von Hesse said. "Can you blow them up in orbit?"

The cracker waggled his hand, "Fuel doesn't explode easily, but I can turn off their power and life support and de-orbit them."

Mattie raised a finger, "I'd rather keep them alive, but on our invisible puppet strings. I think we can assume the Princess will not surrender her fleet, which means we'll be at war with the Republic. At some point they will either send a courier, or she'll get a ship repaired enough to use as a mail boat. That means reinforcements, and I've got a plan to con them out of those ships and troops. If we can do that a few times, that means we can bleed the Republic's military to make them less of a challenge when we do a properly planned invasion."

"Interesting," Maria Putina commented. "I have been speaking with our guest, who has been very forthcoming about the political structure of the Republic. It may be possible to perform an 'island hopping' campaign, similar to what the Americans did against the Japanese in the Great Patriotic War. The planets of the Republic are spread out over a vast distance, similar to the Marshall Islands and the Philippines. However, they are very lightly garrisoned, it seems. A quick coup of the leadership, together with a Terran fleet presence in the system, should be sufficient."

"Hmm," General von Hesse mused, rubbing her chin. "I want to get some naval staff involved, but this sounds interesting." She turned to the cracker, "Let us know what else the enemy is planning. For now, leave them alone, but monitor them." He gave a casual salute and walked off, and the General appropriated the printout, studying it. "Let us use a conference room and work out these options in greater detail."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, February 21, 2003: 17:51 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

In her top-floor office that the Empire was renting, Mattie frowned at her textbook. One problem with having her mom here was that she had to take classes from private tutors, and transfiguration was, as always, giving her a headache. Cindy, her house-elf, had been popping back and forth between Warsaw and Hogwarts, but the Polish tutors had different approaches. Still, she and Connie had textbooks and homework and classes scheduled…

Crystal knocked on her door frame, "Got a minute for your mum?"

"Oh, yeah," she agreed, bookmarking her text. She stood as her mom came through the door, accompanied by an elegant leopard. "You must be Matt," she said, as Maria and Connie came in as well.

The leopard sat, nodded to her, then said, "Hello, Ms. Wayne, or should I say, Tsaritsa?" Behind him, both Connie and Maria were startled to hear him speak, and he offered his right paw to them. "Ladies."

"Matt Hagen, Hollywood actor and shape shifter, this is Maria Putina, the daughter of Russian President Vladimir Putin, and my housemate at school, Connie Koslowski."

"Pleased to meet you, ladies," Matt-the-leopard said politely, shaking paws with them. He looked at Mattie, "Ms. Wayne, I believe you had a proposal for me?"

"I did," she replied, motioning for them to take seats at the small table in the office. She picked up a thick expanding folder and untied the string. "Mr. Hagen unfortunately has some legal problems which I believe we can help him with. In turn, Mr. Hagen can help us with our unwelcome houseguests." She smoothed her skirt and sat, "Mr. Hagen, I have a proposal for you. We are in need of an experienced professional to produce various documentaries, both for those houseguests and for information about the various worlds in the Empire." Tenting her fingers, she asked, "Mr. Hagen, I am aware of your fully justified anger toward Roland Daggett. The question I have is if you can put aside your professed desire to kill him in order for me to present you with this new position."

The leopard leaped on the tabletop, staring her down. Green eyes met, Matt snarling, and Mattie looking back unafraid. The standoff continued for a few minutes, until the leopard looked away, his tail sinking. "Explain," he snarled.

"It's very simple," she replied. "Right now, Mr. Daggett is in a jail cell in Great Britain, charged with various counts of fraud, unlicensed manufacturing of pharmaceuticals, and so forth. You can, I am sure, find his location, slip into the prison, and kill him. While that would provide some emotional satisfaction …"

"Yes, it would," the leopard snarled.

" … It would be a less-than-desirable outcome for you. It would …"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Matt-the-leopard said, leaping to the floor and pacing. "He's dead, I've killed the son-of-a-bitch. How is that less than desirable? He's the one that made me like this!"

"Yes, he did, and you've killed him. Now you have to get out of the prison, and no matter how careful you are to remove traces, there will be some, and you will be in a hurry. Don't forget, you're now up against Scotland Yard, and they've earned their reputation." She sat back and tented her fingers. "Mr. Hagen, I am, reluctantly, a head-of-state. That means when I call someone, they have a tendency to take my call. I also have a good relationship with Queen Elizabeth and the Royal Family, which means they will generally listen to what I say. Now, if I were to present an honest but sympathetic account of your life, together with a need for your special abilities …"

"You …" he started, and then regarded her, grass-green eyes intent. After a few minutes, he continued, "He's in prison, on drug charges …"

"And I may say, Mr. Hagen, as a British copper, we don't look kindly on those chaps," Crystal said from the doorway. "We are not forced to segregate them like paedophiles and rapists, but they are not looked on kindly by the average footpad or thief. I have reviewed your history from Gotham, Mr. Hagen, and you generally stole to survive, which is certainly understandable. To a point, at least."

Matt-the-leopard regarded her in turn, "You want my testimony," he asked.

"To those and other crimes you have committed," she said. "In return, you would be released on license, what you Yanks call parole, where you would need to keep your nose clean." His long pink tongue swept out and across his muzzle, and he looked back at Mattie. "Continue."

"You have a long experience in Hollywood, Mr. Hagen. We have an ongoing need for production of documentary films on the seventy-some planets of the Empire, some of which will find their way to our houseguests. In addition, we will need a modern weekly recap of news from across the Empire, a resumption of the newsreels, as our interstellar communications network does not have the bandwidth to allow streaming video. Therefore, our mail boats will go out with DVD's of newsreels and documentaries." She leaned back, "Mr. Hagen, we are looking into a higher level of production values, PBS and the BBC, not B or C movies, talk shows and _Entertainment Tonight_. Good, factual news, like you'd see with GNN or the BBC. We want it favorably slanted, but we do not want to ignore the ruts in the road. That's part one of IMI's remit."

"IMI?"

"Imperial Ministry of Information, with its head, Matthew Hagen. However, you do not get a blank check, either. Part two of my contract with you looks at you, Mr. Hagen, and how you yourself can help with our uninvited houseguests. Tell me, I know you can separate into multiple people. How many and can they do separate, realistic dialog?"

Matt-the-leopard regarded her, and then split into his original body, a duplicate of Mattie, and another of her mother Selina. "Yes, they can, as long as it's not simultaneous," Matt/Selina replied. "… or overly complex," Matt/Mattie added. "I can do up to ten extras in a scene," Matt/leopard put in. "What are you thinking?"

"Eventually, our houseguests will be in touch with the Republic, and will therefore get resupplied and reinforced," Mattie said. "What we're planning is intercepting that fleet and capturing it, redirecting it elsewhere in the system. If we can do this a few times, we can suck a hefty percentage of their military forces out, which will make things much easier for when we attack the Republic."

"Risky," Matt-the-leopard observed. "A high payoff if you can stack the deck, though."

"True, and since you can't be harmed by their weapons, or for that matter, even need to breathe, the question becomes do your abilities still work in the outer sections of the Solar System?"

"I … I'm not sure," Matt-the-leopard replied. "We can test that. Is there a third clause to this contract?"

"The Republicans have a number of myths and fables, as we do. They are also planning on an assault landing near Palermo to have an on-planet base. I was thinking about leaving them to the tender mercies of the local Mafia …" Matt chuckled evilly, and then said, "Sorry, please continue."

"Yes … one of their myths is their equivalent to the Grim Reaper. What I was thinking was you ride into their camp; decapitate one or two of their troops …"

"Hopefully ones that are abusing slaves," Connie put in.

"That would be good," Matt said approvingly. "They shoot at me, it has no effect, and I ride off into the mist. That should give them the willies, all right." He paced over to a chair, and then flowed into it, assuming his male, human form. "It sounds interesting, all right, and I can do something for my planet, yada, yada. Couple of problems, though. I'm no longer a member of the unions."

"My personal attorney made a couple of phone calls, Mr. Hagen," and Mattie dug through her file folder, tossing him a couple cards. "Sign 'em, you're reinstated. Paid through the end of next year." She slid her fountain pen over to him.

"Nice," he said as he picked it up. "Offices, salaries, staffing, that kind of thing."

"Outside London and union scale to start. I have no problem with unions, but I do with featherbedding." She smiled, showing her teeth, "You're working for the Empire now, Mr. Hagen."

"Ouch. Second units on various planets, shooting background, edits, that kind of thing."

"I'll have to trust you, Mr. Hagen. If it can fit into a shipping container, I'm good. However, I do not want to have to recreate a full Hollywood back lot, either. As for getting there, I have units that will be doing a 'show the flag' tour because of our houseguests, we can drop some shuttles and shoot footage. Get me your requirements."

He nodded, and then paused, thinking. Shaking his head, he asked, "Let me see your contract."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, February 22, 2003: 07:44 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Cup of steaming coffee in hand, Mattie wandered into the operations center, where she was greeted by various people's waves and 'Good Morning' calls. She stopped at the IT desk, talking to the thin, pockmarked girl on duty to monitor the enemy fleet (and to discuss their respective guys), then moved on. She corrected course to go to the security desk at his wave.

"Good morning, sergeant. What can I do for you?"

"We have a request for access for this person, who says they know you, ma'am," he replied, pulling up a file. "She's Army, a corporal, and…"

"Oh, yeah, Elena's one of my sisters-in-law. She's on a four-day pass? Oh, yeah, let her in, I could use some family time. Matter of fact, I was thinking of some retail therapy today."

"My daughter uses the same phrase," he said, making notes.

"Okay, but I want to meet 'n' greet, look in people's eyes, see how they're doing with all this." The sergeant turned, nodding, "Ma'am."

"You weren't trying to escape my clutches, were you?" Crystal asked.

"You were in the shower, so I thought I was safe enough to ride down the elevator by myself," Mattie replied. "Don't give up your day job for a singing career," she advised with a grin.

Crystal sighed theatrically, "My hopes dashed. So, sergeant, ten o'clock good for your side? Lots of plainclothes coppers?"

"I'd prefer Army troops myself, ma'am. I don't know if the local police can provide that many with short notice."

"As long as there are some girls," Mattie put in. "I'm sure there's a lingerie shop or two, and we need to get my new sister properly outfitted with some fashionable clothing, instead of what my mom and Aunt Lois got her."

"She's sounding more and more like my daughter," the sergeant lamented.

* * *

Elena Morton stepped out of the elevator, new pass dangling from a lanyard on her chest, and waited while the Polish Army security desk checked it (like they had at the bottom of the elevator). She moved on, greeting Crystal, who walked with her, and then …

"Elena!"

Snapping to attention, she saluted, and with a playful grin, Mattie returned it. They hugged, and Mattie took the older girl's arm, "This is where they've got me holed up. Between private tutors and alien invasion, I am SO in need of some retail therapy. Care to join me?"

"Sounds like a winner, but I do have a couple bits of business before I can put Corporal Morton aside and be Elena again." Mattie nodded, "First, status of Arthur?"

"Still in the stasis tube. We've got three or four supercomputers grinding away on that poison, including one in Superman's Fortress. However, he's unavailable, so I don't know what the status is on that. We were planning on going out to the moon to get a blood sample, but then our uninvited guests showed up. (She waved her hand at the ceiling.) Remember, he doesn't age, time doesn't pass in one of those tubes, so for him, it's still December sixteenth."

"Instead of two, almost three months later," Elena acknowledged. "Second point, the ammo we're issued purely sucks. These Europeans think the 9mm and 5.56 will do the job, I'm telling you it ain't. We're assault troops, we need something in the 10mm range at least. Thank god I had my blade with me, I watched my rounds bounce off my target, and that was light, shipboard armor."

"Even the armor piercing rounds?"

"Even them," Elena nodded. "Now, the Republicans weren't issued anything like we were, half-millimeter needlers, but they were escorting naked, bound, Enhanced slaves around. For us, it's less about weight of the ammo, and more about punch." She shifted on the couch, "We need to play up the sword-swinging barbarian more, I think. I held a knife to the Captain's throat and he pissed himself in terror; and that sword produces some really graphic wounds. I walked him by one of his crew (she gestured), the same guy that my rounds bounced off, his throat and the left side of his head were just sliced open, big puddle of blood, and the Captain stopped and puked his guts out."

Mattie considered this. "Okay. I'm supposed to be concentrating on the strategic side, the Big Picture, but it's good to get the grunt's eye view. Casualties?"

"One guy with a minor wound, nothing much."

"If we had to board their current fleet?"

"I don't have details of them, but generally, we've been good with hitting them hard, fast, and from multiple points. Some of their crew fight, but that's only one or two out of ten. These guys haven't had to be in a real fight their entire lives, they joined up for the cushy job and pretty uniform. They aren't combat troops, or Marines, and while they're trained to operate their ships, that's primarily doing paperwork and 'supervising' (she finger-quoted) the slaves. They're the ones who actually turn wrenches and get dirty."

"So, with proper repairs, we could use their fleet?"

"Meh," Elena replied, waggling her hand. "Keep the slaves, don't keep them bound, but, and this is a big one, they know, as in their very soul know, they are slave animals, they're bred slaves, and while they'll appreciate the better treatment, they are slaves, like unknown generations before them. If you freed them, they'd be lost, they'll cry and beg to be owned again. That mindset is too permanent. There is no way the bred slaves can be used as any sort of troops. Rule that out. You'd have better luck with captured slaves, who remember being free persons."

"There are some bred girls that resent it, that hate their collars."

"True, but they are way the exception to the rule. One percent, at most. Half a percent, a quarter. The bred girl, their psychological security is their collar. You want to use the trained girls, that's fine, but as trained slaves in what they're trained FOR. Ship's crew or whatever. Give them a knife, as a weapon, they'll cringe back and cry, but if it's a _tool_, they'll be wary of a trick of some sort, but accept it for cutting food or whatever. That's why they don't argue with Enhancement, it makes them better slaves, more valuable slaves, which means better treatment from their owners. They won't simply accept better treatment, they have to _earn_ it somehow in their own mind. Being Enhanced isn't a violation of their body, it's part of earning that better treatment, being a better slave."

"Wonderful. I knew this, but …"

"You wanted confirmation of some sort. You want a military use of these bred, Enhanced slaves? Some sort of logistics or service duty, or a non-combat post, like a pinnace pilot. You ain't gonna get them behind the stick of a fighter, or as Infantry, they'd purely suck. They're not aggressive at all." Elena shifted on Mattie's couch. "Give them the option for combat troops, and I'll put money on one in four or five hundred bred slaves will take it. The rest? Logistics, construction, that kind of thing. A non-combat assignment. With captured girls, yeah, they want revenge, but even then they'll be hesitant, they've been conditioned since their capture. They'll have to be 'bad slaves' to reverse that conditioning. Virtual Reality training on a holodeck, so they can tell themselves that they're in a simulation, game play, and they're not _really_ gutting a master with a sword. I think the captured girls that are Enhanced would be better as a back-seater or co-pilot on fighters or assault boats, if you can tie in their Enhancement to the boat's electronics through their suit."

"Probably a way," Mattie said. "I want you to go over this with General von Hesse before your leave is up," and she slapped her chair arm. "Anything else for the moment? Got a warm coat?"

"Yeah, down at the security station, with my sidearm and boot knives."

* * *

"I am actually glad that you came along, Frau Lane," General von Hesse remarked to Lois as they trailed behind the girls in the mall. "I need to get something for my grand-daughter's birthday, and while I am now with a young, female body, my mind is that of a man born in 1920."

"In other words, you haven't a clue."

"Ja," she replied. "That is why I wear a uniform, I do not have casual, civilian clothing. I was thinking of getting her a gift card, but even then…"

"The uniform does look good on you," Lois commented. "Over there. That looks like things you could wear," and she took the General's elbow, steering her into the shop.

* * *

"Dunno," Elena judged in the lingerie shop as Princess A'ya, the former political pawn, stood and held the rather sheer bra before her.

"She's not ready to catch a guy, yet," Connie judged. "Something more basic, let's get her adjusted to life on the planet first."

"She's not from here?" the salesgirl asked.

"No, political hostage of our unwelcome visitors," Elena replied. "She was kept naked, collared and gagged on the bridge of one of their ships when we boarded it."

"That explains the tan lines on her throat and jaw," the salesgirl said. "She's not one of the enemy?"

"No, political chess-piece is more accurate," Mattie put in.

"That's okay, then," and the salesgirl's attitude changed. "Honey, we'll get you all set up. Before, I was ready to slit your throat over what happened to Paris…"

She vanished into the depths of the store, and Princess A'ya turned to Mattie, "There is anger over that?"

"It's not just anger. It's rage. We may have our differences among ourselves, but when something like that happens, we come together."

"Be glad you aren't the leader of those … people," the salesgirl said, returning. "If they touched down anywhere on this planet, we'd tear them apart with our bare hands."

"I gave their Princess B'tan two days to surrender her fleet when I talked to her yesterday morning," Mattie said. The salesgirl seemed to be fairly representative of popular opinion, and she had received reports on that from Spade, her PR guy. However, his efforts were primarily in North America, she wanted to see how Central Europe felt, so she let the small bit of data leak.

"She doesn't seem like the surrendering type," the salesgirl commented. "See what you think about these, honey. It's a bra-and-panty combination deal in your sizes. The panties are nice and tight for that time of the month."

"We don't think she'll menstruate," Mattie commented. "Born off-world."

"Lucky you," the salesgirl commented. "Changing room's over there." She turned to Mattie as Connie left with A'ya, "Now then, Tsaritsa. Are you still in mourning, or are you resuming the hunt?"

* * *

Sister Peter waited outside the shop, her long grey habit letting her stand out in the crowd of weekend shoppers. Along with her waited most of the male troops, while the female troops formed a loose ring around the Tsaritsa and her party inside the shop. She had already answered several questions from shoppers about events, although there wasn't much else she could tell them from the news.

She turned as the girls exited the shop, shopping bags in hand. "Girls," she said with a small smile. "Ready for the next shop?" Beside her, one of the men groaned.

* * *

Angela Morovski was pleased with sales at her signing event. The (unauthorized) biography of the little bitch, Wayne, were just flying off the shelves, and she was expecting a nice check from the publisher. The bookstore's assistant manager came up to her, breathless with excitement, and said, "She's here! In the mall! The Tsaritsa herself!"

A cold wave washed over Angela. "You're joking, right? She's still in London, going to school…"

"No, no, one of my girls saw her in the lingerie shop. That means she must be hunting for a new guy, since she burned down New York. I sent her back with copies of the book to invite the Tsaritsa here, to join us at the signing!" The assistant manager was ecstatic, "Our sales will go through the roof!"

Her publisher had encouraged the slanted bio, but she wasn't here. Angela was, and Wayne had armies of lawyers … "I think the day's been good, but I've got places to go…"

"Oh, no! You can't leave yet! What a fantastic opportunity this is!" She picked up the pen Angela had dropped and handed it back to her, turning to the customer. "What's your name?"

"I'm going to wait until the Tsaritsa arrives, so I can get her autograph!" the middle-aged woman replied. "This is so exciting! When will she be here?"

"A few minutes, I hope," the assistant manager replied. "Oh, I can't wait!"

* * *

"Well, let's see what's in this book," Mattie said, turning to the index. "Hmm… no mention of that …"

"How can she say that about Arthur …" Elena growled, while Connie looked at the Hogwarts section and growled in her turn, and Lois snorted, "She calls this a book? What are her sources? What kind of research did she do?"

"So what do you think?" the bookstore's salesgirl said brightly. "I haven't had a chance to read it yet!"

"Don't," Lois replied. "This isn't a book, it's a hatchet job. It's not journalism by any stretch of the imagination, and it's very poorly researched. Where is this bookstore?"

* * *

"She's here! The Tsaritsa is here!" the bookstore's assistant manager squealed. At the front of her store, Ms. Wayne herself was shaking hands, smiling, and kibitzing with shoppers, answering questions, her copy of the book in her arm. She frowned; Ms. Wayne wasn't signing the books' fronts piece for some reason. She moved forward, giving a small curtsey, "Ms. Wayne, Tsaritsa, welcome to my store!"

"Why thank you," the Tsaritsa replied courteously. "I don't want to block your store, but my friends and I weren't aware of this new volume. Imagine our surprise, and when I look in the index…" she smiled. "I understand the author, Ms. Morovski is here?"

"You weren't aware …" the assistant manager said weakly. "I thought this was all pre-arranged…"

"Apparently not," the Tsaritsa said with a smile. She added, "I'm sure my lawyers will have it all sorted out quickly." A cold trickle of fear ran down the assistant manager's spine at the word 'lawyer', and she suddenly remembered her boss' enjoyment of the tabloids, and her 'dental appointment' today. Ms. Wayne continued, "For the moment, let's see Ms. Morovski, shall we?"

* * *

"Angela isn't it?" and she looked up into the cold, unsmiling face of the Tsaritsa herself. Oh, the tone of her voice was pleasant enough, and the middle-aged woman standing in line sucked in her breath.

"You don't like my book?" Angela managed to get out.

"Well, you could use the pages to wrap fish," Ms. Wayne replied. "Poorly researched, poorly written, and biased. If you want something well written and good to read, you could pick up a copy of Kent's book on the Luthor presidency. That was on the bestseller list for over a year, and it destroyed Luthor's presidency, or for that matter, any one of Lois Lane's books, like the Superman biography. I might mention that not only does she have multiple Pulitzer prizes, she's here with me."

"Lois … Lois Lane is here?" Angela stammered, and the middle-aged woman squealed, dropping her copy of Angela's book and saying, "I'll be right back! Where are they?"

"I'll show you, ma'am," the salesgirl said, and murmurs went back in line '_Lois Lane … Lane's here … Superman bio … where is … Wayne's here, she endorsed Lane's books …_' The assistant manager started to stack the unauthorized books to the side, as other copies of Angela's book were handed up to her, and Lois plucked the Sharpie from Angela's hand. "Let a _real_ journalist show you how it's done, dear …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, February 22, 2003: 14:42 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Corporal," General von Hesse said to Elena, and she braced to attention. "Yes, ma'am!"

"At ease," and Elena relaxed. "I have reviewed your record, and I understand you have discussed your last mission with the Tsaritsa, who said you had a concern about the ammunition."

"Yes, ma'am. It purely sucks, it doesn't have nearly the punch it needs. We're assault troops, trained in close-quarters fighting, so it's punch we need, not necessarily light weight." She grinned, "Ma'am, whoever thought up that sword as a backup weapon had a good idea. The enemy, at least the Republicans I've faced, are nowhere close to combat troops. They wanted a secure paycheck and a pretty uniform, they just piss themselves when they come face to face with us." She grinned again, "Ma'am, they call us barbarians, and when they see blood on a sword, they _know_ we are. Most of them can't surrender fast enough."

"Unfortunately, while it is good for us to have their troops frightened of us, it does not help when we are negotiating…"

"Ma'am," Elena interrupted, then said "Sorry."

The General waved that off. "You were going to say, perhaps, that we should not be negotiating? I believe the phrase would be: '_Kill them all and let God sort them out.'_ Elena nodded, "That is, unfortunately, not possible. We would need a large army of occupation and to maintain a strong naval presence in each of the Republic's twelve systems. We do not have that capability, and we wish to peacefully add the industrial power of the Republic to the Terran Empire. Therefore, we must be subtle about this, replacing the existing oligarchs with our own personnel, or encouraging a change of allegiance in their existing power structure." She regarded the corporal, "You have done well, however this is far above your pay grade. I can only advise the Tsaritsa, who does not wish mass death. It would not be practical, for several reasons. For one, we simply cannot bury a billion bodies."

"I … yes, ma'am."

"Therefore, we must graft a new direction on the existing power structure, while snipping away at the branches that do not go where we wish. A sniper, instead of a nuclear weapon." The General cleared her throat, "This aligns with our long-term strategy. For now, your concerns about the issued ammunition?"

"Yes, ma'am," and Elena cleared her throat. "On the several assaults I've done, the 5-5-6 and the 9 millimeter ammo just bounce off the armor, and that's light, shipboard duty armor. I don't want to think about what their heavy combat armor would be like. We need a lot more punch, a larger caliber and maybe adding in explosive tips to the existing hollow-point and phosphorus rounds. It would also be good to have a single, common caliber for both the pistol and the rifle to minimize logistics, having to carry only one kind of ammo. I was thinking something like an MP-5 in 10mm or .40 short would do…"

* * *

On the stroke of 15:00, Mattie stood, tapping her water glass. "Welcome to this week's briefing," she said calmly. There was a rustle of paper as she looked down to check the agenda. "Let's start out with C-1, Personnel. Colonel?"

The retired (and then rejuvenated) Italian stood, "Frau Tsaritsa, we have a great surge in demand after the Paris Atrocity, with upward of several million world-wide signing up so far..." The buxom black-haired woman continued, and Connie tuned her out for a minute, concentrating on her own notes.

"… not destroy that fleet. It presents a wonderful rallying point for recruitment. However, we may need to institute some form of conscription if we need to occupy the Republic." Connie returned her attention to the meeting.

"Hmm. Thank you, Colonel," Mattie said. "C-2, Intelligence. We have IR & S, Lady Sarah."

"Thank you, milady," the Royal said as she stood. "The Republicans tried to sneak a few shuttles down to Sicily, however they have no stealth kit and were torn apart on the ground. We have local news footage if you wish to send it up to our unwelcome guests." She put a hand to her mouth for a minute, "Excuse me. Please mention to Princess B'tan that these are civilians, not military, and we did try to save their lives. Other than that, most of them died from smoke inhalation, not from being … cooked alive inside their shuttle." She put her hand to her mouth again. "Pardon me. Aside from that, we have a psychological profile of B'tan available."

"That would be useful," Maria said from Mattie's left.

"Indeed. The Princess was raised by her Father after her mother died giving birth to her. She is the youngest of the four children, and the only surviving one, aside from her niece, A'ya, who is our guest. B'tan has always had a strong sense of duty, but it is not blind, she is aware of the Republic's many faults. While others were formally charged with the murders of her sister and two brothers, there is also considerable suspicion about her own role in those, as she gained political power from them." Lady Sarah took a sip of water, "This came from a change in the succession law when her father was Heir, from a distribution to 'Winner takes all'. Our assumed motive of the Council of Lords was to prevent the various Ducal alignments from competing for each other's territory, as had happened previously. At the time, her father was un-married and had no siblings. As the tradition was the Royals could do no wrong, when he had four children after assuming the Republic's throne, it removed any sort of legal hindrance. A Royal could literally shoot someone on live television and get away with it, legally. There would be political costs to that, so that type of thing became contracted out, deniable, and a good way to blame your political opposition with the manufacture of suitable evidence. This is why the Princess B'tan undoubtedly believes she has total immunity for her actions from any type of criminal charge; she is a Royal and we are only barbarians that need to be taught our proper place."

Lady Sarah took a few more swallows of water. "Politics on the Republic's level became a very bloody; take no prisoners competition, as the jockeying for power and influence became intense. Right now, there are two main camps, Princess B'tan and her father, who have something of a détente or standoff. There are also various smaller groups that are agitating for such things as a return to democracy, a federal type of government, and backing various ministers and oligarchs who wish to move more center-stage." She took another sip of water, "The news that Princess B'tan is barren is not currently known, at least as far as our searches of enemy databases have turned up, it has been kept quiet, and part of the price was the political fight for Princess A'ya."

Taking a few more swallows of water, Lady Sarah stood to refill her glass, and then cleared her throat. "The viewpoint of Princess B'tan is somewhat circumscribed. She will see herself with very limited options in our regard. The Republic's General Staff is nominally under her father's control, but she has just become of-age, which means the King would become a target if she does not want to wait. The General Staff is compromised of much older men; they are more academic, as no one currently alive in the Republic has actually fought a war. Their last military action was 512 years ago, with the conquest of Alizon, an abandoned farming colony world. The Alizon technological base was roughly comparable to the early 1800's. Electricity was available in the cities, but not widespread; the population was primarily farmers and miners. They had held on to some technology, but it was locally produced - for instance iron steam engines and locomotives." She drank again, "When our escaping slaver returned, he had apparently tweaked his sensor data, presumably so he could be rewarded by becoming the new viceroy for the Terran system. He was not aided by his Chinese contact, who did not discuss anything modern."

"The General Staff didn't detect these 'tweaks'," Connie asked.

"If they did, they didn't inform Princess B'tan. We have seen the revised sensor data; whoever did it erased any hint of space stations or our ships, as well as the light pollution from cities on the night side of Earth. Going by that, I would have assumed any population hadn't discovered electricity." She continued, "Therefore, for political reasons, the Princess was sent out to conquer one occupied and three unoccupied planets, given 'with your shield or on it' orders, and with very poor intelligence and with enough supplies for a few months. Needless to say, we came as an extreme shock to her."

"I almost feel sorry for her," someone said. "She was set up to fail."

"Precisely," Lady Sarah agreed. "She's boxed in, she knows it, and she's flailing, trying to get the job done as best she can. She does not have a staff that she can trust, she is at best treading water, she has no other options she can see. We are simply not rolling over and dying for her, instead, we are fighting back; she has suffered horrendous losses, but she cannot quit and she cannot surrender, as surrender to barbarians is unthinkable. She cannot manufacture a win or draw because she needs more troops. She does not know we have captured a number of her ships and troops because the only staff she has even partial trust in is the Captain of her flagship. That person, like the other naval staff, rose through the ranks on his political and arse-kissing skills, not because of competence. However, he's the only one she has."

"So … we need to provide her with a way out that will satisfy her political objectives …," Maria said.

"That will allow her to return to the Republic with a win, which will defeat her political opponents," Lady Sarah agreed. "We have also captured the future of the Republic's ruling house, the Princess A'ya, who is the Princess B'tan's blood relation."

"Interesting …" Mattie said. "Do you have a plan to make use of this information regarding Princess B'tan?"

"I had a thought about that," Maria said. "As we've mentioned, we need to draw down the Republic's available fleet and their army personnel. The Princess needs to produce a win for her supporters at home. While we're building up our strength, we offer the Princess a way out. We provide a captured and repaired ship for her to send a message home, she requests reinforcements, which we capture on their arrival. We leave her existing fleet in orbit, which provides motive to recruit our troops. The Princess B'tan is specifically not surrendered, she retains command, we provide any sort of documentation she would need or want to prove that her conquest is proceeding."

"So we're producing a multi-part movie for the Republic's General Staff as evidence that while the Princess got off to a slow start, she's making progress," Connie said. "That helps us, but what's the Princess get out of it?"

"Besides survival, we negotiate a place for her in the new ruling structure of the Republic," Maria said slowly. "That will probably ease the transition of a planet from the Republic to the Empire, only the top leadership would know. We can gradually phase in any social reforms."

"Interesting …" Mattie said again. "Anyone else? Then we go on to C-3, Operations. General von Hesse?"

The General stood, and clicked on the holo display in the center of the table. "Would someone turn down the lights? Danke," she said as Connie got up and clicked switches. "We are in blue, the Empire in green, and the Republic's systems are in red. Strictly speaking, the Republic is twenty-five planets in twelve systems. We therefore propose to implement Frau Putina's leapfrog campaign in three stages. First, stealthy reconnaissance of those twenty-five planets and systems. This involves two phases: We shall have a survey battlecruiser silently insert itself in the outer system to confirm the astrography and determine what facilities we can use when we do attack. They will also have their parasite craft place sensor and communication drones. Our second phase has some of our captured Republican ships do a reconnaissance sweep of the inner system. They can do so by simply docking and searching for cargoes, like any other commercial ship." She took a swallow of water, "This will require a number of those parasite craft that we do not yet have built, as well as a large quantity of those sensor drones."

"Our second phase is the installation of a loose blockade to choke off both incoming and outgoing commerce, backed up by enough heavy naval vessels to handle any local reaction forces. As part of that, we will also license privateers and perform commerce raiding. I propose paying prize money for ships and a head fee for captured personnel retroactive to the first entrance of Republican forces into the system."

"How would that work?" Maria asked.

"Traditionally, a merchant ship was condemned in an Admiralty court, title to the ship and cargo being divided between the ships involved in boarding and securing her. A warship, if repairable and usable, was bought by the Crown for use," Mr. Griplink said. "A repaired ship is available faster and at lower cost. The head fee, intended for the interrogation of enemy personnel, encouraged capture of enemy personnel instead of killing them." He steepled his fingers, "I would suggest enemy slaves being paid off as a ordinary seaman or private, with escalating rates if she is rated in various guilds. I would also suggest we hire them on as ship's crew at Guild rates if they are interested. In all, this will raise the cost of business in the Republic through the reduction of ships and cargoes, and the rise of insurance rates, instead of our simply scuttling the ships or confiscating cargo."

"What did you mean by 'loose blockade'?" Connie asked.

"There are three types of blockade, close, distant and loose," the General replied. "A close blockade is within sight of the port. It is the most difficult and riskiest, but also the most effective type. A distant is the easiest to maintain, but the least effective, as there is the greatest risk of blockade-runners and penetration. The one we propose is called a loose blockade; it is a compromise, one that is placed 'over the horizon'."

The general took a sip of water, and then changed the holo display. "In the American campaign in the Pacific, instead of attacking each island held by the Japanese, they isolated them with naval forces, allowing them to, in MacArthur's phrase, 'wither on the vine'. They only attacked strategically important islands or ones required to maintain their air superiority. Major bases like Rabaul were isolated and gradually reduced."

She took another swallow of water, "We are modifying the strategy, as we shall blockade several systems, so we shall need to maintain spheres around the outermost of the target planets in each system. We will need sensor drones as pickets to maintain the sphere, and small, fast ships such as frigates and destroyers to intercept commercial ships, and heavier ships to respond to any naval attempts to lift the blockade. In each system, we shall need facilities to repair and maintain ships, rest areas for our personnel, medical facilities, and holding areas for those captured ships and personnel. We can use captured facilities, but that is part of the initial survey, to determine what we need to build and capture. As part of this, we must have a modern version of the American SeaBees to quickly build what we need. In addition we will need to coordinate actions to capture those facilities at the same time we show our hand to impose the blockade."

"A lot of those captured slave girls can be used in construction, in those SeeBee battalions," Connie said. "I have a neighbor in New York that was a retired SeeBee."

"Ja, the pioneers are always useful. My question about using those slaves are what they will do when they are attacked, as combat engineers have been in the past," General von Hesse agreed.

Mattie raised a finger, "You mentioned captured personnel. What do we do with them? The facility in Australia is already creaking at the seams."

"An excellent question," the General replied. "It is also a political question, and there is a spectrum of several options. We can simply expand the Australian facility, we can release them on parole, we can use them as colonists on a restricted-access planet, we can collar them as slaves and sell them off, or we can simply kill them." She held her hands behind herself and rocked on her boot heels, "As a German, I would suggest we not kill them, we do not wish upon the Empire the social consequences Germany is still going through after the World Wars and the Final Solution. Similarly, we have stated publicly that the Empire does not deal in slaves. As they believe we are barbarians, I would not trust them on parole. They consider us uncivilized and without honor, and therefore they are unbound by their word. My personal preference would be to have them as colonists on a prison planet, similar to what the British and French did first with the American colonies and later to Australia and tropical locations like Devil's Island and Louisiana. There are several security measures we can take in those regards." She cleared her throat, "Regarding the captured slaves, we can offer them their freedom and employment by the Empire in building our facilities or enlisting in the Imperial armed forces. However, as I said, those are political questions."

She changed the holo display back to the star map. "To continue, of the twelve Republican systems, we have determined just three are strategically vital to us. They are in orange, and one, Aeeloh, is ringed in green. That is the Republic's capital planet." She took a sip of water, then changed the holo display. "Aeeloh is moderately industrialized and is the primary naval shipyard. It also has their arms industries and the largest planetary garrison. The five most powerful oligarchs are located here."

The General waited a minute, then changed the holo display. "The binary system of Charis. Alpha is the breadbasket of the Republic, quite literally. Alpha Three is what the astronomers call a 'Super-Earth', in that it is four-point-three times Earth's size, but has only one-point-seven times our gravity. It has one massive continent, is in the middle of the star's habitable zone, and has only point-two degrees of axial tilt, so minimal seasons. Since Charis' addition to the Republic eighteen hundred years ago, it has produced truly mammoth quantities of the cereal grains, which are stored in orbital granaries, and shipped out on massive interstellar grain ships to other planets." She added, "This is also a point on the interstellar convoy routes."

General von Hesse changed the holo again. "Charis Beta Two is a similar planet, however it is more of a general farm planet, exporting vegetables, meats, and beverages including beers and wines. The Republic is aware of the sensitivity of these two planets, and has prepared to guard them against pirates. The Charis garrison is headquartered in orbit above Beta Two, their heaviest known warships are a division of heavy cruisers for each planet, and a number of frigates and destroyers. Again, they are oriented toward piracy, not a major naval engagement."

General von Hesse cleared her throat, "Finally, the third system," and she worked the holo's controls. "This is the Republic's heavy industry system of Taasbah," she said, manipulating the display. "Taasbah has four industrialized worlds in a binary system, with extraction and refinement in three asteroid belts. It is the Republic's major civilian shipbuilder and their primary manufacturing center, accounting for eighteen percent of the total Republican gross product." She let them study the system diagram, "Exports are manufactured goods, ships, consumer goods and machines. Imports are slaves, raw materials, medicine; food and beverages."

"A blockade on that system would be keenly felt," Mr. Griplink said, studying the data.

"Ja, it would," the General replied. "In their place, I would have a heavy garrison and a major naval force for protection. However, it has been in the Republic for so long, and has never had major problems, that their military forces have been drawn down over time as 'economy measures'. The database has two squadrons of heavy cruisers, one in each system, with frigates and patrol boats serving as a System Guard for ships in distress, and to suppress any piracy in the outer systems. It is also a major transshipment point on the interstellar convoy routes, with large warehouses situated in the outer planets' various moons."

"One option might be to impose a stiff tariff on any Republican commerce," Mr. Griplink mused aloud. "That would lessen the economic shock when they declare for the Empire. In the interim, our own shippers would not have that tariff to deal with, making their carrying trade much more appealing. Together with our advantage in communications, any Republican shipper would be forced to sell out to an Imperial firm." He took a sip of water, "You mentioned imports of food and beverages. They do not grow enough to feed themselves?"

"Nein," General von Hesse said with a shark-like smile. "We can starve them out."

"Ah, I was thinking it was luxury goods," Mr. Griplink said. "Depending on their existing stocks, cutting their food supply could take a while. The oligarchy will probably not feel it, but the working class will. I would suggest simply raising a tariff on foods and medicines, creating discontent. We do not know how much of an iron hand the ruling class has on the under classes."

General von Hesse nodded, "That remains to be discovered. Their existing military forces I characterize as parade-ground troops, all shiny medals and smart uniforms. When confronted with actual combat troops, they wet themselves and run. We are still considering the options, but we may simply replace their current command structure. This is the third phase and and the most delicate part, changing the loyalties of the system's leadership, or replacing them with Terrans, who will be backed up by military forces."

"Something we will need to consider, along with IR & S," the Tsaritsa replied. "Possibly some black ops. Was there anything else, General? If not, we move on to C-4, Logistics. General Franklin?

The American stood, and yanked at her uniform hem. Another rejuvenated veteran, the tall black woman cleared her throat, "The Republic isn't handling logistics the way we would. We are re-working the captured slave ships into logistics ships, and placing orders for troop ships. We can fit a brigade of five thousand troops into one troop ship, with their combat vehicles, artillery, and helicopters, with enough supplies for thirty days. The logistics ships will be crewed by a support and logistics company, primarily rescued slaves, and will have ninety days of supplies for a brigade, including medical. The larger private slaver ships are being reworked for combat engineers." She took a swallow of water, "Once we get in-system, we're going to convert a few asteroids to supply dumps."

"Thank you, General. Signals, C-5?"

"We are working closely with Lady Sarah regarding intelligence," the Japanese Colonel replied. "As you know, we have planted various viruses and programs in the Republican ships…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, February 23, 2003: 09:00 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The screen cleared, and the Tsaritsa looked up at the image of Princess B'tan, and cleared her throat. ("Princess? Your answer, please.") She asked in Trade.

("I cannot surrender the Republic to you,") she replied, also in Trade. ("I do not have the legal authority. I cannot surrender my fleet to a barbarian like you; you will kill them. At least this way they can die with honor.")

("I see,") the Tsaritsa replied. ("Very well, the attack commences. General?")

"Plan Delta!" General von Hesse ordered. On screen, the Princess moved to her seat, lowering shock arms into place. A split-screen picture appeared, a line of warships firing missiles into the mass of Republican ships on their approach, then banking and rolling to fire energy weapons from both port and starboard. As they flew up the mass of ships, the Republicans fired back with energy weapons, but they couldn't concentrate their fire on individual ships. The Imperials, on the other hand, passed off their fire as they moved out of one ship's range and into another. As they moved around the Republican fleet, they entered an oval of ships firing onto the trapped Republican fleet, where ships began to explode.

On the screen, the Princess' command ship, _Seren the Wise_, was initially unaffected, but then began to receive fire, shaking the ship as she studied a tactical holo. A panel blew out, throwing the slave manning it and the ship's Captain against a bulkhead. Princess B'tan turned, screamed ("My Captain!") and unlocked her shock frame, running to him.

("Princess! Don't move him! Call your medical people!") Mattie called up to the screen. She looked at the others, then gestured. "Mute," the comm officer said. "We want him to continue to give her advice," she said. "If he's killed, God knows what she'll do."

"Ja," General von Hesse agreed, and gestured. "Sound on," the comm officer said. "Concentrate on the frigates," the General ordered, and ships continued to explode, and the Command Deck of _Seren_ continued to shake. They watched as the ship's medical people appeared, the Captain was removed, and the Princess was knocked off her feet by a blast. She crawled the few meters to her chair, seated herself, then put her face in her hands. A blast knocked her out of the chair, she regained it and locked her shock frame. The ship shook with a hollow 'boom', and she clenched her fists on the shock frame.

("We can continue this as long as necessary, Princess B'tan,") Mattie called to the screen in Trade. ("Do you really want your people to die for nothing?")

("I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ELSE!") she screamed in reply. A blast flung a panel across the command deck behind her, and she clenched her fists, then looked up at the screen. ("At least I die for the Republic,") she said.

("That's very noble, B'tan,") Mattie replied as another blast shook the ship. ("Wouldn't you like to get revenge on the people that sent you here to fail and die?")

The Princess looked at her, ("How do you mean?")

("You and I both know you were sent out with poor intelligence, minimal troops and equipment, and a restrictive set of orders from the General Staff,") Mattie said. ("You've been trying to carry out those orders, which were designed to fail. Why? If you're interested, we can work together against our mutual enemies.")

("I will not surrender,") the Princess said.

("Neither will I,") the Tsaritsa agreed. ("Now that we've got that out of the way, I think we can find some common ground to talk about.")

("I wish to see for myself my sister's daughter,") the Princess said.

("As long as you agree she is a free person and will not go anywhere by force, I will ASK her to meet with you. She is not happy with you,") Mattie warned. ("We will prevent any attempt to take her by force.")

The _Seren_ shook again. ("Agreed. Can you stop shooting now?")

("If you will. We will exist in a White Flag state for the moment,") Mattie offered. Princess B'tan nodded, calling to the side, ("Stop firing!") while Mattie nodded at General von Hesse, who called, "Check fire, check fire! Temporary truce!"

* * *

On the screen, the Princess coughed, fanning the dust with her hand, then sneezed. She waved her hand again, waiting for something, then unlocked her shock frame and stood. She glanced off screen, then sat again, draping her long curtain of hair over the chair back. ("Well, we seem to be ready to talk. Where shall we meet? I would like someplace warm.")

("If you're cold, why don't you simply turn up the heat?") Mattie asked as she stood, hands clasped behind her. ("While there are several places I could recommend on planet, there is a problem in the criminal charges against you. If you step foot on the planet, you'll be arrested.")

("Absurd; I am Princess B'tan of the Republic of Sodolokve,") she replied. ("More of your foolish rule of law?")

("Yes, Princess, we are all subject to the rule of law. You have charges of mass murder, terrorism, and piracy against you. Would you like the references in not only Terran, but under the Interstellar Commercial Code and Sodolokve law?") Mattie asked.

The Princess waved her hand, ("The Republic's charges are voided, I am a Royal. You are a barbarian, and the ICC is toothless. Now that we have those minor details resolved, I wish a proper lodging for myself in a warm place where we can talk. Arrange it. This communication is over.") The screen went dark.

* * *

"That little bitch!" Connie said. "We can use that shape shifter for any messages back."

"The only problem with that is the possibility of hidden codes," Lady Sarah replied. "Adding or removing particular phrases could indicate capture, or serve as authentication. While we haven't run into any mention in the databases, and interrogation of captured officers, I would certainly include that option if I were briefing her."

"I'd like to throw her in a deep, dark dungeon somewhere and let her rot," Mattie said. "Any sympathy I have for her is gone," she said as she paced. "Are there any interrogation drugs suitable for her that we've captured?"

"Some, but we would need to test. I'll check with the medical people," Lady Sarah replied. She moved away to start making calls.

"What about Legilimency?" Connie asked.

"What is that?" General von Hesse asked.

"A branch of magic that I'm trained in, I can read minds," Mattie replied. "I don't know if it would work with her species, or if she has any training in defending against it. I would rather not use it by force, its' mind-rape, and it gives me a tremendous headache. Besides, I'd need to be within arm's length of her." She paced, "If we can capture her, we can put her somewhere that she suggested, warm, a proper lodging where we can talk. I'm sure she's thinking of a nice seaside palace in the Caribbean where slaves can attend her. _My_ thoughts are more along the lines of a tiny stone cell with rats and cockroaches, where she's chained to the wall."

"The Lubyanka," Maria said, while Connie said, "The Tombs," while Mattie said "Azkaban. Been there. Connie, you remember the late Minister Fudge?"

"Yep, and while I'm all for a bit of torture, we did say we observed the law." Connie replied. "Darn it." She paced a bit, then spun, "Why don't you call your Uncle Fidel, see if he's got anyplace that's just barely legal that fits our requirements? Beachside, warm, and very, very secure?"

"Even if the Republic does not, we need to observe the Geneva Conventions, UN protocols, and all that kind of thing," Mattie said. "It's four am in Havana. I'll send him an email, then call him this afternoon."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, February 23, 2003: 08:05 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Charing Cross:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Elena had just emerged from the Tube station when someone gasped and pointed up. She looked up, to the southwest, and saw a series of black dots surrounded by an oval of fire, with another black oval outside that. "What is it?" someone asked.

"It's the enemy fleet," someone replied, holding a small mobile phone to his ear. "They're in the centre, we're firing into them," he continued.

"Oh, my God," Elena put in, shading her eyes as she looked up. "One of their ships is falling … oh, those poor bastards." They could see a black dot trailing a tiny line of fire, Elena continued, "I've been on boarding parties for five of their ships. Their hulls are only half-inch steel, the shields are their main defense, and if that's …" there was a _krak_-_BOOM_ as the falling ship went through the sound barrier, then it separated into three smaller dots, each with their own sonic booms. "Oh, my God … they're going to be cooked alive … Let's just hope they hit land instead of water."

"Why?" someone asked.

"If they hit water, it vaporizes, and we've got a tsunami to deal with. Best thing would be they burn up on re-entry." The small crowd watched in mesmerized horror. With a tiny flare of fire, one of the three fragments disappeared. "Bless their souls," someone said, while someone else said, "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

"There are slave girls on those ships," Elena said as she watched. A second fragment puffed into nothingness, and then they saw a missile contrail reach up to the last piece, and it vanished with a final puff of smoke. Somewhat nervously, the crowd dispersed, and Elena made her way up the street to the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

"Got room for one more?" Elena asked her sister, and Julie sprang up, "Elena! You're safe! You're alive!"

"Well, yeah, got all my bits and pieces, too," her elder sister said with a grin, and space formed at the table. "I'm on a four day pass, and I just came from Warsaw where I saw Connie and Mattie."

"How are they?" Professor Snape asked as he appeared. "We have received their homework, and I know they are taking tutoring from the Poles. However, I would prefer they be here, where they are safe."

"Sir, they've got the Polish Army and NATO watching over them," Elena replied. "Mrs. Wayne was in town on a stop-over from Brussels; Wayne Defense is in the market for war material." She nodded at the TVs in the corner of the room, "I was just in Charing Cross, I watched one of the enemy ships de-orbit."

"A destroyer is what the Beeb is calling it," Professor Harry said, arms crossed. "How are they, Ms. Morton?"

"Stressed," Elena replied. "A whole new level of stress. She's beating the hell out of the punching bags in the gym. This is gonna be an interesting war, because the Republicans can't fight worth shit…"

"Language, please, Miss Morton," the Headmistress said.

"Ma'am, you haven't been in a barracks," Elena said with a grin. "The Republicans joined up for a cushy job, an easy paycheck, no actual work, and a pretty uniform. When they see blood on a blade (a fighting knife appeared, spun, and disappeared), honestly, ma'am, they piss themselves. I've seen them do it, and puke their guts when they see one of their troops opened up like a fish. They are _not_ combat troops; they haven't fought anyone in living memory. Their last military action was over five hundred years ago. Our problem is going to be raising and training an army and navy to take the fight to them before they wise up."

"You sound like you're enjoying it," Minerva said disapprovingly.

"Ma'am, so far its been a cakewalk. There's an adrenalin rush in combat, and your first combat kill is … well, you either get past it, seeing the guy's face, seeing his terror, his blood on your helmet's faceplate, or you don't." She looked around, "At night, I can see the face of every man I've killed. It's not murder, it's _combat_. It's different, completely, totally different. Every one of them was armed and armored, it's not my fault if they didn't surrender, if they pointed a weapon they didn't know how to use at me. It's their fault, and their commanders, for not giving them that training. In combat, I have to assume they're going to try to kill me or my buddies. They were given a chance to surrender, they didn't take it." She shrugged. "Patton said it best. 'Don't be a hero and die for your country. Let the other poor dumb bastard die for his.'"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, February 23, 2003: 12:24 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Havana, Office of the President:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Ah, Comrade Wayne!" the President said with a massive grin. "I have been expecting your call."

"'Comrade'?" she replied.

"Ah, but you are now a fellow head of state," he replied. "It is an exclusive group. How are you?"

"Stressed," she replied. "I could really use a nice long vacation, just lying on a beach with Arthur, who you know is actually in stasis until we can figure out a counter to the poison." She took a deep breath, "Do you have a suitable place for our Princess?"

"I do, an old Spanish fortress in the south," he said. "We should have it suitable for her by the end of the week. It has a nice guard tower over a chasm that should do well for her."

"I would prefer to stuff her into a tiny cell with rats and roaches," she admitted. "Still, even though the Republic isn't a signatory, we should observe all the Geneva Convention and the UN declarations for treatment, give the Red Cross absolutely nothing to complain about."

"The Red Cross will be asking for reservations," her Uncle Fidel promised. "You may unfold a chair on a drawbridge and speak to her at length. We also have quarters available for her physician and her attorney. She will have no grounds for complaint, especially as you have warned her twice she is subject to arrest."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, February 24, 2003: 04:03 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 11 Quartus, 163, 10:17 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's Office:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"It's good to see you all in the flesh," Christine said with a smile. She gestured, "Please, help yourself to tea, and I'd like to introduce Commodore Yamata. Some of you were fortunate enough to rate a hop over on her shuttle."

"Pinnace, Governor," the tiny Japanese corrected with a smile. "Shuttles are a different type of ground-to-space craft, which I believe you're looking to start building."

"Yes, we are," Dr. Brenner agreed, shaking the Commodore's hand with a smile. "Dr. George Brenner, Minister of Commerce. Our home-grown electronics industry is still at the vacuum-tube stage, unfortunately. We're trying to limit the amount of imports, the mainframes and such have already put us into the red for this fiscal year."

"Well, we're hoping that building the Imperial Guard camp will help with that, Doctor. Your degree in Finance is from where?"

"Actually in medicine, I'm an M.D.," he corrected. He leaned forward, murmuring, "The Governor give you an update on the slaves you'll see?"

"Yes," the Commodore replied, equally softly. "Ignore them, they are invisible. I have already informed my officers. May I ask why?"

"Some of them are spies," Piotr interjected, equally quietly. He raised his voice, "Piotr, Minister of Security, and former Line KR of KGB. Counter-intelligence," he added. He switched hands with his tea in order to shake the Commodore's hand. "We must export a great deal of tea to pay for a single IBM mainframe, much less three and a supercomputer to predict the weather," he commented with a smile. "In tonight's formal greeting to the local Assembly-persons, you will notice small capes. Persons connected to the government, such as myself and Dr. Brenner will wear light green capes. Grey capes are for observers, and the three political parties are the Farmers, light brown, Imperials are in purple, and the Traditionalists are in a navy blue."

"The Traditionalists are somewhat more conservative than the old 'barefoot and pregnant' in regards to women, Commodore," George added. "It's Piotr's idea that I agree with them, denigrate women, go along with their philosophy to keep them ignorant and collared. Please don't take any offense, and I certainly won't if you decide to freeze me out and insult me." He smiled, showing white teeth, "You are, after all, only a weak minded female who hasn't yet found a master to submit to … in their view, of course."

"Of course, and my being not only a collared former slave, but Enhanced as well is offensive to them," Christine said. "Persons unknown murdered my former Minister of Commerce, who was a collared slave girl. They hung her with a sign 'Arrogant Slave' around her neck, she was found on the public gallows in High Town about four days ago. Piotr's investigation is ongoing, and my security has been stepped up." She smiled, "Now that you know enough to keep from tripping any minefields, let's go have our weekly public video briefing."

* * *

The slave 90144, once Yuki Fukuda, walked around the public areas. She had come with her Master George to the meeting in Riverside, and once she had made certain he was properly dressed, she had cleaned her master's hotel room, and then he had said that she should wander around town and gauge public opinion, now that the news of the attack on the home system had spread. She wondered how she was to question them when she was a low, red collar slave who wore her master's tight-fitting gag. Still, she could listen, so she knelt with other slaves to the side of the tea-shop and watched the public video of the meeting her Master George attended with the commander of the naval detachment, Commodore Yamata.

"Slave," one of the seated, blue-caped Traditionalists said, snapping his fingers at her. "You, the short-haired slave in the red collar." Yuki pointed to herself, and he nodded. "You're Enhanced," he assumed. "Under the table, cuff yourself, and assume Inspection. We need someplace to put our feet up." She whimpered once and obeyed, as he and a friend settled back comfortably with their dirty boots on the back of her nice, clean, white slave smock. "Restrict," his friend said, and not only Yuki, but several other slaves reacted to the command.

"Much better," one of them said, then snapped his fingers, "Slave, bring me a pitcher of beer. If we're to be entertained, we should be comfortable."

"Yes, master," Yuki heard. "We have several beers available. Would masters like to see a list?"

"No, two pitchers of the most popular beer, slave," the other said.

"Yes, masters," and Yuki heard the slap of her sandals as she moved off. "What do you think of the arrival of this Terran naval bitch?"

"If she actually commands fifteen warships, that will put a knot in our plans to control the government," he replied. "Of course, she's only a female in a fancy uniform, she needs a proper collar, like the Governor needs a proper master to submit to."

"To light her collar again," he agreed.

* * *

"Release, slave," the serving slave told Yuki, adding, "Come out from under there. Masters have gone." Yuki whimpered once and crawled out, having spent several hours as a footstool to various masters. She stretched and twisted, while the serving slave dusted her off. "There, you're presentable now. Run off to your master before you get into more trouble, slave," and Yuki was shooed off.

* * *

Yuki studied the door to her Master George's hotel rooms. With her hands still cuffed behind her, the only way for her to press the call was with her nose. She sighed to herself and did so. After a minute, Master George's other slave, 73536, who he had named 'Kris', answered the door, inspecting her as Yuki knelt and pressed her head to the floor.

"Well, get in," the other slave told her. "You're filthy, where have you been?" Yuki tried to whimper something, but Kris waved it off. "Stand up, girl, let me get those dirty things off you. Into the fresher, we want you clean when our master returns."

* * *

"So was your Enhancement activated?" Kris asked, and Yuki whimpered once, yes. "Let me get that downloaded for our master," and connected the programming module to Yuki's collar and a datapadd. Yuki snapped into Restricted mode, kneeling in the Inspection position while Kris murmured, "Hmm… Oh, Release. House slave position." Yuki sat back on her heels, knees spread wide and back straight, hands still cuffed behind herself. Leaning forward, Kris disconnected the programming module, then released the low slave's hands, recuffing them above the elbow and palms facing each other. "Stand. I want to get some measurements. Our master wants to know if I could transform you into a fish-slave…" Yuki squealed with alarm, and Kris used a slave controller to jolt her collar. "We are slaves, even with a kind master like Master George. If he wants you changed to a fish-slave I will do so. However, he simply wants to know if it is possible to do so, and to change a slave back. I have my previous owner's notes on the procedure, the tricky part seems to be the respiratory system. Turn around and face me." She made additional measurements, commenting, "Master George does not want your gag removed, so I shall not. However, that means I must give him incomplete data on the resonance communication implant. Perhaps another method of signaling, a radio implant, perhaps…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, February 24, 2003: 08:57 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Headmistress' office:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Thank you for joining me, Ms. Morton," Minerva said. "Or should that be Corporal Morton?"

"Whichever, ma'am," Elena replied. "What can I do for you?"

"I just … well, I've gotten rather fond of you lot, and I wanted to … wish you the best fortune in the future." The rather straight-laced Headmistress took as deep a breath as her corset allowed, then added, "I lost my fiancée in the Great War, World War One to you, and that is quite enough." She looked up from her desk, hesitated, then said, "Do you have … a young man? Oh, my, that is quite presumptuous of me! Your pardon, I meant to say …"

Elena grinned, and held up her hand. "No, ma'am. Not yet. There are several good-looking guys in my outfit, but it wouldn't be right, it would be like … like dating your brother, almost. In a combat unit like I'm in, we're extremely tight, and it wouldn't … it wouldn't seem right. Dating your brother is about as close as I can explain it." She gave Minerva a lopsided grin, "It's a different war, ma'am."

"Indeed. Well, please … please retain your humanity." She took a breath, "Have you written your parents?"

"I borrowed Bill's laptop to do so, ma'am. Mom wrote back from the university library. I would like to have the time to go over there, but I had to go to Warsaw first." She looked at Minerva, "It was something for the unit, ma'am, and we're worried about Connie and Mattie. I wanted to see her, talk to her, not just Corporal-to-Empress, but as family, as sisters-in-law. I'm glad I did."

"I see." She followed Elena's glance, "One last thing. That is Draco; you will notice his appearance and coloring. He is a hybrid of a muggle cat and a wizarding species, known as a kneazle. He is very intelligent, he will not like suspicious people, but he will be very friendly otherwise. Ships need a cat, although the Royal Navy banned them in 1975 as a hygiene issue."

"I think we can sneak a cat into the battalion, ma'am," Elena said with a grin. "I'll need to get some sort of vacuum carrier for him, though. Is he …"

"Fixed? Yes." She rooted around on her desk and came up with a pamphlet: _Care and enjoyment of your kneazle_. Elena accepted it, commenting, "I notice it doesn't say anything about training him…"

"He is housebroken, and can use a toilet, as far as training him," Draco had jumped up on the desk and was studying Elena. "Tell him why you want him to do something. If it's a good enough reason, he'll do it." She rubbed the cat's ears, and Draco gave a rumbling growl of a purr, and then jumped on Elena's shoulder, curling around like a furry neck ruff. "Oof! He's heavy." Draco scratched her neck with a claw in response. Elena reached up, touched it, then said, "Don't draw blood, otherwise I'll have to visit sickbay and we'll both be in trouble." Draco gave a 'group' sound, and Minerva offered Elena a file folder of paperwork. "His documentation. Hagrid will accompany you through the floo to London. Do you know what you'll be doing?"

"Not officially, ma'am. Scuttlebutt has it that we, First Brigade, will be doing T & A for all the new gear we're getting." She saw Minerva's raised eyebrow, then replied, "Training and Analysis, ma'am. We'll be the permanent OpFor for various units, if there's any truth to the rumor mill."

"I see," Minerva said, and drew another breath, then came around her desk to give Elena (and Draco) a motherly hug. "Be safe, dear, and come back that way, both of you. I will send your mother an email, and Draco, you keep an eye out for her. Mrs. Norris wants to see you back as well." Draco gave another subsonic purr, and Elena reached up, "Men! Is that all you think of?" He batted her hand away in response.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, February 24, 2003: 08:27 (GMT)  
Deimos, Small craft evaluation committee:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

" … and the carriers and battlestar class ships will each require six to ten of these … what did you call them?" One of the members of the board asked.

"Space Control Ships," Gabi Atzmon, the rep from Israeli Aircraft Industries replied. "The functions outlined in the RfQ was to serve as early warning and control units for a fleet's various fighters and assault boats. We're using all off-the-shelf parts, including the fleet data links between ships, fighters, assault and attack boats, and other small craft. Links to assault troops would be through their transporting assault boats." She took a sip of water, "Without having to worry about aerodynamics, we can build a very compact vessel, easily serviced with commercial aircraft parts for things like flight control systems, air conditioning and heating, and so forth. Along with our other bids, we can offer both economies of scale and fast production and shipment to the fleet. Adding the handling rails to the ships is simply welding a pair of steel pipes to the outside of the craft's frame. Not a problem."

"I confess that is a late addition to the specification, but it does maximize handling and service volume aboard ship," Dr. David Alterman replied. "Instead of parking everything on the deck, we're using a forklift to move the various craft around the storage bay, where they're stored on other prongs." He flipped through various pages of the proposal, "How quickly can you get production started?"

"We have started detail design work on the _Hawk_ and _Falcon_ classes, as well as the various other small craft," Gabi replied. "When we finish here today, I'll email the change order regarding the handling rails to the project managers. As I said, it's basically cutting and welding steel pipe into place on the frame, something that can be done when the frame is assembled. I'll ask for a better idea of time in my email, but I don't see a problem with having the first fighters out the door in a month. After that, it's just transporting them up to orbit."

"True, and your bid includes trainers," Dr. Alterman said. "Something that can be installed aboard ship."

"And easily updated," Gabi added. "Both by the ship and by the central training command, to account for both Fleet-wide and local issues."

"What about the delivery ship?" one of the other board members asked.

"The US Navy calls it 'Carrier Onboard Delivery', a small starship for high-priority things like parts and mail," Dr. Alterman said.

"My information had that as a separate bid with Greywolf and DHL," Gabi replied. "Management decided to stay with the in-system type craft. Is this being re-opened for bidding?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Ms. Atzmon," Dr. Alterman said, looking down the table to the other members of the board. "If it does become available, we'll certainly offer you the chance to bid. Is there anything else …"

"Very nice," 'Sam' Malone, the Boeing rep said as Gabi was gathering her materials and the Lockheed rep was moving his materials into place.

"I think we've got a very good shot at the contract," Gabi replied. "Obviously we'd like to score on all five vessels." She slid her various references into her case, strapped other materials on top, then kicked the wheeled suitcase to bring it along behind her.

"Of course," Sam agreed. "Let's see what the competition has to say…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, February 24, 2003: 10:50 (GMT)  
Terran system, dock 33:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Work continued on Imperial yard # 109, the _Royal_-class escort carrier _ITNS Alexander (CVEA-005)_. While each of her 830 modules had been installed in the frame, work continued in connecting the various systems, from the ship's data networks to the cable TV system and the electrical and plumbing systems. Each of the modules had two 'interface' compartments which allowed the inter-connection of the systems, and also allowed isolation of damaged areas of the ship when it went into combat, as well as quick repair by simply changing out modules. Troubleshooting this network was proving to be the most time-consuming part of fitting out the ship, and while specialist crews worked on this, other specialists checked other functions, while still others did the more mundane tasks of painting, installing carpet and room signs, and bringing on board things like table linen, bedsheets and crockery.

Prissy, the former slave 11059, worked as part of the general labor crew. She had been brought to this system with other slaves, captured by the Terran inhabitants, and offered the chance to work (for pay!) in the shipyard. While she still wore her collar and had been Enhanced, her slave belt had been removed and she kept her control chip and programming module in a small pocket. She still didn't know the reasoning for wearing 'jeans' on her lower body and legs, but did admit they looked good on her. For now, she was removing white table coverings from a large brown box, taking off the plastic wrappings, and stacking them with others on shelves. Her sister-slaves were doing other, similar tasks involving cloth, while still others in other areas of the ship worked to 'finish' the ship, installing other equipment and moving supplies in.

"Have you seen the latest news?" her sister-slave 21140 asked as Prissy took a minute to rest and consult the chart with locations of the various textiles. "We are permitted to apply for a position on the ship's crew! Will you do so?"

"I do not know," she replied. "You are a captured slave, I was bred as a slave. The thought of … of attacking, of injuring a master is … is not something I wish to consider."

"Truth," she replied. "If you stay here, you will still provide a valuable service in the construction and maintenance of these ships. Your market value will increase with additional training, we will not be sorting and cleaning cloth all day." She used a small knife to open another brown box, taking out the list printed on a sheet of paper and placing it with the others. She considered these, "Lower bed coverings. These are to go … there, on those shelves." She stretched, twisting her body. "For myself, I was taken young, I do not remember much of my family, or know if they are even alive. However, if I can prevent it from happening to another young person, I will count it good." She tapped the back of her head, "There are also bonus payments for those who are Enhanced. We do not have to fire the weapons if we do not request that training, but there are positions that serve sensors or engines."

"Yet you will still need to proceed through the initial military training," Prissy countered. "The Terrans say this is so you may defend yourself and others. I … I had difficulty with the training in preparing foods, because it used tools that could be used to … to … attack a master. It was apparently a common difficulty. I remember seeing the public discipline of slaves that had handled those tools as masters considered improperly." She shuddered. "They were made to last a long time before being permitted to die." She shuddered again, "No, I will stay here, and help to build the ships." She wrestled the large box onto her anti-grav float, and moved off to the storage shelves.

* * *

Several decks below, the large open flight deck was also being inspected. Designs had been drawn from the combined experience of blue-water fleets that operated aircraft carriers. Smaller ships such as fighters that had to clear the vicinity of the ship quickly were using electromagnetic catapults (four each, port and starboard) that were being calibrated, while other parasite craft (attack and transport boats, radar ships, pinnaces, cargo and passenger shuttles and so forth) would launch through a boat bay hanger. All small craft would be recovered through a landing bay just under the ship's fantail, decelerated through tethered buoys that created a braking field that allowed tractor operators to grab the ship and deposit it on the appropriate area of the flight deck, where others would handle it as needed.

Lightweight aluminum mockups were being used to train flight deck crews (including a number of rescued slave girls) in handling parasite craft, while a deck above, the hanger bay crews were also using mockups to adjust automated equipment, including hanger elevators and automated docking arms to supply docked craft with power and data, while pressurized maintenance and repair bays (also port and starboard) were being outfitted.

* * *

Aboard the Yard, the _Alexander's_ officers and non-coms were undergoing training on the ship's installed systems, while the flag staff were on Earth, in conference with the Admiralty. The _Alexander_ and her carrier group were headed for the P'wheel system, to fulfill that part of the contract. They had also been granted permission to use one of the system's moons as a supply dump, and would be accompanied by a construction ship as well as a screen of destroyers and frigates. Those lighter ships would in turn perform the actual convoy escort duties.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, February 24, 2003: 11:03 (GMT)  
Terran system, dock 143:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Imperial yard job # 240, the repair of the captured Republican frigate _Lord M'ress_ was almost complete. The ship's slaves had been asked to stay on, and most had. Terrans had boarded her to study her systems and to take command of her, and her command crew were in conference aboard the Yard. She had not been renamed to one of the _Town_-class frigates, as it was considered very bad luck to rename a commissioned ship.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, February 24, 2003: 12:09 (GMT)  
Terran system, dock 19:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Work continued on Imperial yard job # 167, the _Planet_-class fleet battlestar _ITNS Aka (FBS-003)_. While most of her 4800+ modules had been installed in her 3.2 kilometer diameter frame, work continued in the installation of the remainder, filling out her spherical hull. The ship's keel, 'vertically' mounted in her fantail, protruded up into her command 'island', giving the appearance of a triangular spike emerging from her white hull.

While the carriers were designed as escort ships, the fifteen battlestars currently being built were intended to fill the role played by the 'fast battleships': to seek out and destroy the enemy fleet. They carried large missile batteries, a number of assault troops and fighters, and would be accompanied by other combatants, such as battlecruisers down to destroyers.

As the ship was designed to survive battle damage, there were multiple redundancies in her ship's services, but like the carriers and other ships, she used a number of standard modules, which would allow quick repair. The downside to this design is that troubleshooting this network was a job for specialists, while shipyard crews on _Aka_ and aboard other ships did more mundane tasks like painting, loading supplies and connecting the plumbing.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, February 24, 2003: 22:39 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, _Seren the Wise_, Command deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Arrgh!" Princess B'tan growled in frustration, throwing the datapadd to the deck. "I never knew there was so much chipwork! Why do they tell me these things? Why send me a … fuel consumption report?" The slaves chained at the various stations did not answer, and she leaped up, stalking to the information station. It was unoccupied, the station tied into the information department elsewhere in the ship. She scrolled through various screens, finally stopping at a series of drone photos of the Terran building slips. While she could see various ships under construction through the supporting arms of the slips, including workpods handling various components, some slips were obscured with white-painted panels mounted between the slip's arms. She stopped at one photo and enlarged it, throwing it on the large viewscreen at the front of the command deck. She walked to the screen, gazing at the large ship being built. "Battlestars," she whispered to herself. "They're building battlestars, and not just one, but several… Source knows what they're building in the hidden slips." She turned and walked off the deck.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, February 25, 2003: 11:18 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, GEO station, transient lounge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Elena looked around the transient lounge, finding a set of public Internet terminals. She joined the queue, waiting patiently in line, trading news and gossip until one of the machines opened up. She slid into the booth, closing the clear door as much as it would (they never closed completely), slid her credit card through the slot and punched in her home phone number.

*bring* *bring*

"(Yawn) 'Scuse me. Morton household, Teela speak … (yawn) Sorry. Teela speaking."

"You yawn like that every morning, Teela. Get your coffee, I'm calling from GEO station."

"ELENA! Mom, it's Elena! You're where? GEO station! Oh, cool! Dad's here…"

"Good morning, pumpkin! What's going on?"

"On the way back up from a four day pass, Dad. I had to go see Mattie first, then I went over to Hogwarts, and now I'm heading to Phobos. Everyone sends their love…"

"We do too. The house seems so … empty without everyone here. How's Arthur?"

"Still in stasis on the Moon, Dad. Mattie's got three or four supercomputers chewing on that poison, including Superman's."

"Yes, where is he, or our Lanterns?"

"Off-world is all I know, Dad. I know they're really ramping up recruitment in the wake of the Paris Atrocity. You thinking about going back in to the Navy?"

"Not really, your Mother would shoot me. Here she is."

"Hello, dear. What would I shoot your father for?"

"I asked if he was going back into the Navy. They could really use him, but that's his call, and yours."

"Yes," and there was a bit of frost on her voice. "How are you doing with the Army?"

"I've been on five boarding parties, and these Republicans can't fight worth s … anything, Mom. They're parade ground troops with fancy uniforms, and they wet themselves if they see blood on a blade, unless they're using it to torture a slave girl. The Empire is paying for captured ships and personnel, so I'll be getting a nice little check direct - deposited in my account."

"How much is nice?"

"Sixty or seventy thousand is what I've seen, minus taxes, of course. It's much cheaper for the Empire to repair a captured ship than to build new. Anyway, this is costing some, and there are people waiting. I'll send you an email when I can from Phobos, my company and battalion are being posted to one of the new ships. I don't know which one, yet, but scuttlebutt has it either a carrier or a BattleStar. Anyway, like I said, I gotta run. Love you all!"

"Love you too, dear. Go ahead and make your flight, and be safe."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, February 28, 2003: 07:12 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Havana, Office of the President:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Ah, Mr. Hagen, I have been expecting your call," President Castro said to the large lion on his screen. "The accommodations were suitable?"

"I had no problems, but then again, I'm a shape shifter," the Hollywood star replied. "When I'm in the form of Princess B'tan, I found them excessively cramped, dark, and sweaty. I would like to bring to your attention the wonderful cooperation I have received from both your security people and your film crews." The lion shifted into the form of Princess B'tan, who added, "Give them all a raise and an 'atta-boy'."

"Excellent. Any problems with the set?"

"No," he replied, shifting back to the lion. "We should be able to film anything we want. There was a minor problem with getting slaves as background extras, but we got a few from IR & S sent in. They're Terran girls undercover as slave girls, they're even members of the Screen Actors Guild." The lion grinned, showing teeth. "I understand we have the IR & S to thank for current Republican comm codes, as well. At least as current as the Republican fleet is. The only question is going to be any sort of personal or warning codes the Princess might have in her head."

"Which we shall not know until we have the Princess in our custody," Castro nodded. "Was there anything else? If not, I shall pass on to Miss Wayne our readiness for Operation Cavatappi Red."

"Thank you, and the only problem with this location is the lack of restaurants," Matt replied. "Talking about pasta has made me hungry."

* * *

(1) DD-214: US Department of Defense separation papers. Type of discharge, service, rank, etc.

(2) EMALS: ElectroMagnetic Aircraft Launch System. Uses electromagnetic linear induction motors to launch aircraft instead of steam catapults, installed on the US Navy _Ford_-class aircraft carriers.


	13. 1 15 March 2003

A/N: Sorry this took so long between updates!

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter XIII: 1 ~ 15 March 2003  
Saturday, March 1, 2003: 05:00 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Mattie tapped on the microphone, "Ladies and gentlemen, please find a chair, and let's get started." As the assembled newsies found their chairs, Mattie continued, "You've all received the list of off-limits topics? I'm sorry about that, but we have to think of information security, in compensation, we'll be in time for the morning deadlines in the US and Western Europe."

"They didn't have to get up at three…," someone complained.

"Like I did as well," Mattie agreed. "Thank god for coffee," and there was a general chuckle of agreement. "At least we'll have the TV news clips. Everyone ready?" She walked behind the podium and cleared her throat as she saw the red lights on the TV cameras, and her text came up on the TelePrompTers...

* * *

"That concludes my State of the Empire remarks. Now, I would like to mention contracts for various small craft. I am very pleased about this, as it means many good jobs for people, both making the craft and their suppliers. In addition, several of the various manufacturers have agreed to use as many common parts as possible, which means multiple sourcing, buying in quantity, lower costs, all those good things." She checked her notes, and then turned to see if the slide had come up on the screen, "I'll go by the type of craft. We will lead off with the _Hawk_ class atmospheric fighter. This is a single-seat, non-FTL fighter, ground to orbit. The Boeing Company has won this contract, and I hope they'll be subcontracting production as well."

Shuffling to the next page as the slide changed, she continued, "The _Falcon_ class fighter is next. This is a two-seat FTL fighter; the contract has been won by Focke-Wulf, who has already stated they intend to subcontract. These will primarily be Fleet based, and the missiles they'll carry will be made by Rhinemetal, who will also subcontract."

Mattie changed pages as the slides changed, "Moving on, we've got two different types of boats. The first ones are Attack Boats; they will provide covering fire for the Utility Boats, which will carry assault troops and Marines. The best analogs are current military helicopters. A consortium of Illushin, Messerschmitt, and Israeli Aircraft Industries has won this contract. If you notice on the illustration, the Utility Boats have changeable modules for cargo transport, personnel transport, and medivac, while the Attack Boats are about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle."

She changed pages and slides again, "Moving on, pinnaces. These are a small transport for about twenty or so persons and a very small amount of carry-on cargo. Think of a corporate jet, these are space-to-ground and 'tween ships small craft. There will also be a limited amount of VIP gigs, which are up-rated pinnaces for when we need to impress someone with the gold sinks and fur-lined commodes. There's one gig per ship." Her lips compressed, "Personally, if it's good enough for a private, it's good enough for me. I hope our generals and admirals take my hint." She paused, "The contract for gigs and pinnaces goes to Israeli Aircraft Industries."

"Shuttles, these are designed to take cargo containers both between ships and stations, and between ground and orbit, and the associated cargo handling equipment. Illushin wins this one, and there's certain to be a lot of these produced." She took a few swallows of water.

"I would like to remind people that there is a lot of associated equipment involved beyond the basic small craft. For instance, with cargo handling, there is the equipment to move the containers around, the software to track the contents of each container, the forklifts and pallets, the shelves to stack the pallets on and the warehouses themselves. Mr. Ullage?"

"You sound like you've standardized on the containers, Miss Wayne."

"We have. It's logical, most of the world trade is already configured for them, and it makes nice, neat easy-to-handle units. For instance, both the _Hawk_ and the _Falcon_ class fighters are designed for container shipping, with maximum dimensions of two-and-a-half-by-two-and-a-half meters. That way they can be strapped on pallets while other equipment, such as spare parts, goes in a different container."

She took another swallow of water, "I'd like to remind everyone there's a lot of associated equipment inside a small craft as well. For instance, with a medivac unit, there's pressurized stretchers, search and rescue gear, medical equipment for a variety of species, blood replacements and various drugs …" She looked around, "Also, while we don't like to think of casualties and wounded troops, we have to plan for them. We have to consider that while the girl in the next stretcher may look like us, she might have a different, non-Terran blood type, her internal organs, muscles and layout are different, different drugs will work on her and not on us, and finally she might have a different belief system - look at what we have: Muslim versus Catholic versus Buddhist. That will also affect her treatment." She took another sip of water, "People, we've been lucky so far, but we cannot plan on luck. We have been attacked; this is a new Pearl Harbor. We need troops; we also need logistics, what the Army calls 'beans, bandages and bullets'."

Clearing her throat, she sipped some water, and then gestured "Moving on. As our fleets move, we will need to monitor the environment. This is where remote sensors and a version of AWACS, called the Space Control Ship come in. We need to monitor a sphere around our carriers and the other ships, so the SCS stands off from our carriers. This came down to Boeing and Israeli Military Industries. IMI took this contract, as well as equipment for communication, not only for monitoring what is called 'battle space', but also between a boat and the troops they have landed. All the way down to the trooper with a rifle in her hands, we have communication and information. That trooper knows where her buddies and her enemies are, and her commander knows the status of her troops."

One newsy raised his hand, "Jim Peters, Associated Press. Miss Wayne, it sounds like you're planning a war."

"Mr. Peters, we're already in one. Our Empire is based on Earth, and we are a single system that has been attacked by a star nation of twenty-five planets. Just because the Republic has not fought a war in over five hundred years does not change that fact. I am not calling this a 'David-and-Goliath' situation, but we have to fight smart if we are going to win. Yes, we have seventy or so colonies, but they also have to be defended, which means building cargo ships as well as warships. In World War Two, the combatants didn't only build cruisers and battleships, they also built cargo ships."

She took a sip of water, "Right now, in the wake of the Paris Atrocity, we're getting millions of volunteers for the Empire's military services, and we're rejuving a lot of veterans and people who would not normally qualify for military service. We are also getting current military personnel doing what is called 'joint' service, like a US service member doing a tour with a British or German unit. Volunteers, including a large number of rescued slave girls, and rejuvenated veterans certainly help satisfy our current needs, but we have to plan for the long term. I've sent messages to our various Colony, Planetary and System Governors about their personnel for military service, or at least for local System Defense Forces, but as I said to Mr. Peters, we're in a war, people." She took another sip of water, "Historically, countries drastically downsized their military forces after a war ended. However, that was with a national conscription. Right now, we have a volunteer force, and an attractive benefits package. However, we need not only warm bodies to fill our boots on the ground on the Republic's twenty-five planets, but also experienced non-coms and officers."

She rocked back and forth on her boot heels, hands clasped behind her in silence as the newsies considered this. She pointed at a newsie, "Ms. Takhito?"

The Japanese reporter stood up, "What are alternatives, Miss Wayne?"

"There are some. For individuals who have ethical, religious, or moral objections to service in combat arms, there is behind-the-lines duty. For instance, with the military engineers building bases, base services, providing clean water, power, and waste disposal, supply and logistics, cargo and troop transport, that kind of thing. A lot of our rescued slave girls are going into these areas, because they want to serve, but they have trouble with their conditioning of 'never harm a master'. If you are in one of the construction trades, that would be useful in helping to train those girls. However, I will mention that you would go through an abbreviated Basic in things like code of conduct, uniforms, and weapons familiarization. The last is because historically those rear-area troops have been attacked, as destroying the enemy's logistics and rear areas helps to paralyze the front-line troops. You do need to know how to defend yourselves, even if you're not Infantry, so duty as a water tech is not a guarantee of safety. I would also mention that the term of service would be longer, as you're not on the front lines getting shot at."

She rocked back and forth a bit, "Also, if you speak one of the forms of Chinese, we're opening offices in the former People's Republic. While they never signed, I would like to add that part of the Imperial Accords that governments signed and ratified were provisions for military service. While volunteers do count against a country's quota for military service, as do 'joint' service, in some cases there is a difference. I would mention that when you join the Imperial military, you are no longer an American, or a Brit, or a Frenchman, or a Japanese. You're an Imperial." She pointed, "Mr. Mathius. You consider yourself a French citizen. You were born there, you speak French as a first language, the French culture is comfortable to you, and you hold a French passport, correct?"

The young man was somewhat flustered; he was not used to being _asked_ questions. "Oui, madame."

"Yet if you were to be embedded in an Imperial unit, you would be considered an Imperial citizen. Furthermore, even though you're a journalist, we would expect you to go through that same abbreviated basic." She grinned, "Go on, and ask me why."

"Why would I need this training, madame?"

"To get you physically fit, because as you can see looking around at your colleagues, some of them could definitely stand to lose a few kilos." She grinned. "I have to start running again if I'm going to be in shape for the DC Marathon. Want to come with me? We'll work back up to forty-five kilometers three times a week." M. Mathius smiled weakly to his fellow newsies' chuckles, and she continued, "In addition, there would be cultural and uniform familiarization, because you don't want to be calling an officer a private, and weapons and tactics training." She reached out to take a sip of water, "The last is because other planets do not have our culture of respect for a free press. Some of the questions I have taken would have had you dragged off to the side of the king's audience chamber and tortured as a spy while he ate his dinner." She rocked back on her heels, "He would have used one of your finger bones to pick his teeth. I've said it before, people, it's _not_ a nice galaxy out there, and that's why we're considering conscription, and that would include women."

"Drafting women?" someone called.

"Both men and women," Mattie replied. "The arguments used against conscription of women in the past have been an upper-body strength difference between men and women, the fear of sexual assault, and in some cases, an instinctual desire to protect the women on the part of men. Let me address those points."

She took a swallow of water. "First off, upper-body strength. Every one of our troops is wearing body armor that also enhances their strength. As you can see, I'm not exactly a large person," (she held out her arms), yet I have used that body armor to pick up and throw a couple hundred kilos. This is fitted to the individual soldier, which means they can't pig out and gain weight."

There was a chuckle, and she continued, "The fear of sexual assault. This has happened with female POWs, unfortunately. Now, you need to remember the reason the Republic came to this system: to steal our property and enslave our sisters and daughters, and torture and kill our brothers and sons." She leaned forward, "I have no desire to wear a collar, and I have two brothers as well as brothers and sisters-in-law. Every one of you has as well."

She looked around, "Point three, that instinctual desire to protect women." She took a sip of water, "The answer to that is training, with the possibility of gender-specific units. Armies like the Israelis have had mixed results, as we have. To quote some of those women, they need to be the baddest bitches around." She took another sip of water, "Now, as I said, we're looking into conscription, because we're going to need those troops to take control of those twenty-five planets, plus guarding the other seventy planets in the Empire, and if that helps keep them safe …"

She looked around, "Getting back to contracts, we'll need enormous numbers of things like navigational and communication buoys and those remote sensors for the SCS. To make those we have a lot of consumer electronics companies. The designs I've seen for the sensors are about the size of a stick of chewing gum, and they're powered by the background electromagnetic noise generated by stars." She placed two large baskets on the table, "These are the actual sensors, please pass them back, one per person, please. The design I've seen has a module that spits out these from a magazine in the back of a utility boat, which flies around a star system, so there is no cellophane wrapper like these have." She took one out, and then asked, "Ms. Lane, I know you chew gum, can I borrow a stick for comparison?"

Lois dug into her purse, and then stood to hand over a stick. "You don't?"

"No, sorry, I never got into the habit." She stripped the wrapper off a sensor, then held it up, paired with the stick of gum, which was slightly smaller. There were the flashes of cameras, and she commented, "We're going to need billions of these, so our per-unit price is something like ten cents. Let me go to questions. Ms. Lane?"

Lois stood, "Miss Wayne, have you tried to talk to the Republicans?"

"Yes, we have tried to talk to them. They regard us as barbarians, uncivilized. They want to collar our young women for them to sell, and to kill off the 'useless' (she finger-quoted) parts of our population. They define useless as most males who would not be used as labor or at stud, and anyone older than fifty or so. When we dared to fight back, they destroyed Paris to teach us a lesson." She took a sip of water. "Mr. Ullage?"

"Conscription, how would that work? What about conscientious objectors?"

"As I said, this is something that we're still considering, and how it would integrate with our current all-voluntary military. I mentioned there would be a service option for those whose religious or moral position does not allow combat. As I have said, the Imperial Army would be more tail than teeth, so there is that option of rear-area service. However, our own history of war does point out those rear areas have been attacked, so it cannot be guaranteed 'safe' (she finger-quoted). Ms. Hamill?"

The blonde Canadian stood, "Ms. Wayne, I'd like to know where Superman and our Lanterns are."

"That's a good question, and I don't have the best answer," Mattie replied. "The JLA tells me they were called to Oa for 'consultation' (she finger-quoted), but this has been going on longer than I would expect. We have sent a message to the Guardians asking about their status, but haven't gotten more than a meaningless 'Don't call us, we'll call you' type of reply." She took a sip of water, "We can't push too much, as you may remember just a few months ago a visiting Guardian, Ganthet, turned off the Sun with a finger snap." She snapped her own fingers, and then continued, "We've passed on a message from their husbands and wives asking them to call home, but that's all we can really do. The three other Rings on - planet have been disabled remotely, which doesn't fill me with confidence."

"Follow-up, what about Superman's wife?"

"They do have a small child at home, and I don't want to ask her to go if there's a possibility of something that affects Kryptonians," Mattie said. "They have a fairly small population on Earth. Also, think about your own small children, and then what a Kryptonian child would be like," and she grinned. "We are looking into a rescue mission, and contacting other Lanterns, but the Oan system defenses are formidable. Their system defense buoys are the size of a grape, and can vaporize planets." There was a murmur, and she continued, "We're confident in finding some loopholes. After all, we owe Superman."

"Damn right we do," someone called, and Mattie smiled. Another newsie called, "Miss Wayne, what can you tell us about the military situation with the aliens?"

"First, I'd like to clarify that. People may have been born off world, but that does not mean that they are enemies. For instance, we have several of our own citizens that have been born off Earth. Technically, that makes them 'aliens' (she finger-quoted). There are members of the JLA that were born on other planets; that does not make them enemies. We have several hundred thousand rescued slave girls; they are certainly not our enemies. By the way, we have had a number of them volunteer for the Imperial Army. They regard it as payback, on several layers."

She looked around, "Regarding the _pirates_ (she emphasized the term), they were sponsored by the Republic of Sodolokve. We have captured Republican military personnel, officers and enlisted, the civilian slavers, and slaves. By the way, every slave that we have captured from Republican ships has been Enhanced. We have gotten a lot of good information on that Enhancement process, although we cannot remove the controlling boards from those slaves' brains. I would remind you that is what the Republic wants to do with our young women, make them Enhanced slaves."

She took a sip of water, "There has been no formal declaration of war, therefore, these are not POWs, nor is the Republic a signatory to the Geneva Conventions. They are pirates, and we need to decide what to do with all of them. Currently we have them in prison camps, segregated into the civilian pirates, the military officers, the military enlisted, and the slave girls. The pirates and the military are further segregated by sex, and the camps meet all requirements of the Geneva Conventions. When the Red Cross wants to see them, all they have to do is pick up the phone."

She took another swallow of water; "We have come up with four options for the pirates and the Republican military personnel. The slave girls can stay and rest in the camps, a good number who have gotten bored with that have taken our offer to join the military, once we convinced them we weren't going to sell them."

She cleared her throat. "The four options we've considered are these: Option A is simple - kill them all." She waited out the resultant murmur, "They are pirates and slavers, and that is the traditional punishment, death by hanging. I personally don't like that, there would be definite morale and ethical problems, it comes close to politically expedient murder, and there is also the logistics problem of disposal of the corpses."

"How many are we talking about?" someone called.

"Right now for all of them, excluding the slaves, around fifty thousand. Many more if the Republic sends reinforcements, as we expect them to. I must say that our German personnel are most strongly against this, as I said, it comes much too close to the Final Solution and political murder. Our troops are taught to distinguish if someone is a threat or non-threat, and someone tied to a post for a firing squad, or hung from a scaffold, is not a threat to them." She looked around, "Imagine yourself having to do that duty, day after day, fifteen minutes a prisoner. That's Option A."

She cleared her throat, "Option B has been called the 'Barbie' option, or the prison planet. To prevent difficulties, they would be biosculpted to a uniform pattern, then collared. This seems to be poetic justice for the slavers, do to them what they wanted to do to us. In favor of it, we have captured several large slave ships that are designed to do this, with a transport capability of around fifty thousand slaves each." She took a swallow of water, "Once again, we will not be selling them as slaves, we are simply using the tech to monitor and control them. We don't trust them."

She continued, "We have captured various navigational databases, the particular planet we're considering is tidally locked in orbit of an M-type star. We are actually looking at the planet's moon, which is terrestrial, with liquid water and a single large continent with grasslands, forests and a caldera, which is a large, semi-circular bay or sea on the northern coast. An island in the center of that caldera is about the size of Tasmania, which is already somewhat developed as a star port."

"Sounds nice," someone said.

"Yes, it was a colony that was attacked by pirates who turned it into a base and pirate enclave. Our plan is to keep sufficient military forces there to keep the pirates from stealing the prisoners as slaves, but otherwise keep it as a free port for trading, R & R and intelligence." She grinned, "There are some things that are more … useful to acquire under the table. That and the large native cattle as meat exports will serve to support the colony economically, although a tourist trade is a possibility."

She took another swallow of water, "Option C is to release them on parole. We don't like it because they regard us as barbarians and one does not keep their word to barbarians." She grinned, "We don't have 'honor' (she finger-quoted), you see. They're civilized, and we're not."

"Option D is to simply keep expanding the camps. However, the camps are currently the largest settlement in that province, and logistics are run down a single rail line. We could adjust the size as needed … yes, Ms. Lane?"

"You didn't say where those camps are."

"That's right, I didn't," Ms. Wayne replied with a smile. "Information security, remember?" She grinned, "Those of you who have been covering me for a while know that along with the morning breakfast munchies, I'll answer a question if I can, but if I can't, like Ms. Lane's, I'll say why. By the way, I'd like to say this is pretty good Army chow." There were some chuckles, and she said, "Once again, these are pirates and slavers, and their field commander, the Princess B'tan … could you throw up a photo, please?" The image came up on the display, and there was a mutter of surprise. "Yes, she looks like me; she's about three centimeters taller than I am, and four or five years older. However, I would not call her an older sister in any way. She is an enemy, a pirate whose mission is to steal, murder, and enslave us."

The picture on the screen changed to an aerial shot of the smoking hole that was formerly the city of Paris.

* * *

In the operations center, the screen cleared, and the Princess looked out, ("Yes?") she asked in Trade.

("Tomorrow morning, at star-rise at these coordinates,") Mattie replied, also in Trade. ("It is an old military fortification that has been reworked and brought up to date. The area is a popular destination for rest and recreation, you should be satisfied. However, I would suggest…")

("I am not interested in your suggestions, barbarian. Why the delay?")

("I am on another part of the planet. I will need time to get there.") Mattie replied. The Princess grunted, ("At local star-rise, then.") and broke the connection. Tapping her jaw, Mattie reset her translator, and then shrugged. "We've tried… and now we need to catch a flight to Cuba."

* * *

Aboard the Republic's command battlecruiser _Seren the Wise_, the Princess sat back in her command chair. "Finally this impertinent barbarian will be within my grasp," she said quietly. "Through her, I will control her troops, and thus this 'Empire' of hers. Once my power is consolidated, she can be executed for whatever reason I wish."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 1, 2003: 07:44 (GMT)  
Phobos approach, Greywolf flight 1945:  
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Elena sat back in the aluminum and plastic webbing 'beach chair' of the interplanetary shuttle, yawned once, then resumed studying her DataPak™. The flat, white plastic data cartridge was about the size of a deck of cards and a centimeter thick, clipped into a USB drive for her datapadd or her wrist comp, and held several hundred gig of files. She had been issued that, along with a tiny USB thumb drive that held her encryption keys and other security information. She had been told not to lose it, but was afraid she would, it was smaller than her pinky nail and had a small _Wayne__Tech_ logo on it. She told herself she would find some twine or something to let her make a leash for the silly thing. '_Maybe I should write Mrs. Wayne and ask her to put one on in manufacturing_,' she thought to herself.

Below her, held to the deck with a small magnet and her feet, Draco napped in his cat carrier. He had initially been startled with zero gee, but had then gotten used to it. So far, all she had gotten was a few raised eyebrows, apparently, cats weren't unusual. She had picked up an adapter so he got the same warm air from the shuttle's life support as she did.

'_Back to work, girl_,' she told herself firmly.

75147, who had been named 'Silver', sat in the flimsy chair and tried to nap, but her thoughts kept replaying her experiences. She was Enhanced, as many girls were, and she knew she was unusual, a bred slave who had volunteered for the military service. Most girls who went into the Terran military had problems handling anything that was a weapon, especially if they were to use it against a master. She thought her own situation as a former chase slave; she was more adapted to thinking for herself. She still had difficulties, but repeated to herself that they were _tools_, not weapons. '_In any matter, the fact that I have been trained for communications duty should help_,' she thought to herself. '_While they cannot remove my collar, or my Enhancement, they have removed my slave belt, although they used the same connections for my combat suit, as with other females. I also possess my programming module and my control chip, and I chose to wear the lights of the Empire on my collar. They have been honest with me, it is sufficient_.'

If she was honest with herself, and she had tried to be, she was nervous about the prospect of fighting, of doing injury, of even … killing … a free male. A master. In training, she was able to tell herself her opponents were only structures of light, holograms, but in reality, she was not certain she could perform when the blood would be real. She sneaked a look at her side; the young Terran female was calm, studying her datapadd, with a small animal in a carrier by her feet. She turned and looked at Silver, catching her gaze, and extracted a private communication cable from her suit, offering it to Silver. It would override all but emergency communications. Silver accepted it, plugging it into the correct connection.

"I'm Sergeant Elena Morton," she said, adding, "You look nervous."

"Silver 147, and yes, I am. How … how do you deal with … with killing?"

"Simple. I give them a chance to surrender. If they decide not to, or attack one of my people like you, they have made their choice. In that case, they have chosen to die, and I'll help them along." Sergeant Morton regarded Silver through their helmets, "It comes down to them or you. For me, you're one of my people (she tapped her datapadd), and I've got your back, just like you've got mine. The first one is the toughest, and while they're never easy, it's something you adapt to. That's not saying you're going to kill any man that wanders by, but if they come at you with a weapon, or they're threatening a civilian, they need to go down."

"There is money involved …"

"Yes, there is, but safety is the priority. If they can be … persuaded to surrender, good. We bind them and move on. Otherwise, they are a threat that needs to be dealt with. We cannot leave them to threaten our back, the money is nice, but is simply to encourage their capture for interrogation. That's why you'll have binders with your information, so your account can be properly credited." Elena reached over to pat Silver's knee. "Don't worry. When it comes, it comes, and you can always talk to me. That's one reason I'm here."

"You said the first one was the most difficult …"

"Yes. You're taught not to kill, that killing is a sin, and then you're in the situation of kill or be killed." Sergeant Morton shifted in her seat, "My first one was on one of the colony worlds. One of the local … well, let's just say that my brother was in danger, and so I attacked one of the ones who were threatening him. I was closer to her than we are now, body to body, and I could see her fear, her terror, but she would not let him go. I slid a knife into her heart." She was silent for a short time, as Silver waited, "I threw up afterward. Later that night, I got drunk. Very drunk." She shifted in her seat, looking her in the eye, "Ginger, I fully expect you to do the same thing. You and the other newbies will have passed through the conditioning against killing in war, and while your social conditioning is and was different than mine, you will pass through it. Remember, it is different than murder."

"How so?"

"Murder is random killing, without purpose. If you were to take your weapon on a city street and simply start firing, killing civilians, that would be murder. However, in combat, in war, you use your weapon against threats. Armed enemies." Elena clarified this, "If we see a master with slaves aboard ship, we tell them to do what?"

"The slaves, we tell them release, then belly and cuff," Silver replied. "That gets them out of the way, they are secure, but the master … I do not know."

"We tell him to do the same thing, drop his weapons and lie on the deck. If he doesn't, or raises his weapon to threaten the slaves or us he is then a threat to be killed. Killing the slaves would be murder; they are not a threat. If he does what we tell him, we bind him and search him, removing him as a threat. That's your decision for each of them, are they a threat? We make the threats a non-threat."

"I see … Why did you call me 'Ginger'?"

"Because of your hair, and it's a traditional female name. Most of the new girls we have are blonde, but everyone in a unit has a nickname, one that your buddies give you. Mine is 'Polli', short for 'Politician', but I'm also called 'Sarge'. Yours may change after your first action, depending on what your buddies think. In addition, nicknames are impossible for _you_ to change. Some are really rather offensive, at least for civilians. My first sergeant was known as 'septic', which is a holding tank for solid biological waste, because she got dunked in a tank of it." Elena chuckled, "That armor was impossible to clean; we had to get her a new set. The bean counters …"

"… bean counters?"

"Accountants. They ration all the beans, which have to be counted … old term, and not very nice. Anyway, they raised a stink about the cost of septic's new set of armor, so we shipped them her _old_ armor as explanation. No more questions about her armor."

"I see." Silver considered this. "I have heard the term 'midnight requisition'. What is that?"

"A military unit has what's known as a 'TO & E', which is a list of people and equipment that are assigned to it. However, there are times when that doesn't match what is actually needed. Therefore, each unit has people that are known as 'scroungers', people who … acquire that needed equipment, through theft, or trading, or hacking the system. That's known as a 'midnight requisition', because it happens in the dark of night." Elena settled into her beach chair, "Let's say you have a pair of boots that don't fit well, you need a slightly larger size. The bean counters say no, you have the correct size. You go to see the unit's scroungers, who will fix the problem for you. As this is unofficial, there will be a fee, not necessarily cash, but something else of value. A bottle of good booze, something you have picked up as a prize, whatever. They may need it as part of other trades with other units, but all you want is your boots, and your records suitably modified. That's why you'll see troops searching for things after action, they'll need trade items, and the previous owners are dead or captured, they don't need those things any more."

"It is not theft?"

"From a dead man? No. Now, we won't take slaves as property, but we will give them a chance to join us, as you did. You'll probably be asked to talk to them, and we want you to be honest."

"I see…" Silver mused. "What about …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 1, 2003: 10:34 (GMT +2)  
Terra, Corfu, Basic training company 848:  
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Brenda McCain pulled to a stop, panting. The PT was the hardest for her, but other girls in the training platoon had other problems. There were many rescued slave girls in her platoon; they didn't have as much problem with the PT, but with breaking their conditioning as slaves, especially when they were handling weapons. Brenda had done well on the range, qualifying as 'Expert' on the rifle and pistol, and just qualifying with the combat knife and sword. However, she had not done as well as others with unarmed combat. Sundays were set aside for people to rest and take remedial training; she was already signed up for a course tomorrow. Her drill sergeant had been pleased (in a somewhat sarcastic way) that she had taken his suggestion when she signed up for the course.

That sergeant (who was not even sweating after the run) bellowed, "Fall out, ladies, you've got six minutes to shower! If you hadn't taken so long on your run, you would have had TEN minutes! Move it, move it, move it!"

"Yes, master," one of the former slaves said under her breath. She was being sarcastic, which made Brenda grin as she ran for the barracks.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 1, 2003: 14:12 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cuba, Granma Province, Oriente fortress:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"I'm not happy with this," Mattie said, crawling out of the tiny cell.

"One cubic meter precisely," Fidel said, pulling on the sliding track. The other end had a short chain and a neck ring, while the heavy steel bars on the door had matching ankle rings. Hidden in the dark ceiling of the cell were low-light cameras and microphones, while the narrow stone corridor had occasional torches. A monitoring station was around the corner, soundproofed, so the prisoner would wonder if she had been chained and abandoned in a silent, dimly lit cell. For a narcisstic, bullying personality like Princess B'tan, it was considered the quickest way to break her resistance - by leaving her bound and naked, alone in the dark.

"We need that information," Mattie asked. "I don't want anything that can be interpreted as torture."

"This is material they use on their own citizens," the colonel in charge replied. "She will come to associate one hour with a full day, after one of our days, she will firmly believe she has been caged and abandoned to die. We will blindfold her and play subliminal music and feed instructions to her that way." He nodded to the small cell, "What she says will be cross-referenced by other information. She will be fed by the intravenous drip, her wastes suctioned by the slave belt she will wear."

"I'd prefer that we at least TRY to reason with her first," Mattie replied. "She is facing three capital charges. If we offer the prison planet if she cooperates, then we can use Mr. Hagen for her public 'execution' …"

The colonel looked at his President, who nodded. "We shall verify her information with drugs, of course."

"Of course. Despite what the Princess thinks, we're not barbarians. However, we must have that information," the Tsaritsa replied. "Thank you, colonel. We'll see what we shall see in the next few days." She nodded to him and moved off. She had already seen where Matt Hagen was prepared to play the Princess in her 'public' cell, a rather luxurious two-floor suite in a tower, locked behind another steel door and a drawbridge over a chasm to prevent 'her' escape. That face would be shown to the media (if her capture needed to be publicized). Should her 'execution' be necessary, he would also play that role for the cameras; he had commented that every actor wants a good death scene. He had decided on a hanging, with the chance to 'dance on air'. His only real request had been a large plastic tub to rest in, and that he could use for his 'coffin'.

As they walked toward the elevator, Fidel pulled out a cigar, offering one to his guest. "I am concerned about two things," he said. "We shall need to place our own personnel in command of any post-coup governments on the Republican planets. Placing people ad-hoc as we have been doing is not wise, they need training on both governing and avoiding their own counter-coups. I know there are security and other intelligence organs, but that does not mean we cannot provide such training." He got his own cigar lit, puffing away. "In addition, these planets are enemy territory. We cannot govern them the same as our own colony worlds. For that matter, some political opponents on our own colony planets must be taught drastic lessons. It is one thing to speak out against the government; it is another thing entirely to plan the violent overthrow."

"True," she replied. "I understand Professor Dumbledore has been in touch?"

"About the mental training? Yes," he said. "I would add that training in protecting minds to the command training. I think it vital to protect the command and security organs, but you will need to consult with those you wish. I have the facilities available."

"Thank you," she said, sniffing and then pocketing the cigar. She sighed, "This is not a fun job."

He snorted, "No, but it is an important one, and you must take your pleasure from the benefits of your people." He blew a smoke ring. "From what I have seen of the proposed Imperial Assembly, the institution of the Crown must be the advocate, the defender of the common citizens against the Assembly. Politically, you must fight for their rights, their liberties as well as employment and a full belly for their families. This must factor into your policy as well as your strategic planning for the Empire."

"Long term, the so-called 'five year plan'," she said.

He chuckled. "The Communists should have trademarked that phrase. For instance, I saw the recording of your press conference this morning. You make a good point about the morale of the soldiers charged with actually carrying out the executions. When it is a criminal, a child-molester or other scum, that is one thing. However, the soldiers would see this as murder, which it would be, dressed up in pretty clothes by lawyers, who do not have to pull the trigger. I myself have ordered the deaths of my political enemies, as Mr. Morton was so kind to remind me. Benefit from my experience, my personal opinion is that of the 'Slave Barbie' option."

He blew another smoke ring, "I would suggest you plot out five years, with several options. That is then extended. I am certain your generals have such plans already, what you need to decide is the diplomatic, economic, and social options. Then take those results and extend them another five years, and then another. This will give you a framework for not only the Empire in general, but will also allow you to merge the individual systems and planets into a whole, as long as you remain flexible. The plan is a guide that is constantly updated for major events. Say once a month."

There was another smoke ring, "I would also consider your personal plans regarding your education, your family, and any children, as well as the Imperial heirs."

"Education … I don't know, yet. There are no classes, no textbooks on starting or ruling an interstellar empire," she said. "As far as my family, Arthur was banking his sperm, I've been banking my eggs, and Crystal's fetus (she gestured at her bodyguard), was placed in stasis. That kid's in the group of future heirs; I know I want a diverse gene pool, Arthur and I agreed on any children having to marry outside the family, preferably a commoner." She took a sniff of her cigar, "As far as heirs, I want it merit-based. I have talked to some of the current British Royals, and some of them are not looking forward to inheriting the Crown. They'd much rather do something else, for instance Harry and Wills are looking at the Army, while Beatrice is looking at Intelligence work." She and the others moved to stand against the stone wall as a work party moved past, one of her booted feet going back against the wall. "We'll have a fairly large pool, why force someone to do something they hate, when they would much rather travel and officiate at grand openings, cutting ribbons and making speeches?"

"As long as those speeches were in line with Imperial policy," her Uncle Fidel said. "The Imperial Crown …"

"Would be a constant institution, like the Presidency; instead of the Papacy, where there's a new one with every new Pope. Unlike the Praetorian Guard, the Imperial Guard would be loyal to the office, not the officeholder." She looked at Crystal, then said, "In addition, with Sprink and Charlie, and Crystal and Steven's kids having werewolf parents, that helps with publicity on research on diseases like lycanthropy."

"That makes sense, but there is one other small matter," he said. "I have a small unit of mercenaries, five to be precise, who have completed a task for me." He sniffed the cigar appreciatively, "I needed deniability, and who would think that _norteamericanos_, _yanquis_, would work for Fidel?"

"Of course," Mattie replied. "Now their contract is complete, and …"

"And it occurs to me that you might use them for Imperial Intelligence. They are former US military, who have had some legal difficulties in the States; they are wanted by the US Army…" Fidel sniffed the cigar again, then smiled, "My niece, I have employed … the A-team."

* * *

Mattie knocked, and then entered the palatial quarters. "Good afternoon, I'm looking for Colonel Smith."

"That's me," an older man with salt-and-pepper hair in a short cut said. "You must be the guest we were told to expect." He took a lit cigar out of his mouth and studied her. "Wayne, as I recall. You're the Queen."

"Empress, if you want to futz with titles, _Colonel_ (she emphasized)." She looked him over, "Hollywood must really be stretching …"

"Not that we ever saw any of that income," a younger man said. "What they did to B.A.'s character though was so … Hollywood," and he shook his head as he grabbed some cold beer.

Smith pushed a cold beer across to her, then said, "I take it you have a job for us. Why don't you come outside?"

* * *

"It occurs to me that Imperial Intelligence could use a few teams like yours," Mattie said as she sat next to the pool, beer next to her on the table. "Results oriented, and as long as the property damage is on the other guy's tab…"

"That will work," Captain Sosa said from where she sat on the pool's edge. The team's electronics and computer specialist, her feet moved underwater, while a very large and muscular black man with a low Mohawk had the other side of the pool, tattoos on his upper arms, while another, skinny man handled the grilling.

"How do you like your steak, Miss Wayne?" Captain Murdock, the team's pilot called.

"Fairly rare, please," she replied. "I wouldn't mind referrals to other … freelancers you've run across, I'm sure there are some, and you obviously don't have a problem working for non-Americans."

"What pays the bills, Miss Wayne," Col. Smith replied. "We do have a couple of conditions, though. We will not work against the interests of the United States."

"Not a problem, we'll put that in the contract. You can decline a mission if you feel that applies. The others?"

"Paid up front, in cash, plus any expenses."

"As you would be working for Imperial Intelligence, you would have a draw for operational funds, and a right to pull from equipment depots. You will need training on equipment, and we would need to work out some method of accounting for those operational funds. We can have salaries direct-deposited. Default unit of currency is the Euro, but that can be specified. What else?"

"We want our names cleared with the US Government, our dishonorable discharges voided."

"I'll set up a meet for you with President Ross where you can present your evidence. However, the discharges would be his decision." Mattie smiled faintly. "I was going to take a couple days of R & R here, once the Princess is in the bag."

"Fair enough," Smith replied. "What kind of missions are you considering?"

Mattie sat back, pulling on her beer. "As you've heard, the Empire is currently at war with the Republic of Sodolokve. That is twenty-five planets in twelve systems, of which the vast majority of the population, ninety-nine point nine percent plus, are slaves, the rest are members of particular oligarchies. There is no way we have the personnel to occupy each of those planets, so what we're going to need to do is a regime change of the top layers to ones that are Imperial-friendly. Of those twelve systems, we're doing a blockade on their commerce, but we're also taking direct action against three of those systems, their heavy manufacturing, their agricultural, and their capital systems."

"Japanese, World War Two," BA said from the pool.

"Yep," Mattie agreed. "This is still in the planning stages, what I was thinking is creating your cover as blockade runners for behind-the-lines recon. We have captured a number of slave ships as well as several mail boats, and the blockade will be emphasizing goods targeted at the oligarchy and the free classes with stiff tariffs. We want to affect the slave classes as minimally as possible."

"There will still be slave overseers, higher ranked slaves," Captain Sosa said from the pool.

"True, but they are still slaves, and there are reports that they are randomly selected from the slave population and tortured in public as object lessons, like other slaves," Mattie replied. "I would expect an underground economy and a criminal class, so to speak, to exist among them." She took a swallow of beer, "Imperial Intelligence also has professional spooks that have been biosculpted and collared as slave girls. We are looking at shell companies to own them for their protection and to provide safe houses." She accepted her steak, "Thank you, this looks delicious."

"We'd need more than the five of us," Murdock said as he sat down with his own steak. "Any sort of ship would require three watches, and flying one would be very different than an aircraft, like a C-130. If we're going to be runners, we'd also need to have general crew."

"Covered as slaves, most likely," Sosa put in. "What about implants and so forth?"

"Not a problem. You would each need at least two; a translator implant in your right jaw (she tapped hers) and an identity implant in your hip. Left for female, right for male. This is usually done when a child is a year old; it has medical, legal, and financial information on it. We can also do any necessary specialty biosculpt when you go to Phobos," Mattie replied. "We can also get any starship modifications performed there and any secret Imperial equipment installed. This is a really good sauce …"

"You don't want to know what's in it," BA said. "You said training."

"We need to get your accounts and so forth set up, so you'd need to travel to London," Mattie said, peppering her baked potato. "That's things like getting your skinsuits measured; training on the various bits of equipment …" (She waved her hand.) "If the timing works, we might do the Colonel's meet there. From there, you would go to Phobos, where we have the captured ships we have been discussing. They all have combat damage to some extent, but in most cases, the crew simply panicked. These are not combat troops, these are civilian slavers and parade-ground troops who signed up for the pretty uniform; they never expected to get blood on it. You discuss this among yourselves, and you can inspect the various ships."

"Tramp freighter," BA said, nodding as he reached for the salsa, dumping some in his own baked potato. "You said secret equipment."

"Which will stay secret," Mattie replied. "Need-to-know. You will have backup equipment and safe-words if you need Imperial military assistance. Otherwise, you're just another tramp freighter."

"What about buying slaves?"

Mattie finished chewing, "We've gotten good results with what the masters think are bad slaves. Discipline problems. What is required for the mission, but the law is a Terran cannot own a slave longer than thirty days. After that, you free them, and we usually offer them a Guild contract. We do have Imperial Intelligence personnel covered as slaves."

"We'll put it on the list," the Colonel said. "Face, you've been quiet."

"Thinking things through," he replied. "Miss Wayne, what about …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, March 2, 2003: 04:24 (relative)  
Terran orbit, _Seren the Wise_, boat bay:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Please strap in, my Princess," the pilot requested. "Once we leave the ship, we may need to perform violent maneuvers if the local barbarians do not honor the white flag transmission."

"I wish to observe for myself the Terrans. I cannot do that from the passenger compartment."

"Yes, my Princess," he replied. "Please take the flight engineer's station, then." That man unstrapped and stood by, assisting the Princess B'tan as she took his chair and strapped in. He then sealed the compartment after him.

"Begin," she ordered. "I am to receive the surrender of these barbarians at first star-rise. It would not be proper to be late."

"Yes, my Princess," the co-pilot said. "Releasing docking clamps …"

* * *

"What is that?" Princess B'tan demanded, pointing.

"That is one of the Terran's star-fighters, my Princess. If you observe the holo, they surround us. If they keep to their previous profile, they will break off at two hundred kilometers altitude, for what reason we do not know. If they do not shoot missiles at us, we should meet others at forty kilometers." He licked his lips, "We are receiving a transmission, my Princess, from the star-fighters." He leaned forward and flicked switches. "This is Republican flight 1135, acknowledging your transmission."

"Whiskey Mike six actual, Republican 1135. Keep it steady on the flight track to Cuba, and you will be escorted down. Out."

* * *

"November Kilo five, Republican 1135. Keep your weapons tight and come to 026 magnetic."

"Republican 1135, November Kilo, I will do so. Please confirm my heading." The pilot clicked off his microphone, "My Princess, you will note the holo, we are again surrounded. Please do not order an attack; we would only live a few seconds."

She licked her lips nervously, "This is what you went through?"

"No, my Princess," the co-pilot said. "Then, they were trying to kill us."

* * *

"What are these things?" Princess B'tan asked, looking at the attack choppers.

"We do not know, my Princess, but they are low-altitude attack vehicles. The white cylinders you see on the wings are more missiles; each one is powerful enough to explode this craft," the co-pilot said. "We watched it happen, my Princess." The radio spoke, "Sierra Lima 36, Republican 1135, come about to 085 magnetic, we'll correct you and guide you in to landing."

"Republican 1135, Sierra Lima 36, I will do so. Thank you for your assistance." There was a double-click reply.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, March 2, 2003: 05:36 (GMT -5)  
Terran, Cuba, Granma Province, beach:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Mattie turned to the small group, reminding Crystal and Raul, Fidel's bodyguard, "I know neither of you are happy, but both the President and I are wearing body armor, we're surrounded by infantry and tanks, and in order for us to take her remaining fleet, Princess B'tan has to violate the cease-fire. She has to make the first move for it to be legal." She waved to the video crew, who waved back as Mattie touched her hidden mike for a final radio check.

They watched the Princess' white painted shuttle, escorted by attack choppers as it approached from the west, settling neatly to the seaside wooden landing pad, where two Cuban Army troopers stood by with docking panels. The pilot waved them in, lights changed, and people waited. A few hundred meters away, main battle tanks waited, their guns centered on the shuttle, while the pad was circled with white flags, flapping and cracking in the sea breeze.

The sun was just cresting the eastern horizon, and President Castro said, "At least she is punctual." The hatch cracked, two slaves emerged, placing a small platform, then re-entered the shuttle. Six troopers then emerged, four going to guard each corner of the shuttle, while two others waited for the Princess. She eventually emerged, seated on a chair that was carried by four slaves on poles; and placed on the small platform. The two outside slaves retreated into the shuttle, and Mattie murmured "Damn. I was hoping she'd leave the shuttle." She glanced at President Castro, and they advanced to within a meter.

They could see six slaves holding a long hairpiece of the Princess off the shuttle's interior deck, and the Princess gestured grandly. "I am the Princess B'tan," she said in Trade.

Mattie replied, also in Trade. "This is our host, President Fidel …"

"I am not interested in his identity, barbarian," the Princess gestured again, "_SUBMIT_!"

President Castro groaned, sinking to his knees while the Republican guards were shielded by their helmets and armor. Mattie staggered, dropping to one knee as the Princess' slaves screamed, dropping to the shuttle's deck as a voice demanded in her head. '_Submit to me_ … _submit, it is for the best_ … _submit, you want to submit_ …' She recognized a form of the Imperious curse, and reinforced her mental shields, whispering a power spell as she tapped the planet's magical field. Feeling the power flowing into her personal shield, she raised her hand, the Princess rocking back in surprise as she stood.

"You … you resist my power?" The Princess demanded. She gestured at her guards, "Seize her! I must know how she resists."

Mattie shook her head to clear it as the guards approached, stepping back and drawing her katana. "So you have used the powers of a zarroji to take power in the Republic?"

"It has run in my family for generations," the Princess B'tan replied, twisting her hand, causing people to scream. "It is how we took power, how we have kept it. How do you resist? I must know!"

"No," Mattie replied, stepping next to the Princess, katana at her throat. The Republican guards backed away to watch.

The Princess showed a degree of courage, ignoring the meter of razor sharp steel at her throat. "You dare to tell your mistress 'No', barbarian?"

"This is the behavior of a civilized person? To come into someone's home and attack them?"

"Certainly not, but you are not civilized." The Princess dropped her spell, and the two locked eyes as people rolled over, panting. The Terran soldiers stood, pointing assault rifles at their Republican counterparts. "You dare attack my mind?" The Princess demanded.

Mattie ignored this, her green eyes meeting the Princess' blue ones. To the side, she saw Raul helping President Castro up. "What is considered 'civilized'?"

"It is obvious when it is seen, and you do not display it," she sniffed. She condescended to explain to the barbarian, "You have been so poorly mannered to attack the fleet of your betters with small craft, instead of sending out your own fleet. After it had been defeated, you would submit to us, and we would choose who would be permitted to serve us, and who needed to be killed. We would even have been generous in granting them a quick death."

"Instead, you attack with small craft, holding your fleet, such as it is away from decisive battle. I understand you wish to present it to us as a gift in order to spare their lives, but they are only peasants and slaves. I do not understand your desire to spare them, they are disposable. I was even so open-minded as to allow you to rule over the pitiful remains of your world in my name. I withdraw that generous offer, I will see you collared and kneeling at my feet, barbarian. This is why any civilized person may do what they wish to you," the Princess explained.

"No; that is how you plan to take the planet? What about the General Staff on Aeeloh? Their plan they sent you out with, designed to fail?"

Princess B'tan regarded her warily, "You mentioned that, I have considered it, and dismissed it. The Generals have a great deal of experience, and are wise in the ways of the military."

"We have a common enemy, they sent you to attack us, but they did not equip you properly, gave you bad intelligence and poor plans. Does that sound like they want you to succeed?"

The Princess eyed the barbarian warily. "And what do you get out of it?"

"Obviously, the reduction or elimination of the threat."

The Princess demanded, "Who has told you of our political structure? It must be A'ya! She has betrayed the Republic!"

Mattie leaned forward, once again gazing into the Princess' ice-blue eyes. "Do we talk about our common enemies, or do we continue to kill your personnel and destroy your ships?"

The Princess B'tan regarded her enemy. "What is your proposal?"

"When you report back, you will report a measure of success, but request more troops and ships to consolidate your gains along with resupply. How long is the trip here?"

B'tan's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Ten standard days. I do not see how you gain."

"When they arrive, we will divert them, we will not kill them unless they resist. We will keep them unconscious, and you will repeat this as many times as they will send troops. When we are ready, we will support your succession to the throne, and we will integrate the Republic into the Empire."

"No! The Republic will never submit to barbarians!"

Mattie regarded the Princess. "As you wish. We could have negotiated terms, but now there is only one other choice." She stepped back, lowering her katana as she touched her comm, "Voiceprint authorization Wayne. Whiskey Five One Zero Echo. Set Condition Red. Initiate Operation Bowtie Orange."

She released her comm, "B'tan, I asked if attacking someone in their home was civilized, you replied it was not, but that is what you've done." She saw Cuban Army troops changing the flags from white to red, and pitched her voice to carry to the Republican guards near the Princess. They knew the significance of the flags' color change, and she said loudly, "All you had to do was sit and talk, Princess. Now, the only way you and your troops will live is if they surrender to us. You have lost seventy-three percent of your fleet, and the remaining ships are heavily damaged. I have just ordered the final attack on your fleet, so you have nowhere to go. Surrender or die."

Cuban Army troops stepped up, pointing rifles at the Republican troops, who looked at each other. The senior of the two nearest the Princess took a step toward her, semi-turned, then butt-stroked her with his weapon. She was thrown out of her chair, he grabbed her arms and threw her to the wooden boardwalk where she lay. Crystal stepped forward and handcuffed her as he tossed the rest of her long, elaborate hairpiece out of the shuttle.

Raul said to him, "Tell your people to kneel, hands on your heads. Tell your pilots not to transmit, and everyone to come out without weapons, and you will live."

"I will do so," he replied. "Do not kill us."

Mattie stepped back, joining President Castro as Crystal joined Raul, pulling Princess B'tan to her feet and removing her long hairpiece, searching the Princess for weapons.

* * *

Two female Cubans guided the blindfolded captive down the corridor. Her arms were secured behind her, and she wore the standard pink 'Pirate' scrubs. They brought her into a room, and shoved her into a chair.

"Remove her blindfold and leave us, please," the other occupant said in Spanish. The two guards did so, replying, "We shall wait in the corridor for her." The door closed and the thin man tapped his implant to reset it to Trade. "You are B'tan. I am your speaker-at-law."

The prisoner tossed her head. Without her elaborate hairpieces, her actual hair was short and a light brown, almost dirty blonde. "I expect an apology and the head of your leader," she replied. "Do you not know who I am? Who I represent?"

"We do. Look out the window," he replied. The young woman tossed her head and did so, looking through the steel grillwork and the open window. Construction noises were heard, and she said, "They build a structure of brick. So?"

"Specifically, they build a gallows to execute a criminal," he replied.

"And this concerns me how?"

"You are the criminal they plan to execute. They will hang you by the neck until you are dead, B'tan. You will slowly strangle, on average it takes fifteen minutes or so." He regarded her, sipping a cup of coffee. He added, "Unless the force is misfigured, in which case it can either pop your head off or take up to thirty minutes, in either case, not a pleasant way to die."

"You … you LIE! I am Crown Princess B'tan of the Republic …"

"Yes, yes," he interrupted. "You are also a prisoner charged with three capital offenses; any one of which will place you on those gallows with a rope around your neck." He took another sip of coffee, "Right now, I will have a battle to give you a quick death as opposed to death by strangulation." He let her think about that, while she looked at the gallows and heard the construction noises. He added, "In the likely possibility of your execution, they plan to broadcast it worldwide. You killed eight million people in one of our larger cities. That is a debt that is paid with blood; your blood. Every person on the planet will see you strangle as you slowly die, while you dance on air."

He was silent as she looked at the construction, he saw her swallow. "At least I will die honorably," she finally replied.

"If you consider the death of a criminal honorable," he replied. "You do not have a friend within a thousand light years. If you remember earlier today, the flags were changed from white to red?" She gave a short nod, "That was the signal to attack your fleet. We have …"

"They will fight!"

"The Republic has not fought a war in five hundred years," he said dismissively. "Right now, we have at least twenty wars going on between ourselves, not counting you." Somehow, she believed him, he added, "We have been fighting since we learned to walk upright. We _enjoy_ fighting. All you have done is given us a common enemy. My son is one of the troops taking part, in his experience, all your troops do is soil themselves and run when they see blood on one of our blades. I will admit there are areas where you are more advanced than we are, but in fighting?" He gave a snorted chuckle. "Don't make me laugh. You entered this system with fifty-six ships. You have, or had, rather, fifteen left. That means we have destroyed or captured seventy-three percent of your fleet."

"I will fight you!"

"Go ahead," he offered. "Let us be objective. You are a single young woman who is admittedly a zarroji. However, we also have zarroji, and we also have distance weapons that can kill you from further than you can see." He tapped his eye, "Through the eye and into your brain. Secondly, you are all but naked to the universe, wearing only the clothing we have given you. Third, you are bound and secured to that chair_._" He watched her struggle, her hands cuffed and locked to the back of her chair. He continued, "Fourth, assuming you could escape the fortress and gain the shuttle, _and_ that you knew how to fly it, where would you go? Your fleet is under attack, and you have no friends on this planet."

He stood, picking up the blindfold. "I am the closest thing you have to a friend in this system. If you want to continue breathing, I would suggest full and total cooperation." He strapped the blindfold on his client, then knocked for the guards. "Consider that, and your alternatives. We will talk later."

* * *

The guard released her hands once she had been returned to her small cell, the door slamming shut behind her. B'tan rubbed her wrists, and then stood on the seat of the waste receptacle to look out her barred window. To the left she could see the stage where she would die, to the right the white-painted shuttle she had arrived in, still on the landing stage.

'_I must escape_,' she thought. '_If I can gain the shuttle I can attempt to reach my escape ship in_ Seren's _boat bay. I can then flee to the outer reaches of this system and await the supply ships that are due. I can take command of those ships and … what? This will require planning. I must delay these Terrans as much as possible_.' With a final look at the sea and sky beyond, she climbed down from the seat and started to pace her small cell.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, March 2, 2003: 06:03 (relative)  
Terran orbit, Operation Bowtie Orange:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Silent in the vacuum, suited assault troops waited outside the remaining Republican fleet's open emergency locks for the 'Go' signal. It came.

* * *

"We'll set up here, Ginger," Elena said in a nearby gallery. "Check comms with the remote outside the lock, then set up the battery charger." The suits they wore were powered, but those suits required batteries, as the boffins had not yet managed to produce a generator small enough and powerful enough for a suit. They did have gal-tech batteries, and each suit had four of them, two each under the arms. One would run environmental long enough to reach shelter, but four were required for full function. Therefore, a plug-in battery charger and swap-out plan was devised for troops to rotate drained for full batteries.

"Yes, ma'am," Ginger replied. "I have good comms with outside, and linking with other boarding parties," she said as she set up the holo plot, running cables as necessary. She found a power point, setting up the blanket-like charger with its magnets to stick to the wall. The four troopers, their reserve, set up their heavy weapons as the access doors were alarmed and disabled.

"Okay, getting data feeds from others, as well as the ship's systems," Elena said as the holo cleared. It showed enemy personnel in red, and slaves' locations in yellow, while her own troops were marked in light blue, and other boarding parties in green. While her people advanced, two of her troops left to retrieve the crates of spares that had been left outside the lock: spare magazines, pressure litters, medical supplies and so forth. The original plan had been to leave these aboard the boats, but production of those had not yet started. Instead, they had used captured Republican shuttles to move troops and nets of supplies to each point, but there were not that many of those available.

This was an intricate plan; the _Seren_ was a multi-deck ship, over a hundred meters long and thirty meters in beam. As each section and deck was secured, it would be locked out by welding shut or otherwise securing access hatches and triggering capture gas for the bound captives to breathe. Elena watched the holo as red and yellow icons started to change, black meant dead, while a yellow ring indicated a capture. Somewhere else on the ship, the assault commander's computer boffins had taken control of the ship's mainframe. She settled back on a small pad on the floor to watch the holo, her job was to run her people tactically while coordinating with the other attack squads and the company commander. At this point Ginger would handle the security of the local area along with the reserve troops.

"Bravo one through four, you're approaching some Charlie troops ahead on your right," Elena called. "All Bravos, be aware that we've found some unmarked doors, the wall panels can hide them. Remember to keep an eye on your tails." Her holo icons each blinked twice in acknowledgement. The troops were set up in 'buddy' pairs, or 'wingmen', as she was paired with Ginger, who was standing alertly near a corridor, while the reserve troopers continued to bring in equipment. All four were struggling with a large and bulky crate, their heavier weapons abandoned for the moment when an unmarked door opened, a Republican officer dragging a slave with him. "… spacing you, you worthless piece of meat," he snarled. "You're not even worth selling, you …" he stopped, staring at the Imperial troops, then at Ginger, who had her MP7 pointed at him. He saw her collar lights through her transparent visor and snarled, "Slave! How dare you point a weapon at me!" He raised a slave prod, thumbing it on, and used it against the bound slave he had with him, throwing her aside.

"Surrender or die," Ginger said with a convulsive swallow. He continued to advance on her, while Elena had rolled to her feet, drawing her MP7 and aiming at him. "Do it!" she snapped. "Surrender or die, asshole!"

"Be quiet barbarian, I am disciplining a slave. I will collar and beat you later."

"I am no longer a slave, _master_," Ginger spat. "Continue and we shall kill you." She dropped her weapon, drawing her sword, "I shall enjoy killing you, master. One more step…" and he smirked, taking it. She thrust, mid-chest, the monomolecular edge sliding through his personal armor, skin, and rib cage, and he staggered. "You … dared to strike me, slave?" he asked, unbelieving as he took another step, his mouth filling with blood.

"No, master. I dare to _kill_ you. I can only do it once, though," and she kicked him off her blade, then swung, decapitating him. His body toppled over, his head bouncing and rolling over to where the bound slave was, who was immediately sick.

Elena moved to pull an empty packing crate to Ginger, who had dropped her sword and was clutching her stomach. Retracting her visor, she held the former slave over the improvised bucket as she emptied her stomach. "I told you not to eat too much," Elena commented, and one of the heavy weapons troops held out a bottle of water from a pressurized case. "Rinse and spit, then drink the rest. That was a fubar." She picked up Ginger's sword, cleaning it on the officer's sleeve, then sheathing and latching it in place. She clipped the MP7 back into place, taking a step back and motioning to the heavy weapons troop, "You two check that out, see if there are other surprises."

* * *

"You … you killed a master," the slave said as she cleaned the small gallery. The hidden room had contained 'discipline' equipment; the slaves had been released and were now bellied, cuffed and with their ankles spread and linked together. The squad medic had visited and determined their injuries were not life threatening, given them painkillers, and they lay there and watched.

"I did," Ginger confirmed. "It was my first kill, and it was good payback for what masters have done to me, but it was not easy. You were at risk, so I needed to do it." She turned, "Why did you not kill him, Sergeant Polli?"

"I was going to, but I wanted to see if you could. More importantly, _you_ needed to see if you could," she replied.

"I wonder … mistress … if … if I could do so," the petite blonde slave wondered, sitting back as she rested on her knees. She gathered her cleaning supplies, and then stood gracefully to return them to storage. "I am pleased to see the master dead, I wished it many times. He seemed to favor me over other slaves to punish. He was truly an _owner_," and she disappeared into the small chamber with the locked-open door. She emerged, and then knelt, crossing her wrists before Ginger. "This slave submits to her new mistress, who has won her. Beat me, bind me, collar me, own me, mistress."

"I … I will not accept you as my slave," Ginger said. "You have the chance to be free, as I am."

"Yes … Mistress," the girl said, then joined the other slaves to the side, securing herself. As she did, one of the bellied girls asked, "Mistress, what of these slaves?"

Elena looked at Ginger, who replied, "You may join the military, as I have, or you may work, as a free female, for the Empire. You will gather information and make an informed choice."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 3, 2003: 08:00 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham City, Wayne Corporate Communications:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

_## Press Release ##_

_## For Immediate Release ##_

_March 3, 2003 _

_In recognition of the Paris Atrocity and the ongoing war with the Republic of Sodolokve, Wayne Enterprises is proud to announce they are the sole official supplier for manufacture and distribution of Imperial Service Banners at cost. These banners, in the traditional ratio of 19:10, are vertically oriented with yellow fringe and borders of green, light blue, and black, with five pointed stars. These banners may be ordered with any number of blue stars (for serving family members), silver stars (for wounded family members), and gold stars (for deceased family members). For a small additional charge, the family name may be embroidered at the bottom of the central field._

_Companies, firms and other organizations may request larger banners to honor and support their members. For orders and more information, please go to the website listed below. _

_## website insert ## _

_~ 30 ~_

"Well, I think it looks good," Selina approved. "I want a single blue star banner for my home, and one for my office. Call HR and see how many of our people we have in each category, I want a banner in each office with the appropriate stars."

"Yes, ma'am," the PR man said.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 3, 2003: 08:29 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Detroit, Mayor's office:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Okay, let's get this going," the Mayor said to the rest of the economic development committee. "We all saw the press conference Wayne gave on Saturday, and we can offer significant savings to those companies with our existing workforce and all those idled and vacant factory lots." He turned, "John, you've been point in our outreach efforts."

John Marshall nodded, "I've already called Schmidt at Focke-Wulf, the Germans are definitely looking to subcontract fighter production, and there are several factories that would be suitable. His flight is getting in later today; I have also been on the phone with Boeing and the Israelis. The Israelis are getting in later today as well, I'm going to pick them up and drop them off at the RenCen. We'll do some factory tours in the next few days."

"Good," the Mayor commented. "Pete, the unions?"

"I've talked to the UAW and the Teamsters," Pete Thompson replied. "They're willing to negotiate contracts; they want the jobs here as much as we do. They're on board."

"Good, Mike, government relations? Especially the Cubans…"

"I've got the Senators and Representatives taking care of things in DC," Michael Moore replied. "The Governor and the state house as well as Metro Detroit and Windsor are willing to offer tax rebates and so forth, but they want an anti-grav plant built in the area. I've talked to Senor Vasquez in Havana," and he sighed. "You have to remember there's still a lot of heat in the relationship with Cuba, so I got the Canadians on board, they'll probably build the plant across the river, which means import duties. I have given a heads-up to our Congressional representatives, who have started drafting a bill. I'll be having a sit-down meeting with Senor Vasquez, he's getting in from an orbital hop later today, and we're putting him, the Israelis and the Canadians up at the Marriott at the RenCen."

"Good, good," the Mayor nodded in approval. "I'd like to discuss …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 3, 2003: 15:42 (GMT +2)  
Terra, Lod, Ben Gurion International Airport:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Professor Gabby Shannon sat back as the 737 lifted off. "So now we're going to be astronauts," he said as he looked out the window at the ground rapidly falling away. Already they were over the Mediterranean Sea as the plane climbed sharply. "At my age, yet!" he added.

"Oh, Gabby, be good," his traveling companion said. 'Sami' Urquel was the other half of the best aircraft design team IAI had. She expected to be thoroughly wined and dined by the Americans, as they needed the jobs IAI could bring to the table. Sitting behind them, Moshe Shenberg was their 'shark', the man that would negotiate the actual deals with government, industry and the unions.

Gabby's comment held true, Sami thought. Very few Israelis had been in space before Wayne brought back the advanced Galactic technology a year or so ago, and the ramifications of that technical leap forward were still rippling through technology circles. Two years ago, advanced composites were the big thing, now there were transparent metals and treatments for steel that could stand up to a kiloton range nuke - in contact! Now, there was the ever-growing LEO station that served as a transit station in low orbit. Instead of sitting on an ever-sore arse for ten or twelve hours between Tel Aviv and London, then on to New York and their first stop, Detroit, the three of them simply took a Delta Airlines shuttle from Tel Aviv up to LEO, then wait for (she checked her ticket) forty-three minutes. From the transit lounge, there would be the flight down to Detroit. Half-hour up, half-hour down, and they would cross seven time zones.

She checked her borrowed watch that she had set for the American Eastern Time. Eight fifty three, and the jet engines had quit, outside the sky was shading from blue to black. The speaker came on, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. On behalf of Delta Airlines, I would like to make two announcements. If this is your first orbital hop, you are now officially astronauts." There was some whooping and applause; the Captain must have expected this, because he waited for a minute before clearing his throat. "If you want, you can pick up an official certificate at the Delta Courtesy desk. We have just passed the hundred-kilometer altitude line; we expect docking in about fifteen minutes or so. If you look out the ports, you can see the Italian boot below us, and in the distance, the Straits of Gibraltar. It's a beautiful view, and we're lucky that orbital mechanics are with us today. If you look at the screens on the ceiling, you'll see our nose camera view. Not only does it show LEO station, but the white and grey smudge past it is the pirate fleet, orbited by our own warships, standing guard." Someone, Sami assumed the co-pilot, zoomed in on the fleets in orbit. There was a ring of white starships surrounding several green ships with grey blotches. While it was too far to resolve detail, Sami assumed the grey blotches were combat damage. The camera operator let them take a good, long look, and then changed shots to LEO station. The silvery structure blazed from lit windows, while booms moved in and out, and golf-ball like work pods moved around it. The seat-mounted display showed a blinking dot for them, slowly closing in on the blinking circle labeled 'LEO Station'. To the side figures indicating altitude, speed and distance showed.

"Interesting …" Moshe said behind her. He pulled off his headphones, offering them to Sami. "Air Traffic Control channel." She shook her head, "Thanks anyway," she replied. "Too much like work."

"Okay," he replied, wrapping them up and stowing them in his carry-on. "Five minutes."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 3, 2003: 10:35 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Detroit, Detroit Metro Airport, arrivals:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

John stood next to Mike with two signs. One read: 'Schmidt - Focke-Wulf', the other read simply 'IAI', while Mike's sign read simply 'Vasquez - Investigación de Gravedad cubana'. A short fellow with a handlebar mustache came up to him, "Senor Moore? I am Felipe Vasquez from Havana."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 3, 2003: 12:38 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Detroit, Renaissance Center, Pizza Hut:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"… the major differences, I think, Mr. Moore, between the space control ship and the Kfir fighter is the SCS is going to need atmospheric scrubbers."

"Eh?" John Marshall asked as he took a slice of 'everything' with his pizza.

"Atmospheric scrubbers, to remove excess CO2 and other contaminants," Sami said. "Think of building a submarine, Mr. Marshall, except in reverse. That is a self-contained ship, except it is concerned with exterior pressure on the hull. We are concerned with pressure leaks, so we are going to have to be extra-careful with hull welds and seals, but that is a quality control issue. We're going to need modular patch kits and scanners for the maintenance crews …" she said as she set her own slice down and made a note to herself.

Herr Schmidt took a bite of his own deep-dish, chewed, and swallowed. "I wager you thought this would be like production in the second great war," he said. "Where Ford's Willow Run factory was producing a B-24 every hour? It is similar in some ways, different in others. I am an industrial engineer, Herr Marshall. With the B-24, you had thousands of employees putting washers and nuts on bolts. With robots, once they are programmed and the lean manufacturing is configured, there is much faster throughput. It took Ford at least two years to ramp up production to that level. For us, with computers, work cells, and industrial robots, I do not see any major roadblocks to attaining that within six months."

"What about the jobs, though?"

"Oh, there will be plenty of jobs, Mr. Moore. Subcontractors, parts suppliers, shippers, warehouse, all are going to ramp up. This is a truly stupendous open market, the Imperial market alone, not to mention exports to other star systems and governments. I can see a labor shortage within a year at most, _if_ this is handled properly," Gabby said. "Think of the US Government exports of an F-15 fighter. They sell a fighter, yes, but there is also sales of replacement components, lubricants, spare parts, tyres for the landing gear, compatible missiles, brake pads …" he waved his hand.

"Plus training for the technicians, pilots and mechanics, simulators and so forth," Herr Schmidt put in. "There is an enormous investment on the part of any government in all this, and in terms of production alone, my information is the off-world competition is strictly craft production."

John Marshall raised an eyebrow, and Sami Urqkel explained, "One-off, individual production. A single craftsman, or in this case, a slave, hand-builds parts to order. A shuttlecraft might take her a year to build; we can build one in an hour. The slave cuts steel and handcrafts each part of the steel frame with a jig, then has to clamp it and weld it, then fix any errors. We have pick-and-place robots select the correct parts from bins or racks, place them in a designed frame, and they are welded by another robot. What might take her a week we can do in five seconds. We can simply out produce the competition, and with higher, consistent quality."

Gabby Shannon put in, "A work cell is an improvement on the assembly line. With that shuttlecraft, we might break it down into four areas: control cabin, environmental, cargo/passenger, and power section. Each of those four areas would have its own secondary production line, with a work cell being two or three robots that would place the steel …"

"Or aluminum or magnesium …" Sami put in.

Professor Shannon nodded, then continued, "… who would place the parts of the frame in a jig, weld them, remove that jig, and then put that assembly on a cart to move it a few meters to the next work cell. That would do secondary welding for the part brackets, the cart would then move to the next work cell, who would install the wiring harnesses. Those have already been through quality control at the vendor, who has checked for conductivity, making sure the connectors are correct, and so forth. From the initial picks of the frame, we've gone maybe twenty or thirty meters and five minutes into the process, and have yet to have a human worker. This means that a large part of the assembly line can run twenty-four seven; although there is a higher initial capital outlay for the robotics."

"The Toyota method," Herr Schmidt put in, putting down his Dortmunder™ with a sigh of pleasure. "Is also known as JIT, for 'Just In Time' or lean manufacturing. As one set of wiring harnesses is installed, barcodes track them, the installation bin is refilled, the parts shop's warehouse is refilled in turn, and is in turn resupplied from the vendor of that wiring harness. This minimizes the waste of having excess inventory. This is where the jobs come in, because those vendors and that part warehouse will need to hire and train people to create and move those parts. These are long-term contracts we will sign with those vendors, who will need to increase staffing to handle the additional business, and there are thousands of parts in each of these craft we are building."

Sami added, "Not to mention the additional work for the construction trades to build and remodel facilities, electricians, IT types for the computers and controllers, logistics companies like DHL. It may not be putting washers on bolts, but there are definitely plenty of jobs."

"Germany has found that each Euro spent on manufacturing generates an additional seven Euros in business," Herr Schmidt said, waving his empty beer bottle at the waitress. She nodded and returned in a moment with fresh beer. "What else can I get you?" she asked the table.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, March 4, 2003: 06:48 (GMT -5)  
Terran, Cuba, Granma Province, beach:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"I thought my doctor told you to rest," Fidel said in Spanish as he sat heavily in a beach chair.

Mattie looked up at him and replied, also in Spanish, "I am, but I'm also working on my strategic plans and possible foreign policy. This seems to be a good place to do it, nothing but the gulls and the sea."

Her Uncle Fidel grunted and waved his hand; she continued. "I'm getting the concept of the Strategic Plan. Peace through Strength seems appropriate, but also strategic alliances," she said. "When you were dealing with the Soviets, how did that work? Were they orders, or simply suggestions? I'm thinking of client states, protectorates …"

"They were diplomatic notes, and suggestions, some more strongly worded by the Soviet Ambassador than others," he replied. "We could decline some, and did, as I mentioned to Mr. Morton. However, doing so risked economic retaliation, so we needed to choose our fights carefully." He extracted a cigar and proceeded to light it, "You are concerned with relations between the Empire and the Republic, versus the other planets?" She nodded, "Simple. The Republic has attacked, the other planets have not. I am assuming that you have military plans for the Republic …" he held up a hand. "I do not need to know. It depends on how much sovereignty you wish to leave them, and their economic and social systems; a case-by-case basis. For instance, if you wish to be liberal with them, if they are located in a strategic area, or they are a trade port, or you wish to be seen as enlightened rulers for internal political reasons, you may simply arrange basing rights and control their foreign policy."

"A tributary state," she replied.

"Not necessarily," he replied. "That implies a bribe of some sort. You may arrange favorable economic ties, or social requirements, but they are a sovereign government, and therefore might be some form of client state. During the Soviet era, Cuba made our own decisions regarding trade and political issues in a local area, but we were always counted among the 'Soviet bloc' of proxy states." (He quoted with his free hand.) "On the other hand, for places which require much firmer discipline, you may install either a puppet state or a chartered company presence, partially or fully owned by the Empire. Examples are the British East India company and various oil companies in Africa. There, however, you risk being seen as exploitive by the common citizens of the Empire. In that case, I would install the puppet state, which gives you some deniability through indirect rule."

"Hmph," she grunted. "Similar to what we're already doing with various colony planets. We would install an Imperial Governor and have the locals run things, subject to our guiding hand." She conjured a pair of cold, sweat-beaded glasses of water, then tapped them with an ever-full charm, and handed one to her uncle. She sipped at it in thought, "For business reasons, we already use a shell company for logistics, the Crown Colony of whatever, and the Empire is already majority stockholder in those." She took a deep draught of the cold water, thinking as she watched a seagull circle. "We can publicize various political, social and economic goals as necessary, but for now, those Crown Colonies are open for Terran investment. Part of our requirements for those investments are progress toward those goals, and if it makes the planet into a 'company town' of sorts, then, well…"

Her Uncle Fidel grunted in turn. "The Imperial Army?" he asked.

"I think we should go with a general strategy of a combination of 'Peace through Strength' and 'Big Stick' diplomacy," she said. "Our galactic location is not in the best neighborhood, so we're friendly with those that offer friendship. We can make trade and mutual defense treaties, but one problem is that we haven't had any sort of combat testing of our designs. While our current naval architects have backgrounds in the blue-water navies, it's a considerably different environment. We're using things like force-fields and tractor beams to launch and recover parasite craft, while the US Navy uses helicopters and angled flight decks for their carriers. We copied the design of the _Wisdom_, but we don't know how the design stands up against anything more than a pirate. We need operational experience with a space-based military."

She took another swallow of ice water. "If I remember my history, Reagan built a six hundred ship navy. That's why we've been concentrating on the smaller combatants, because they're cheaper to build and give us operational experience. I'm also thinking of a 'show the flag' mission similar to the Great White Fleet with our BattleStars and their screen, because this little war with the Republic has to have political consequences." She sipped her water, "Meaning that it's going to piss governments off to a greater or lesser extent. Some people will feel threatened by our taking not only the Princess B'tan, but also her fleet, and eventually the Republic. Others will be happy about it, either overtly or covertly, and the Republic might have their own mutual defense treaties that A'ya didn't know about. Having a BattleStar in orbit would help."

She indicated a looseleaf binder, "I'm trying to get my thoughts and reasoning down in my journal. For posterity, history, family … you know." He grunted and waggled his fingers, and she handed it over. He looked it over, and then uncapped his own pen:

_The doctor told you to rest!  
'Uncle Fidel'  
Granma beach  
4 March 2003 at 6:50 am_

"There. Now history will be satisfied," he proclaimed, handing the journal back. "Now lie back and take a nap."

"Si, Commandante!" she replied.

"No respect. I get no respect from the young. I will go back to Havana, there I will get respect…," he said as he heaved himself to his feet. Crystal gave him a sloppy salute from her own beach chair.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 5, 2003: 07:55 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cuba, Granma Province, Oriente fortress:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Ah, good morning," the defense attorney said in Spanish as the two guards escorted the prisoner into the conference room. "You're late."

"Your pardon, senor," one of the guards said, securing her prisoner in a chair. "We stopped to watch the practice drops."

"I see," he replied, and touched his jaw to change to Trade. "What did you think of the practice drops?" he asked the prisoner.

"You will do that to … to me?" she asked. The scene had frightened her badly. "One of the animals, the head … the head came off!"

"As I mentioned the other day," he said, unruffled. "Your death will be broadcast system-wide. Make sure to put on a good show, will you?" The prisoner leaned forward and tried to dry-heave, but her wrists were cuffed behind the chair back. Another young woman raised an eyebrow, and he leaned toward her, "Tsaritsa, the goats were diseased, the corpses will be burned."

"I see, thank you," she replied in Spanish. She leaned toward the prisoner, "B'tan." The prisoner looked up, coughed, and then her eyes opened wide as Mattie conjured a tall, cold glass of water with a straw for her. "Drink. Get the acid out of your throat." She moved the glass closer; B'tan could see the streaks of condensed water on the polished wooden tabletop.

"How … you are a zarroji!"

"I am, as both you and the Princess A'ya are. She also informs me that you are barren. With your consent, my physician, Healer Black, will examine you after our meeting to determine the actual status, and if you can donate a few eggs." The Tsaritsa waved that off. "For now, we must have your answer. Full, complete and total cooperation and you can continue to breathe, or …" she gestured toward the open window and the gallows.

"You say … I would continue to breathe, but you still must have my death. I do not understand."

"Mr. Hagen?"

A slender figure strolled over, long hair in an elaborate weave down her back, wearing black and white body armor and knee-high boots. She kicked a chair into place, sitting and leaning back as the prisoner, in her pink scrubs watched, jaw dropping. The Princess leaned forward, her ice-blue eyes studying the other, and then a slender finger reached, closing her mouth.

"Her Highness, the Princess B'tan, this is the pirate and terrorist B'tan," Mattie introduced. "The Princess is being played by one of our shape shifters, Mr. Matt Hagen. He is also the head of the Imperial Ministry of Information."

"Pleased, my lady Tsaritsa," the Princess drawled in an upper-class tone. She leaned back, "Here is the plan, B'tan. Only with your full and complete cooperation will I have the rope on my neck instead of yours." She reached up, popped her head off, and placed it on the desktop (complete with trailing hairpiece), where it continued, "As you can see, it doesn't bother me. You, on the other hand, will be collared. You will wear it, because the Princess B'tan will be dead." She reached over, picked up her head (and hairpiece), and re-attached it to her body, stood, and strolled off.

The prisoner's jaw worked, she finally got out, "You would collar me? Enslave me?"

"You would continue to breathe," the defense attorney replied. "After your trial and sentencing to death, Mr. Hagen will mount the gallows while you would be collared. You can even watch with the rest of us as the Princess B'tan slowly strangles as she dances on air." He studied his client, "Your alternative, as I said, is for YOU to climb the stairs to the gallows and for YOU to dance on air."

There was silence as they waited for her decision. The prisoner asked, "My fleet? A'ya?"

"I am here, my mother's sister," the young woman said. She shoved the prisoner back in her chair, "I will enjoy seeing you dance on the end of a rope, and then I will spit on you. I will rule the Republic as the Empire's regent, and I will make certain your corpse is presented to the Court in Glavni Grad. Go ahead. Decline the only chance you have to live." She ran a finger along the prisoner's jaw line, "I will regret not having you as my personal, red-collared slave, but there are many, many slaves available." She ran another fingertip along the other jaw, "The Empire has captured all but six of your fleet. Those six were destroyed. They speak truth about the Republic's troops. Once repairs are completed, your incompetence has given them an intact fleet, something I shall make certain to mention when I appear with a true FLEET of Terran BattleStars above Aeeloh. You will not care, because you will be dead."

"Or you can cooperate and live, and possibly help guide your mistress as she rules the Republic in our name," the defense attorney said. "Cooperate, or die."

There was silence as she thought, then the prisoner sat back. "Out. It is painful enough to betray the Republic as A'ya has, I will not do so before slaves. Out!" she demanded. People glanced at each other, Mattie said, "It's recorded, people. Let's go."

"You will remove these cuffs from my wrists. It is not civilized."

"The key is kept near your cell," the defense attorney said. "We cannot."

"Then the zarroji will unlock them with a word of power," and the prisoner tossed her head again. "I will not speak while bound as a slave." The barbarians glanced between themselves, and then Mattie stepped behind her, murmured a word, and B'tan allowed a touch on her person as her wrists were freed. The barbarian zarroji held up the heavy steel shackles, waving them in midair as the others filed out of the room. B'tan exulted in her mind, and then moved to the next step of her plan. She waited until the other barbarians had left, then stretched, stood, and paced near the window. With her left hand on the stone wall, she made a gesture of power, and the two barbarians stiffened. "Now, we shall move to my shuttle and return to my flagship. Once there, we shall board a small starship kept in his boat bay, and return to Aeeloh." She smirked, "I will allow you both to touch me as part of the deception. You will inform anyone that asks that we are returning to _Seren_ in order to retrieve documentation regarding your questions. That is actually in my small ship, so we can produce it if necessary. However, you, the commanding zarroji, will dissuade anyone that asks."

"I think not," the barbarian zarroji said. She spoke a word of power, and the male collapsed as she drew her long, sharp weapon. "You did hear me say this was recorded?" she asked, holding the tip at B'tan's throat. The door opened again, the others re-entering the room. "We expected you to make an attempt. In your place, I would have. Now, what we need from you, B'tan, are the code words to inform an incoming fleet of your status. This can be done painfully or not, your choice. However, we _will_ have that information. If you cooperate, those incoming Republican troops won't be harmed unless they resist. It would be easier to simply blow them all up, but I have no particular desire to do that."

B'tan took a few steps, sinking back down in a chair. "They will fight you!"

The barbarian zarroji sighed, "B'tan, we have control of your fleet. All we need to do is enter a computer command, and the self-destruct is set off." She lightly scratched B'tan's throat, then showed her the blood on the blade. "Do they die needlessly?"

The Princess had nerve. She gently pushed the blade aside, then pressed a finger to her wound. She examined the fingertip while she thought. "One of my pilots will fly the shuttle up with us. You will side-pilot. Your guard and I will be in the passenger space. We hold each other in guard. Once at _Seren_, we will leave his boat bay in my private ship. I will unlock the codes and tell you of those that are not recorded. You will personally guarantee the safety of myself and the personnel of my ships. I will not wear a collar of any kind." She ran a fingertip along the edge of the tracking collar she wore.

The Tsaritsa regarded the Princess. "I would prefer one of my pilots sit side on … what is your ship's name?"

"I named him _J'ana_, after my sister and A'ya's mother. While A'ya hates me for her death, with cause; I truly did not wish her harm. I was forced by events into doing so, I made certain she did not suffer." B'tan took a breath, then straightened. "Why do you not wish to sit side?"

"I am not that good a pilot, my mate's sister Elena is aboard _Seren_ and is much better than I am." B'tan raised an eyebrow in surprise as the Tsaritsa continued, "I will agree with your condition regarding your personnel with the requirement that we will require their surrender. Any resistance will be quickly crushed. We will offer any of your personnel the opportunity to join our forces, as we have offered your slaves the same chance. They will go through the same training as our forces do."

B'tan moved slightly, warily. "Why would you do this? We are enemies."

"You have attacked us without cause, but that does not mean we will destroy the people and the planets of the Republic. We have no argument with your troops, who are simply following orders. We will take precautions against their betrayal, we will biosculpt and collar them to appear as a slave race, but we will not sell them as slaves. They will have a new, fresh start, and no one will know they were once part of the Republican military unless they say so."

"You will arm and train slaves as military?" The Princess snorted in disbelief. "I will believe it when I see it. They are slaves, it is why they serve." She regarded her opponent, "And once the fleet has been taken, then what of A'ya and myself?"

"A'ya wants you either dead or as her slave," the Tsaritsa replied. "We will place her as our proxy to rule the Republic, although we anticipate the campaign will take several years."

"I doubt you can do it within a turn of the galaxy," B'tan declared smugly. For some unknown reason, the barbarian caught a cloth from her guard, cleaning her blade and sheathing it. Strapping it to her back, she worked her glove off her right hand, holding it out. A small green light appeared, showing the symbol of the Oan's cursed Corps. "I think we can," she replied.

* * *

Later, Crystal demanded, "I thought that bloody thing wasn't working!"

"It isn't, but it will do that as identification, and it certainly did a number on B'tan's resistance," Mattie replied. She worked another Ring off her left hand, passing it over with a small Battery. "Arthur's Ring. It's yours until he's cured. Charge it every twenty-four hours and hopefully we can get them unlocked. At least that's what Oracle is working on, he's a busy guy."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 5, 2003: 10:00 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham City, Wayne Tower, executive suites:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Mrs. Wayne, the people from Columbus Holo Training,"

"Thank you, please show them in," Selina stood, tugging on her skirt as she strode forward to greet the three people from Columbus. "Welcome to Gotham City," she said. "I hope you had a good trip."

"Yes, thank you," Teela Morton said, taking her hand. Places were taken, and the meeting got underway.

* * *

"I see…" Selina said. "Unfortunately, we cannot simply sell you a holo projection system. It uses proprietary technology for the pressor fields to make things feel correct. However, we can license your firm as a program supplier, which will place a complete unit in your facility, along with the correct program code for those field generators." She tented her fingers, "We are installing units aboard the Imperial fleet, both for individual training and for small groups. Then, when a supplier makes a change in their equipment, they produce an updated training module."

CHT's 'shark' looked along her side of the table, getting nods. "That seems most reasonable. Let's talk terms and conditions."

"I'll call down to our licensing office," Selina replied.

* * *

That evening, in her room at the downtown Gotham City Holiday Inn, Teela told her mom, "…I don't think it was my name alone, but we had a solid plan and some sample code. Now all we need is to change our lease to an industrial park from an office park. No, we're going to get a couple containers full of equipment." She turned, looking out at the glowing cityscape, and then sucked in her breath. "Oh, my god. The Bat Signal! Elena would be freaking out now…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 5, 2003: 20:25 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, _Seren the Wise_, approach:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"This is much easier than the trip down," the pilot commented in Trade. "You are not trying to kill me."

The barbarian leader held up a finger, said something in the native tongue, and then looked at him. "We have no reason to try to kill you," she replied, also in Trade. "Before, we were simply defending ourselves and our people." She turned to regard the pilot, "I've asked other people, I might as well get your opinion. What do we do with all of you? As I see things, we have four options…"

He grunted as she finished, "I would obviously prefer to live, so that eliminates the first option. In your position, I would keep the asset available and under control. An idle mind does not benefit the Source, so the caging option is not preferred. You are correct; we would not uphold a bargain with someone who was regarded as a barbarian, as an animal has no honor. This is why a bargain with a slave is not upheld, they have no standing in law." He manipulated some switches, "In your situation, I would choose biosculpt and a slave's collar. I do not understand why you would not sell us, though. I would, in your position."

"We regard the slave trade as a moral outrage," Crystal said from the flight engineer's position. "Even the proposed collaring is politically risky. However, it is somewhat more acceptable to use a tracking collar, we have used similar equipment on our own criminals." He turned to regard her, then turned back to his console, shaking his head. "I doubt you would allow me in your military services, but a civilian ship, even though I would appear as a slave would allow me to continue to fly. I am good at it, and enjoy it greatly, but there are things I regret doing, my steps up the Source's spiral require payment for those wrongs. Wearing a slave's collar would pay those debts, but who would know?"

"The Source would know, and anyone you told. No one else. We would not Enhance you, sell you, or require military service. You can choose which of the slave races you are biosculpted to look like, or none of them. If you wish, you can fly for our civilian freight lines, or there are other options."

There was a slight lurch as the approach tractor grabbed them and handed off to the precision docking tractor operator. There was a short series of jolts and the pilot settled them into place, while an Imperial trooper stood by with the docking panel. The pilot waved the trooper in, lights changed, and they both flipped switches. "It is something to consider," he told her. "I will do so. For now, you must deal with her," and he jerked his head back toward the passenger compartment, where six Cuban Army troopers watched the former Princess B'tan. "I do not know what she was told, but she is more … hesitant. Unsure. Keep her that way. I may pass this offer on?"

"To your military colleagues, the slavers have different options," she replied as she began to unstrap. She rolled her shoulders, and then jerked her clothing straight. "Let's do this."

* * *

"Now, B'tan," Mattie said. "We've talked over the different types of codes in these documents. What's not listed?" B'tan glanced at the barbarian, and was captured by her green eyes. Reluctantly, she felt an … itch … in the back of her mind and found herself confessing, "Every conversation must mention the date of my father's taking the throne… the twenty-third of Nocht, the six-hundred thirty second year of our house. It can be any place in the conversation, but it must be there. It is the final fail-guard." She continued to feel the itch, and the barbarian smiled. "Thank you, B'tan. I will report this to the court, and ask they spare your life. With this information, we can try to capture the resupply fleets, without killing all their personnel. Go to sleep now. _Stupefy_."

She sat back as B'tan collapsed into unconsciousness, then rolled her shoulders as Crystal snapped handcuffs on B'tan's wrists and picked the girl up. She left the small compartment, and Mattie turned to regard Elena. "Think you can co-pilot this bucket back down to Cuba?"

"Oh, yeah, it's a sweet little ship," her sister-in-law replied. "Interstellar yacht…"

"Complete with fur-lined head," her Tsaritsa commented. "Only the best for VIP's. Whap me upside the head if I ever start to demand that kind of crap."

"Yes, ma'am," Elena said with a deliberately sloppy salute. "After we drop the girl off in Cuba, then what?"

"I need to get back to Warsaw, so we can do a quick orbital hop and drop this bucket and the pilot off with the shipwrights there." She sat back, "Did you get any time for home leave?"

"No, I had a long weekend. I visited with you, and then went to Hogwarts, but no time to get back to Columbus."

"Can you leave your company for a week or so? If I've got to be Tsaritsa, there's got to be at least one or two perks," Mattie said with a grin. "Let me set that up. Back by the … sixteenth?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, March 6, 2003: 05:36 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Grandview Heights, Morton home:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

***bring, bring*** ***bring, bring***

*yawn* "G'morning, Morton home, Teela speaking." *yawn*

"Get your coffee, Teela, this is your big sister Elena. I've got leave through the fifteenth, I report back that Sunday."

"Cool! When and where can we pick you up?"

"I'm in Warsaw with Mattie at the moment. I can catch an orbital hop to Cincy and pick up a rental car there." Teela heard the rustle of paper, "Okay, I'll catch public transit here to the airport, up to LEO station … looks like I can get into Cincinnati about … eight your time, then figure a couple hours to drive up I-75 … looks like I should be there about ten-ish."

"I've got class, damn it."

"Teela!"

"Mom, it's Elena calling from Warsaw! She's got leave! Here she is …"

"Oh, my baby! Tell me you're all right!"

"Everything's still attached, I'm fine, and I should see you around ten, given traffic on I-75 …"

"I'll be at work, but your father should be here…"

"I'll give you a call when I get into town, maybe we can go out for lunch…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, March 6, 2003: 09:55 (GMT)  
Terran system, space docks 80 - 89:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Greywolf Transport had leased a 'wheel' of ten free-floating docks with a common center. They were remodeling the former Republican slave ships _Humble Slave_ (dock 80), _Slave Cuffs_ (dock 81), _Leashed Slave_ (dock 82), _Common Collar_ (dock 83), _Low Slave_ (dock 84), _First Slave_ (dock 85), and _Disposable Slave_ (the largest of the seven) in dock 86 were being refit as 'COD'**(1)** ships. The ships would use the landing bays of Imperial carriers.

In docks 87 through 89, passenger ships _M/V (A) Allegheny_ (dock 87), _M/V (A) Antwerp_ (dock 88) and _M/V (A) Athens_ (dock 89) were going through systems testing. Designed and built to civilian standards as combination colony/troop transports, they could carry some seventy-five hundred passengers or a brigade of Imperial troops, along with their crews. They were the first ships to be multi-environmental, with the capacity to carry live cargo such as livestock as well as machinery and fueling modules.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, March 7, 2003: 08:41 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Babice airfield, IBS offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

There was a rap on his doorframe, and Vasily looked up and paled. "Mr. Danilov?" the young woman asked in Russian, her dark hair over her dark fur coat, a _shapka_ (fur hat) covering her ears. "I'm Mattie Wayne. Sorry to pop in unexpectedly." She removed her coat and hat, hanging them on a coat rack, then took a seat. "Where's my engine plant?"

* * *

"I see," she said after his explanation. She extracted her cell phone, "Outside and close the door, please, Crystal." She looked up a number on her cell, then handed it to Vasily. "Speakerphone, and dial, please." He started to dial the long string of numbers, accompanied by various beeps and pops, and then they heard a phone ring. "Governor Sullivan's office, can you hold?"

"No, I can't," Ms. Wayne said. "You tell Ms. Sullivan that this is the Queen, and I'm calling from Warsaw. That last part is important. I am calling from Warsaw. If I do not speak to her within thirty seconds, you will be sold to a Traditionalist. The clock is running, girl." Ms. Wayne checked her watch as the phone went 'clunk' and the slap of sandals was heard.

"All right, who is this, really?" Christine's voice came back. "Why are you threatening my staff?"

"What does your Caller ID™ say?"

"Danilov, IBS."

"I'm calling from Vasily Danilov's office in Warsaw, Ms. Sullivan, and you're on speaker. He's the head of my Imperial Bureau of Shipbuilding, and I'm your boss."

"Yeah, right, pull the other one. You can't make a phone call across the galaxy. Prove you are who you are."

Mattie sighed, "The last time we met, I used a katana to make you a Baroness, then fought a Traditionalist and lost my left pinky finger. You have gotten upgrades to your Sisal equipment within the last few weeks. You were recently recollared and Ms. Yuki Fukuda upgraded your Enhancement on Tosul, and that is something else we need to discuss. Satisfied?"

"You still didn't need to threaten my secretary; I was suctioning and she's in hysterics."

"Tough, suck it up, Sullivan. I am tired of the political kowtowing to your Traditionalists. You have enough evidence to try and convict at least some of them. They need an object lesson; namely, you do not screw with Wayne or her Empire. Grow a pair of brass ones and try them, and if they lose their heads, I am not going to cry for them. Otherwise, you will be back on a cod boat and Cuthbert will be in your seat. I am Not Happy because Danilov is being forced to send out my crews and my warships using a drive system we do not fully understand and do not have much experience with. We could have installed a backup Jump Drive on those ships but we could not because it has been shortstopped at Windfall. Do you see why I am Not Happy, Sullivan? You have put the lives of my crews at risk, and that is Not Acceptable. Are you reading me five-by-five, Sullivan?"

"Yes, ma'am. What about those slaves that came out …"

"The seventy-series girls? Integrate them into the sub colonies, or if some of them want to stay in a collar, ship 'em back to Tosul so they can staff our offices there. I want those girls with the special talent to train their replacement, and then we will send a ship for them. They are going into an orphanage until they can start proper school in September. What else are you going to do to make me happier, Sullivan?"

"Those ships will break orbit within two days …"

"One day, Sullivan. Thirty hours should be enough time to load personnel and secure their equipment. Have Commodore Yamata detail a couple of her ships as escort."

"Yes, ma'am. What about Yuki?"

"Fukuda? Check with her owner to see if she's recovered her memory. If so, I want those greenhouse slaves restored to themselves, and then my personnel can come home when they are satisfied. Any further questions?"

"No, ma'am."

"Wayne, clear." She picked up and dropped the handset back into the cradle. "Now, Mr. Danilov, how are you going to make me Happy?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, March 7, 2003: 08:51 (GMT)  
Fifthday, 21 Quartus, 163, 15:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's Office:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Christine punched the button to disconnect and stood over her desk, breathing as hard as her Enhancement allowed. She could feel the snug fit of the collar on her throat and the tight fit of her slave belt under her lightweight business wear. The early afternoon daylight made stripes through her blinds onto the furniture and the floor as she watched them slowly move with the air currents from the ceiling fan. She thought for a minute or two, then turned and strode to the door. "Vanessa," she said to one of her secretaries, "I'll need a conference call with Walter Cuthbert and Dr. Brenner in High Town, then Commodore Yamata."

The secretary looked up at her, sniffled, then said, "Yes, mistress."

"Don't worry, you're not going to be sold," she reassured the girl with a slight smile. "Now get me Walter and Dr. Brenner."

* * *

"… don't know, Governor," the large black man said on the com. "I'll find out when I get home. What about the facility for those fish-slaves, and training them on construction? Have you heard anything new?" The light blue band of a secured connection framed both the balding face of Lieutenant Governor Walter Cuthbert and the blonde Governor Sullivan's face on his screen. "The latest I know of is the modified designs for things like circular saws and drills to let them work underwater. Still hand tools, but faster than a hammer and chisel."

"The last information I have is the above-ground building is done, and the necessary bridges, power and data lines have been run. The plumbing for fresh water and sewer needs to be finished, and the furnishings for the slaves needs to be installed," Cuthbert put in. "Send that one slave of yours down to keep an eye on that, and I'll have the slaves transferred out of the Farm into facilities in DHL. The stasis-tubed fish slaves as well."

"The manufacturing slaves as well?" George asked the other two. "I know they were bought and are state property, but if we're shipping those back to the Moon, shouldn't we free them?"

"That might set a legal precedent," Cuthbert warned. "I'll need to see what the lease contract for our part of Archimedes Crater specifies. We may be able to translate that into employment contracts. I wonder if anyone's tried to organize the slaves…"

"Into a union?" George asked. "That would be interesting, especially for the first strike…" he offered with a grin. "I'm still a member of the NFL Player's Union, but I'm now also management. Would I cross the picket line … Hmm …" He grinned again, then shook his head. "I'll send orders to have those slaves released from the farm and shipped up to the _Fuller_, if Captain Komatsu can send a shuttle or two down. Pity the _Taalah_ has already left."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, March 7, 2003: 09:14 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Babice airfield, IBS offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Make you happy?" Vasily asked. "Can I?"

"Certainly," Ms. Wayne replied as she sank into one of Vasily's guest chairs. "Come in, Crystal," she called to the door. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Danilov, but I figured throwing you out of your own office just so I could tear a strip off someone would be rude." Crystal snorted as she leaned against the door's frosted glass. "Anyway, we want to maintain the secret of the Sisal communication system as long as we can. The more people know about it, the less available bandwidth we will have for things like emergency communications. It would be bad if people died because someone was downloading videos or calling their relatives back on Earth just to chat."

"How does it work?" Vasily asked.

"I really don't know," Miss Wayne said. "Just like this new drive system, the math is way over my head. However, I would rather not have that be the sole drive system until we know all about it and are comfortable with it as we are a diesel engine. Even then, I'd prefer to have a Jump drive installed, not only as a backup, but to help keep the secret."

Vasily nodded in agreement. "Special Talent? Seventy-series girls?"

"They're disposable slaves, about ten years old or so," Crystal put in. "We've found a large percentage of them have the magical gene, so far on average of twelve percent or so. In comparison, our own domestic percentage is about a _tenth_ of a percent."

"So we've bought a bunch of them up on Tosul and had them tested, just waving a wand around," Ms. Wayne said, offering a wand to Vasily. He did and got nothing; she waved it and got a fountain of colored sparks. "Obviously, that will not only save their lives, but will increase the gene pool. We are remodeling the Stockwell Orphanage in London to house them, its run by the Church of England. Once we see how that goes, we will spread them out to other wizarding schools around the world, including the one in Moscow. I think the Church influence will give them self confidence, which as former slaves they're going to need, and a strong moral code."

Vasily sat back, contemplating her. "There's something else about those girls … they mean something else to you."

Miss Wayne sighed, and then nodded. "Do you have any children of your own?"

"A wonderful, bright, intelligent daughter who has just blessed me with my first grandchild," and he turned a framed photo on his desk around so she could see it.

She sighed again, "You're a lucky man, Mr. Danilov. My biological clock is ticking much louder, two of my school mates are getting married, and there are three little girls, sisters, at the Stockwell Orphanage that I want, no, I _need_ to adopt." She sat back in her chair, "Ever since the attack on Arthur, I find myself seeing parents and kids, and I'm jealous. We saw parents with their kids getting on the school bus, and teenagers, riding bikes to school on the drive over here from the airport…." She glanced at Crystal, "One of my persistent dreams is waiting and picking up my kids at the school bus stop, along with other parents, sharing a cup of coffee and gossiping about them …" Her mouth twisted, "Something other people can do, but I doubt I'll be able to." She gestured at the photo, "Even though she's past school age, you had that time with her, and I'm jealous of you, Mr. Danilov. I grew up in a huge museum of a house where guests steal the silverware." She glanced at Crystal, "There's a wizarding family in England, they don't have much money, but they do have lots of kids, and their house is a warm, comforting, welcome _home_ known as the Burrow. I want a home like that, warm and welcoming."

She sighed again, and then waved her hand. "Back to business. I have dropped off a small interstellar yacht for your people to go over; it is in one of the hangers. I'm also considering moving another department here to Warsaw to keep things together; and it will create some jobs here."

"Besides shipbuilding, who?"

"Personnel," Ms. Wayne replied. "President Castro offered me the use of a former school for a Staff College, and the more I think about it, the more I like the idea. Once someone gets to the point where they're commanding a brigade, they're going to need to move beyond tactical thinking to incorporate strategic planning." She settled back in the chair, crossing her legs at the knee. "A brigade or fleet commander is going to be interacting with planetary forces and possibly heads of planetary governments. They're going to need to know how to not only smooth over ruffled feathers …"

"Quite literally in some cases," Crystal put in.

"True …" Ms. Wayne agreed. "However, they're going to need to meet political and strategic goals." She bounced her right leg on her left knee, "As I understand it, we're producing patrol boats for both search and rescue, like the Solar Guard, and law enforcement, like drug smuggling and anti-piracy?"

"True," Vasily agreed in turn. "They are designed to be based out of space stations and asteroid bases, with a week's endurance. Twenty or so crew, ships preferably operating in pairs, backed up by frigates and destroyers."

"Okay … so on a local, system level; we've got local freighters servicing the local extraction and the system's space-based economy, patrol boats for emergencies."

Vasily nodded in agreement, "These are designed to be locally built as far as possible, we will only export the designs and things like computers. We do have a few freighters that can handle exports of complete patrol boats. We will do that for an initial force. Right now, we are working with heavy equipment manufacturers for zero-gee and vacuum versions of equipment. Tunnel boring machines, graders, and so forth. Those will be used by the various military engineer companies we're graduating, as well as maintenance companies to come after and permanently staff the bases."

"The frigates and destroyers are more powerful units for local escort."

"Along with the light cruisers," Vasily added. "The force structure that was explained to me is our interstellar ships will go from trade port to trade port in convoy. If that is their destination, well and good. However, if they have to leave the local security, we will know their arrival time, and will have an escorting force meet them. The further they go into the bush, so to speak, the stronger that escort. Similarly, the further into the bush they go, the heavier the end system's patrol forces are, with missile pods in batteries, minefields, and so forth as necessary. Those are controlled by heavy cruisers, with fleet forces available in concentrations in larger bases." He reached to his tea, only to find it empty. "My apologies, may I offer you some good Russian tea?"

* * *

While they had a 'sit' around the samovar in the lunchroom, the conversation resumed, with staffers fixing their own tea and coffee, and sipping while they listened to the discussion. As the Tsaritsa did not seem to object, neither did Vasily. A young Chinese woman came in, heavily bundled against the cold, and Vasily waved her over, "Ms. Yu Chang, this is our Tsaritsa, Ms. Wayne."

Yu smiled and offered her hand, "Aren't you freezing?"

"A little chilly, but I'm not bad. The body armor makes me warm," she replied with a small smile. She got up, "Here, sit next to the samovar, if I can trade places with Mr. Danilov." They re-arranged themselves, and Mattie asked, "What are you working on?"

"The different sensors for the _Owl_-class survey ships. I'm a little confused about them; a standard battlecruiser hull doesn't have some of them." She used her teeth to pull her mittens off, placing her gloved hands on the samovar. "Ohhh… I think I'll just move in here for the winter."

"What you call winter in Formosa, we call spring in Eastern Europe," Vasily joked. "I have asked Maintenance to re-caulk your window, there is a definite draft. They said they'd be by to do it later today, please be blue and shivering for them."

"Not a problem, I was planning on lighting a fire," she replied.

Mattie grinned, "Warships like battle cruisers are designed to seek out, engage, and destroy the enemy ship. On the other hand, the _Owl_ class is designed to go into a totally unknown star system," she said. "In some of the Oan databases, which are up to several million years old, all we have is a location, nothing else, not even an orbit. A survey ship starts from several light years out and at Z+, above the star, and slowly spirals in. While they are doing that, they will determine exactly what kind of star it is, the spectral class and so forth. They will also determine the planetary systems and asteroid belts, mapping those while they look for signs of life, claim buoys, shipping and so forth. Depending on what they find, the Captain can drop our own claim buoys, orbit an inhabited planet to determine the cultural level, which means …"

"The Prime Directive!" someone said, and there was a laugh.

"In some cases, true," Ms. Wayne agreed. "We might make First Contact if they've got spacecraft and satellites. On our scale, at least the 1960's or 1970's level of tech. If there are some mean, nasty types, we get out of there. Our survey ships' orders are to get the data back, not die a hero." The samovar gurgled, and tea was fixed. While that was done, Ms. Wayne continued, "Our astronomers have been merging our databases with the Oan's. They generally have data we do not, such as planetary information, but in other cases, they do not. In order for our people to gain experience and prove out our equipment, we are going to organize this all by sector fleets, so the M5 star cluster would have our Fifth Fleet. They would have a central base at one of our colonies, and with several thousand stars in each cluster, the survey ships will be kept busy. They're going to start by visiting known stars with inhabited planets in the cluster, mapping and so forth to update our charts, and we'll see what kind of relations we can set up."

Sipping her tea, she cradled the hot cup in her hands, "If they're already a colony of someone else, that's fine. We'll see if we can set up a trade office with things like port visits, maybe a mutual defense treaty, whatever we can negotiate." She took another sip, "We've already got planets in that category; no reason we can't compete for business, and let everyone make some money. However, remember the Oan databases can be millions of years old - that civilization may have died out or the star gone nova, but the information is still valuable. If there's a new civilization, we may make First Contact or list them as a Protectorate." She glanced at Ms. Chang, "This is where the stealth gear comes into play, if we want to place an observation post on-planet, or for that matter, place spies on the ground. Therefore, after several years, our survey ships have worked through the easy listings in their cluster's stellar catalog. Then comes the tougher ones, where the data is much sparser. That is when we start sneaking into places very, very carefully. Once our mapping is done, we'll need to maintain those maps, so every ten years or so, a star system is revisited, and the data is updated."

"This seems to be more suited for a carrier, ma'am."

"Possibly," she agreed. "Carriers are more flag command platforms, though. The battlecruiser is big enough at 100 meters for what we need. However, from what we've heard, most navies are topping out at the battlecruiser."

"Why is that, madame?" one young fellow asked in a French accent.

"The method of production is by hand, and they take years to build, and cost a fortune. What we are spending on a dozen BattleStars, they are spending on a battlecruiser. They take years to build that one ship; we can have a battlecruiser built in a couple months. By the way, your efforts here are noted and appreciated, so give yourselves a pat on the back." There were smiles and grins, and slaps on the back, and Ms. Wayne continued. "Unfortunately, we live in a bad stellar neighborhood, as we've seen with our unwelcome houseguests." (She pointed at the ceiling.) "Therefore, once we have a decent supply of our small craft, and our engine and environmental plants are built and shipping units, we're going to have a modified 'Big Stick' style of diplomacy. We're going to have an updated version of Roosevelt's Great White Fleet, making a tour of the galactic neighborhood and dropping off units here and there at our colonies."

"We will have some ships here, won't we?" one of the younger people asked nervously.

"Of course. We are not going to neglect our own security, but we also need to deploy to our colony planets. Someone sees a fleet with a dozen or so BattleStars, a couple dozen of our carriers, and a screen of cruisers, destroyers and frigates, all gleaming white and parked in orbit while a diplomat or general drops in for a friendly chat …" She grinned. "That chat is going to be remembered, and when that fleet goes on its merry way, the locals are going to go 'Whew', but they're going to remember the visit."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, March 7, 2003: 13:04 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Bronx, PS 873, Social Studies:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Please settle down," the teacher said as she glanced through the roll. A tall, statuesque woman with black hair in a thick braid, she looked over at the door as a young man strolled in. "You're late, Mr. Link. The reason?" He shrugged, didn't answer, but handed over a crumpled slip of paper. She examined it, then gestured. He slouched over to his seat, dropping his bag as she closed the file folder with the roll, opening another. "We were examining different social systems on worlds of the Empire …"

"Yo, Ms. Prince, why don't you get Wayne in here?"

"And if I do, Mr. Samuals?" The class tittered, and Diana Prince smiled to herself. "I know she's made appearances at schools in Gotham City and Manhattan, what do I offer her to appear here, in my classroom?" She crossed her arms under her generous bust, "She's in classes herself, as well as running the Empire; her time is extremely valuable. Do I offer her all my students with straight A's?" She strolled across the room, her black knee boots clicking on the worn linoleum floor. "No, I think we need something more. The plan for a perfect society."

"Yo, that's easy, Miz P. Just give it all to me!"

The class laughed; Diana smiled, and wrote on the blackboard: '_Mr. Johnstown - all to me_.' She turned, "So we have Mr. Johnstown's absolute dictatorship. What else? We need social structure, an economic system, and a foreign policy." She strolled back and forth, "Mr. Johnstown owns everything and everyone, which means he solves all the problems and makes all the decisions. All right, Mr. Johnstown, we're waiting. Tell us what to do, with all the details. You've got until the end of the month to give us your plan, and please tell us how you're going to prevent the inevitable _coup d' etat_. Now, Ms. Day, you've …"

"Yo, what do you mean, cup d' what?"

"Ms. Day had her hand up, Mr. Johnstown, but a _coup d' etat_ (she wrote it on the board) is the violent overthrow of an existing government." She turned to face the class, "Ms. Wayne …"

"Yo, you said … violent?"

"Yes, Mr. Johnstown. If you're fortunate, you'll have a mock trial and be stood against a wall for a firing squad. More likely, it will be a lover or associate that poisons you or slits your throat while you're sleeping. History is full of examples, so please be certain to detail your security plans as well. Now, as I was saying, Ms. Wayne has a history of engineering the overthrow of governments that … displease … her. I believe she's done it to four governments, including the former People's Republic of China. I'm not counting the establishment of an effective worldwide government here on Earth." Diana nodded to the petite, dark-skinned young girl, "Ms. Day, your plan for the perfect society?"

"Um, Ms. Prince, can I think about it some more?"

"Certainly," and she addressed the class. "I want you to think about this over the weekend, give me an outline next Friday, and a fleshed-out plan by the end of the month." There was the expected groan, and Diana smiled, "This is a fun assignment - you get to stretch your mind, put down your perfect society." She pointed at a student who was wearing a Yankees hat, "Mr. Christopher is a sports fan, he might design a society that revolves around sports, but don't forget the social structure and the economy: how things are paid for. There is nothing off the table, so for the rest of class, let's look at different types of social structures. For instance, there's the caste system …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, March 7, 2003: 19:14 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Mattie looked up from her homework when one of her phones rang. She picked it up, "Wayne. Oh, hello. No, not a problem, I'm doing homework with some friends. No, I'm doing a foreign language, Russian, another one is doing English. No, she's from Moscow …" Maria looked up from her textbook, raising a sculpted eyebrow as Connie sat back with her Math book. Mattie continued on the phone, "Probably around the Easter holidays would be best, I'm planning on going to DC for the Marine Corps Marathon, a fun run. Hopping over to the Bronx wouldn't be much of a problem, but I'll ask and get back to you." She scrabbled around, "Okay, what is it? Okay, okay… I'll get back to you. Assuming everything is kosher, anything in particular you want me to talk about? Okay … okay, it sounds like fun. Right. Okay, clear," and she thumbed the disconnect.

"Da?" Maria drawled in Russian. ("What new excitement do we have?")

("A high school teacher in the Bronx just invited me to her social studies class,") Mattie said with a straight face. She sat back in her chair, ("Went through my mother to get to me, they're … acquaintances, in some ways. Want to come, see New York City and DC?"

("That would be interesting, I think,") Maria said. ("I am not a runner, though. Vasily?") She asked her bodyguard, who was sitting near the door. ("I could do some shopping with Connie.")

("I will speak to Ms. Evans to coordinate this,") he replied.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 8, 2003: 04:55 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Warsaw, Palace of Science and Culture:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Ms. Lane?" Lt. Piast asked softly. "The Tsaritsa wishes to see her Aunt Lois after the briefing. If that is agreeable, I will escort you to her then."

"Of course, Vladimir. I appreciate it." He nodded and moved behind the podium, tapping on the mike. "Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats." He waited patiently, the red lights on the television cameras coming on. "Thank you," he started. "I have both good news and bad news," he said as the assorted journalists settled down. "The first bit of good news is that the press networks have been offered the opportunity to place journalists with Imperial units." There was a rustle, and the Lieutenant continued, "Those journalists will be required to follow military regulations for security, and to follow the unit leader's orders for the safety of all. This means that specifics will not be permitted, as in locations, and if the unit leader gives an order, it will be obeyed."

He looked around, "The next bit of good news is that over the last few days, the Tsaritsa has met with the Princess B'tan." There was a rustle of excitement, and the Lieutenant held up his hand. "The next bit of news is that the Princess used this to violate the cease-fire and attack the diplomatic party. This violated … ladies and gentlemen, please! I will answer questions later." The journalists slowly settled back into their seats. "Thank you. As I said, this action of the Republic has violated the cease-fire. We have captured the Princess and the balance of her fleet …" There was a storm of questions as the newsies came to their feet, and a slide appeared, showing a cigar-chewing President Castro standing behind a seated Princess B'tan, his left hand on her shoulder. On her other side, a grinning Tsaritsa helped to hold down the Princess, a lit cigar in her right hand, on the Princess' shoulder, while she helped to hold that day's edition of _Granma_. The Lieutenant flipped over a cloth, and held up a copy of the newspaper, the upper corners autographed by the two.

The Lieutenant tapped on his microphone again, "Ladies and gentlemen, please! Questions later, we have a great deal to get through." He waited as the journalists settled down again. He continued, "The prisoner B'tan is being held in a Cuban prison, and will stand trial … please! Questions later, please." He waited again, "As I was saying, the prisoner B'tan will stand trial for battery on two heads of state, piracy, terrorism and mass murder, as she ordered the destruction of Paris." He leaned forward, holding out his hand, and the press settled down. "Thank you. These are capital charges, and the prisoner B'tan is represented by defense counsel. I am informed the trial and possible execution … People, please!" He waited again, and then continued. "Thank you. For your information, the Red Cross has been invited to send an observation team to ensure the prisoner's condition. Once again, the trial and any execution will be televised."

He stopped, assuming a 'parade rest' position while the newsies once again shouted questions. He waited, and then tapped the microphone again. "To continue, the pirate fleet has been captured. We will repair those ships we can, supplementing our own naval forces. However, captured data has shown reinforcement and resupply fleets are scheduled. The first of these are due by the end of this month. We will attempt to capture … Ladies and gentlemen, please! If you will resume your seats, I will now take questions." He pointed, "Mr. Mathius, your question?"

"The trial will not be held before the International Court of Justice?"

"No. Nor will it be held in France, although the French media, as well as others, are welcome to attend. Mr. Ullage?"

"Have the pirates communicated with their government?"

"No. We have captured or destroyed any ships that could have sent a message." He popped back up, "Follow up, what about these incoming fleets?"

"Our information is that they are primarily freighters and personnel transports, with some light escorting warships. They are expecting to follow up a successful invasion of a planet of barbarians using arrows and swords. We came as a surprise to them." There was a chuckle, and the Lieutenant continued, "We will try to continue this by capturing or destroying any ships that try to escape and warn the Republic of the actual situation." He pointed, "Ms. Takhito?"

The slim Japanese reporter stood gracefully, "Thank you. My question is: What is the readiness of our own fleet, and follow up, how will the integration of the pirate fleet help or hurt? Thank you," she said politely.

"You are welcome, Ms. Takhito, and unfortunately I can't answer part of your question," Lt. Piast replied. "Referring to readiness …"

* * *

Upstairs, Crystal was showing an older Frenchman in to see the Tsaritsa, who rose from behind her desk, extending her hand. She spoke in French, ("M. DeClerq, welcome to Warsaw; Headmistress McGonagall was happy to refer you. Please take a seat,") she gestured.

He sniffed, and took the other seat than she had indicated, and came straight to the point. ("You wish your portrait painted. Since you did not prevent the destruction of my home and studio, you must rebuild it before I will consider your commission.") He pulled out several pages, placing them facedown; ("My requirements.")

The Tsaritsa hid her surprise, but Crystal, standing behind M. DeClerq, raised her eyebrows, rolling her eyes as Mattie replied, ("M. DeClerq, if it has passed your notice, we are at war. The enemy is the one to blame for the destruction of your studio, and the city of Paris.") She pulled several sheets of paper from one of her file folders, ("As I said, there are two men who I would appreciate your taking on as your apprentices. They are both talented artists, although one has had some legal troubles and is making a marginal living as a street artist in London.") She sat back, tenting her fingers, ("As I understand it, a wizarding portrait is a … imprint … of the original. They can also communicate with other portraits, including other portraits of themselves in other locations. While I have seen the portraits in Hogwarts communicate with those in London, which is a distance of only a few hundred kilometers. My question is if there is a range limitation. Ideally, I wonder if they can communicate across continental, interplanetary or interstellar distances.") She did not miss the flicker of interest on M. DeClerq's face before he resumed his aloof expression of boredom, and tapped her sheets, which lay facedown on the desk.

("Several thousand kilometers, I know,") M. DeClerq replied. ("My father and grandfather painted portraits for the Tsars of Russia. Interplanetary or interstellar, I do not know. As far as apprentices, I will pass judgment on the suitability of those you propose.")

("Of course,") the Tsaritsa agreed. ("I have samples of their artwork here, and you can meet with them later. One of them is in a wheelchair; he has injuries to his legs due to the recent conflict in Britain with the Dark Lord Voldemort. We have taken that into consideration when designing your facilities, handicapped access is also the law." She tented her fingers, "Mr. Pettigrew is in his mid-thirties. Mr. Thomas, on the other hand, is a recent Hogwarts graduate and is in his twenties.") M. DeClerq nodded, and slid his requirements toward his potential patron, as she did to him. They studied them in silence, and M. DeClerq, as the opening gambit in the negotiations, declared ("The area is inadequate, and in an industrial area? I am DeClerq! I do not share space with blacksmiths!")

("M. DeClerq, your demand that I not only rebuild the city of Paris, but build you a studio of five thousand square meters _before_ you will consider my commission is not only outrageous but a deal-breaker,") the Tsaritsa replied. ("I am reliably informed that the hole where Paris was will require some 4500 square kilometers of material to fill. That is taking the Alps and using them as fill material. No. Your second requirement that I raise the dead is also impossible. The dead of Paris are dust and smoke on the wind; not to mention the creation of inferi is considered Dark Magic. No again. While the loss of your wife is regrettable, and you have my sympathies, I cannot raise her from the dead.") She drew a line through both of those entries on his requirements. ("Moving on, I am paying for not only the lease of your studio, but furnishing it. I think it only fair to get the best bargain for my Euro, and the location I suggest in Marseilles has northern lighting but also good access to not only public transit but Beauxbatons. I think my getting a few portraits out of the deal is only reasonable.") She did not say that her information on M. DeClerq had him living off the contents of his moneybag; his Gringotts vault in Paris had been destroyed with the city. He needed her to survive and rebuild his studio; however, his attitude remained arrogant and aloof. She continued, ("If my very reasonable terms are not suitable, I wish you good day. I will meet with Herr Schmidt in Berlin …")

("That … _cursed German_? His work is little better than … stick figures!") He sputtered. ("No! I will not have it!")

("He has been most reasonable …") she said. ("He did say he would make several portraits for only a few Euros …")

("In muggle money? That … filthy _boche_! I will produce a masterpiece for you!")

("But I need more than one portrait …") the Tsaritsa said quietly. ("At least four…")

("Done! They will be magnificent!") M. DeClerq exclaimed.

("Then let us discuss the details…")

* * *

"You're evil, you know …" Crystal said half-jokingly, as she returned from escorting M. DeClerq to the lift. "Your Aunt Lois is here."

"I am not!" Mattie said, mock offended. "Is it my fault that he's a poor negotiator?"

"Who's a poor negotiator?" Lois asked as she came in. Hugs were exchanged, and Mattie asked, "How's my niece?"

"Still being raised by your house-elves in Gotham," Lois replied. "I'm a horrible mother."

"So am I," Crystal replied as she stood by the door. "At least you had yours, mine's in stasis."

"And the girls I want to adopt I can't until I'm at least eighteen," Mattie put in as she resumed her seat. "Three more years, assuming some damned bureaucrat doesn't kill the process." She sighed, "There are times when I wish I was just a muggle teenager whose biggest worry was making the cheerleading squad and finding a place to snog her boyfriend."

"And whose mother yelled at her to do her homework and clean her room," Lois snickered.

"Instead of that, I sweat pirate invasions and strategic planning for a multi-system empire," she said as she threw down the pen she had been toying with, "Aunt Lois, I've got about fifteen seconds of video from Oa through Oracle. It shows Uncle Clark and our Lanterns in what we assume is a stasis field. There are two Guardians visible; we have identified them as Ganthet and the female as Sayd. Their body language would indicate disagreement in humans, but there's no audio, and the Guardians are telepaths, so we don't know what they're saying to each other." She tented her fingers, "Our intelligence has these two as a couple, so any disagreement might be personal, or related to the Guardians holding our people. Let me know what you think," she said as she passed over a CD, and gestured to a player on the conference table.

* * *

"I don't know …" Lois said hesitantly. "The female … Sayd, you said? She does glance at Clark and the others, and her hands on her hips would indicate irritation at least, but these two aren't human …"

"Precisely," Mattie replied. "We can't make assumptions, just like we can't assume Ganthet's body language and facial expression is smug satisfaction. Having met him face-to-face, I tend to think he _is_ smugly satisfied, but there's disagreement on that point."

"When did you meet this bloke?" Crystal asked.

"The Halloween Ball at Hogwarts," Mattie replied. "You were down in the Great Hall, I assume, but Arthur … (she paused for a second) … Arthur and I were outside the Infirmary when Aunt Lois was in labor; Ganthet decided he wanted to play tourist and watch the birth. Uncle Clark was Not Happy and was unusually … forceful in expressing his displeasure."

"I don't remember that," Lois commented.

"You were otherwise occupied," Mattie said with a grin. "We had an angry Kryptonian father protecting his wife and child; I'm amazed he didn't kill Ganthet. Instead, he punched him hard enough to go straight through several of Hogwarts' stone walls. I think Ganthet is still harboring a grudge," and she gestured at the CD. "With the Lanterns, I think it's just so we don't have a walkover victory against the Republic, we're going to have to work for this one." She shoved back her chair, "In any case, Crystal and I are making a quick floo trip to London, just swapping out clean for dirty…"

"Yeah, right," Lois said, getting to her feet as well. "Pull the other one. Anyway, thanks for the video. I'll call the Kents in Smallville."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 8, 2003: 05:36 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Grandview Heights, Morton home:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Teela groaned and cracked open her eye as her big sister Elena returned from the bathroom. She crouched, grabbing her sneakers and workout clothing, then prodding Teela. "C'mon, go for a run with me, get the blood pumping. I'll take it easy on you; you want to get back into your skinny jeans?"

She groaned and looked at her sister, older by two years. Truth to tell, Elena was lean and very, very buff. She would be twenty on June ninth, her formerly long dirty-blonde hair now in a much shorter cut, with very little fat on her frame. She pushed her own hair out of her eyes (she definitely needed a trim), and she sat up as Elena hooked her feet under the dresser and started to do sit-ups, twisting at the waist to switch elbows with her knees. "What's it like?" she asked, waving at the ceiling. "Y'know, the Army, the … the um, aliens and all."

"I never would have thought it, but I'm enjoying it. The money's okay and I'm getting a bonus for helping to take five ships." She stopped, pulled her ankles from the dresser and started push-ups. "The aliens, as you call them, I assume you mean the rescued slaves, are people. There are some physiological differences, blood types and so forth, but the biggest difference is a lack of self-confidence. They have been beaten down psychologically all their lives, when they first go into basic, it is as if they have just been sold and their new master has them doing all these crazy things. The Terrans have to constantly … I don't know, encourage them, support them. They go in, remember their only identity has been their collar number. Their last master may have called them, oh, 'Becky' while their new master calls them 'Gail', if they use a name at all instead of their number. Forty-nine … fifty." Elena re-arranged herself from the push-ups, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "Physically, they're generally pretty fit already, it's just the psychological aspect they need to work on, and armies have been re-molding people from civilians to soldiers for centuries. So, you gonna come run with me? Couple times around the block."

Teela groaned again, and then swung her legs out from under the bedding. "I'll do it if you come with me to do the shopping, I need a haircut."

* * *

"Next!" Teela bounced up and sat in the chair, while another hair stylist motioned to Elena. Shaking her head, she smiled, "No, thanks, I'm good."

"You sure you don't want a little trim?" Lara, the shop's manager, a tall, very busty blonde with straight hair asked as she started to work on Teela. She hesitated, "That style is …"

"Regulation, and just fine for a snoopy cap and a vac suit's helmet," Elena finished. "Besides, there aren't many hairdressers on post. This is good for wash'n'go straight out of the barracks door."

"Army?"

"_Imperial_ Army, yes," Elena confirmed. "Why?"

"The … my son got into some problems with the law, the judge gave him the choice of the army or jail." Lara shook her head, "He fell into a bad crowd with the drugs, and …"

"He's going to have a rude awakening," Elena said. "We had a guy like that in my Basic Training platoon; he thought he could slide on through and let the platoon carry him. Now, if you're trying and it's just not enough, we will help you, and there is remedial training on Sundays. This guy, well, he was the recipient of several blanket parties before he changed his tune." She explained, "A blanket party is where you get a beating in your bunk. They pull the blanket over your face so you can't identify anyone. Usually the DI's can … motivate … you enough, but this guy needed extra treatment. He thought he was a real bad ass, but he learned there's always someone bigger, meaner, and tougher than you are." She swirled the ice in her Subway™ cup, looking out at the interior of the WalMart™. "Lord help him if he tries to smuggle something like a knife or drugs into boot camp. He thinks a civilian prison is tough. Try a _military_ prison; it would be hell on earth for him." She looked at the older woman, "Tell him that. Also, remind him that the system is under martial law, and it's very easy to be fragged in combat if you're unpopular, or to have a little suit malfunction. A thruster fires at the wrong time, and you're a Dutchman, flying forever in space. You need to trust your buddies, like they trust you, and it sounds like he wouldn't get a whole lot of trust, even if he survived Basic."

Lara chewed her lip, "The training companies are co-ed?"

"Mine was, but they're also experimenting with single-sex. Some guys try to protect the girl instead of proceeding with the mission, even if she's proven she can handle herself. You have powered armor fitted, so you can lift and throw several hundred kilos, but most of what I've done is close range, compartment fighting." She gestured at the small shop, which was next to a nail salon and small photo studio, across from the registers. "We go in; we handle the threats and make them non-threats. The current Republican Navy either panics, in which they wet themselves and then either drop and grovel, or try to run and hide, or they're arrogant bastards who expect us to submit as their slaves."

"No, they're that stupid?" One of the hairdressers, a rather flamboyant man asked.

"Percy, from what Miss Wayne has said, they expected a bunch of medieval peasants," Lara said.

"That's true," Elena said. "The slaves do all the actual work, the average Republican signed up for a spiffy uniform, a nice paycheck, some graft, and all they need to do is paperwork. They wouldn't know which end of a wrench to use. The thought of them having to actually _fight_ …" she shook her head. "Now, they're good enough to boss around; abuse and torture some slaves, but that's not that hard when the slave girls are naked, bound, and Enhanced."

She swirled the ice in her cup, taking a gulp through her straw, then said, "To show you how disconnected from reality they are, the last ship I boarded was their command ship, the battlecruiser _Seren the Wise_. We were in a lock gallery, when one of them stepped out of a hidden compartment with a slave girl he intended to space. I told him to drop his weapon and surrender, he actually told me to shut up, he would collar me as soon as he got rid of the disobedient slave. He then ignored me, even though I was armed and wearing battle armor, with several other troops, and started to pull this naked slave toward the lock. One of my girls, a rescued slave, told him to let her go and surrender, and he saw her collar lights and told her that he would get around to punishing her in a minute." She took another gulp of her drink, "She took his head off with her sword; I was so proud of her. Her first kill, she got past her conditioning." She rattled her ice again, "Of course, she puked afterward. Just about everyone does, I did." She rattled her ice again.

"Murder?" Percy's customer gasped.

"No. Murder would be killing with evil intent, what the lawyers call malice aforethought. Look at the Joker from Gotham; he would kill someone because they were blonde or wearing red socks. The military uses a different standard, and this is self-defense, or defense of an innocent bystander. This particular instance he was given two chances to surrender." Elena shrugged, "He was not only a fool, but a damned stupid one as well."

"When confronted with armed combat troops … did he have any weapons?" Percy asked as he worked on his customer's hair.

"Slave wand and he was wearing their light, unpowered armor. I don't know why, it's ugly and he clearly wasn't expecting any sort of threat." She snorted, "Like a bunch of slaves locked on racks would be a threat to him, and he wasn't even the ship's torturer. Now that was a _sick_ bastard."

"Slave wand?"

"Think of a variable strength cattle prod, used on naked slave girls," Elena replied. "Cows have much thicker skin, though." Several of the listening staff and customers winced. Elena shrugged, "Slaves come in two general types, captured and bred slaves. Captured slaves generally come from liners and other ships, while bred slaves are bred like any other livestock. Our Republican friends (she gestured at the ceiling) believe in Enhancing their slaves, so they will stick a computer in the slave's head, right here (she tapped the back of her head), at the base of the skull. It's about the size of a deck of cards and maybe a centimeter thick. They synchronize the collar to it, and she can be programmed like a robot."

"You said 'she'. Aren't there any male slaves?" Percy asked.

"Generally only heavy labor and stud slaves, and they don't sell for what female slaves do." She shook her head, "There are even commodity markets for slaves, like we have for sugar and iron. Anyway, what do you hear about the Empire and jobs? I've been kind of out of the loop on that."

Percy nodded as he turned his customer in her chair. "I think things are starting to look up. There's been some competition for new plants, and I'm seeing more hiring."

Lara commented, "We're somewhat like bartenders, we hear a lot of stories. I'm hearing about more heavy industry going off-planet, people are arranging to work in orbit or on the moon." She worked on Teela, "Since people get direct-deposit to the local banks, one of the parents will go up for a contract job, while the other stays here, takes care of the kids and the house …" She sighed, "I'd like to go myself, but I'm divorced and I've got kids, and I started cutting hair right out of high school. Who needs a hairdresser in orbit?"

"Actually, there's a good demand for barbers," Elena replied. "Do you get motion sick? Seasick?" Lara shook her head, and Elena continued, gesturing at her head. "Hair needs to be kept short, because we wear a padded cloth cap, NASA calls it a snoopy cap, we use it to protect our head inside the helmet. Our hair and guys' beards and mustaches need to be kept trimmed to get a good helmet seal, but we can't just whack it off in zero gee, because hair is conductive and can get into the smallest crack. They're using those home trimmers with a vacuum hose, but there's no, y'know, style. There are a few barbershops on the different stations, and in the settlements on the Moon, Mars and Phobos and Deimos. Definitely a market there." She took a slurp from her Diet Coke™, then added, "Heavy industry is polluting and energy-intensive. In orbit, energy is pretty much free, and you design your processes to capture what you want and you use the vacuum and zero gee."

"As long as you remember Newton's Third Law," Teela put in. "Objects in motion, y'know."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 8, 2003: 08:00 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Imperial Building:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The secured lift 'dinged' and Pete Ross, President of the United States, stepped out. He had taken a rather convoluted trip here. Officially, he was in conference with the Queen at Buckingham Palace for the second day this weekend. That's where the press had seen him get out of 'The Beast', the Secret Service's nickname for the Presidential limousine. While he had met with the Prime Minister and the Queen, the Secret Service had also borrowed some of her Range Rovers to travel here covertly, at Ms. Wayne's request. There were several items on his agenda to discuss with her. One of her security people indicated an open door, and he got an approving nod from the Secret Service advance man.

Mattie Wayne stood as the President entered, hands were shaken, and the President took a seat at the conference room table. Ms. Wayne started, "Mr. President, good morning. This is Colonel Smith, the commander of those troops I emailed you about."

He nodded, "Yes, I want to see their evidence. If it can be verified, then I will do what is necessary to rectify the situation."

"Thank you. Colonel Smith?"

"Thank you, ma'am. Sir, the situation is this: We were tasked to …"

* * *

"Thank you, Colonel," the President said, tapping the photocopied paperwork in the manila file folders. "Is there anything else?"

"Mr. President," Mattie put in, "We can see the Colonel's memories of the events in question. Crystal here is a member of SO1, my bodyguard, a witch and a British cop. Crystal?"

"Yes, ma'am," she said. She placed a small, wide stone goblet down, with various runes carved along the lip. "This is what is known as an evidence pensieve. With this, we can watch a memory of an event, but those memories cannot be deleted or edited in any way. With this, a court can view events. I can replay, enlarge or otherwise handle the memories, but as I said, I cannot edit or delete them." The President nodded, and Crystal asked, "Colonel Smith? I will ask you to recall the relevant memories, one at a time. I will touch my wand to your right temple, which will copy those memories, which I will place in the pensieve. Ready?" He paused for a few seconds, then nodded. Deftly, a silvery stream of almost solid smoke was attached to the tip of her wand, and placed in the pensieve. She smiled at the American officer, then asked, "Ready for the next, Colonel?"

* * *

"Hmm…" the President mused when the memories had finished playing. "I see what you mean, Colonel Smith. Naturally, I had the service records of you and your team pulled. Aside from the usual drunk-and-disorderly that I would expect of combat troops on leave, you and yours have stellar records with a very high mission success rate. That's why the court martial is unusual; you yourself have two DSC's**(3)** and your troops have equally stellar records." He tapped the evidence pensieve and the thick stack of photocopied documents. "I'm going to put the Vice-President on this, and have her get back with you on her findings; I'm too high-profile. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." One of the Secret Service men stepped forward to box up the pensieve as the President continued, "Ms. Wayne, you mentioned two other items."

"Yes, Mr. President. We are looking at what we're going to need regarding the various planets of the Republic. Right now, our boarding troops are using swords not only for the psychological impact, but because the Republic's troops generally wear body armor that is both lighter and tougher than our ammo. In short, the current 5.56 and 9mm ammo simply bounce off. While H&K is looking at producing weapons in the larger 10mm caliber and with explosive tips, we're also considering coilguns, updated versions of what they use." She slid a DVD out of a file folder, waved it, then pushed it toward the President. She swiveled slightly, pulling two keys on a chain out of her pocket, and pointed to two hard-shell cases against the wall. "The machine shops in Warsaw ran up a half-dozen prototypes of our designs, and I've handed them out to various ambassadors. The smaller case has one of the Republican sidearms along with our tentative design. The larger case has their version of an assault rifle with one of our carbine prototypes." She slid the keys across the table to the President. "I know Colt, H&K, and Steyr were working on these, I've also talked to the Russians, Italians and Japanese. The third case next to them has Republican body armor."

The President raised a hand, "Why tell me? I'm not professional military, I'm a farm boy from Smallville."

Colonel Smith cleared his throat, "If I may? Mr. President, being a farm boy, you've done some hunting." The President nodded, and the Colonel continued. "I've talked about this with Ms. Wayne. When you've hunted, you've used at least two different calibers. You've used something small for varmints like rabbits and squirrels, probably a .22. With that, you need good accuracy because of the small, rapidly moving target, especially if you're going to cook them later." The President nodded, smiling slightly. "Ah, good times. Please continue, Colonel."

"Yes, sir. The other option would be larger game, like deer. You'd use something like a .30 caliber, perhaps a Garand, which is a popular, excellent rifle in .30-06, and good out to several hundred yards. You can also take larger game with it, like elk and bears if you're a good shot." The President nodded again, "Good memories. I wish I could hunt now, but the tree huggers would go nuts. Please continue, Colonel."

"Yes, sir. The problem, as the Tsaritsa mentioned, is in the terminal ballistics. We want a one-shot stopper, and with a target that's not wearing body armor, the bullet enters, fragmenting as it pitches and rolls inside the body, creating a large wound channel and possibly damaging vital organs. The target collapses, and dies rapidly." The President nodded, and the Colonel continued, "With the Republican body armor, it prevents that. The target might be bruised, but they're still functional. If the shot is to the face, they're protected by a ClearSteel™ visor, which our rounds will penetrate if they hit just right. However, that's like shooting a squirrel through one specific eye with that Garand while both of you are moving. Possible, yes, likely, no." The President nodded, and the Colonel continued, "The coilgun gives a large thrust and a large impact to the projectile. It will knock anyone off their feet, but the needle has a very tiny impact point. You're hitting them with a pin or a sewing needle, and it will go right through, doing little damage unless you hit the eye of that squirrel."

"Wait a minute, I thought there was an anti-tank round that did that."

"Yes, sir. That produces damage inside the tank through what's known as spall. It fragments the inside layer of the steel to produce shrapnel, which whizzes around inside the tank. You protect against that with reactive and slat armor, which pre-detonates the round before it gets inside." The President nodded, "Back to the squirrel."

"Yes, sir. The coilgun accelerates that needle to several thousand meters per second, but it doesn't do terminal damage unless it hits a vital organ. It will knock someone off their feet, but they can get back up. What we're looking to do is penetrate the armor, and what we've got so far is lightweight shipboard armor, like wearing a leather vest. We're not even up to chainmail or plate armor, the equivalent of the heavy combat armor which we'll be facing."

"I see. Why ask me, though?"

Ms. Wayne smiled. "Four reasons. First, you _are_ the President, so if you ask about this, it's going to happen. Second, we're going to be having evaluations in a few months, I would hope US companies like Barrett, Colt, Remington, and Winchester would participate. Third, jobs. We're going to be buying large numbers of the winners, and fourth, Superman said you were an honest, stand-up guy, and only reluctantly took the vice-presidential slot when Luthor was elected."

She sat back with her fingers tented under her chin. "This is one of the problems that needs to be solved as quickly as possible. We're looking at regime change to Imperial-friendly, and we'll need to place garrisons on them. Hopefully, we can do this through economic and political maneuvering, but we're also planning for an assault if necessary. We are working on various methods of assault, from orbital commando drops to special forces seizing different areas. Then, once our new, friendly regime is in power, we're going to need to secure various areas like our space head, on-planet supply dumps and various bases, which means vehicles and also means things like ground-to-space defense, better body armor for our troops than the Republicans have, and anything that an urban battlefield might need." She moved her chair back and forth for a minute, then looked to her left. "Colonel, anything to add here?"

Colonel Smith cleared his throat, "We're commandos, special forces. What about the local forces?"

"Based on our intelligence from the captured enemy forces and the ships, the vast majority of the local security forces are oriented toward keeping the resident slaves in line. The slaves are ninety-five to ninety-nine percent of the local population, a variable amount of freeborn and a small number of freed slaves." She swiveled back and forth again, "The local security forces are more headbreakers than cops. We're going to try to perform a coup for our regime change, and on the capital planet of Aeeloh, Crown Princess A'ya is willing to step into her grandfather's shoes and rule as our regent." She swiveled again, "I want to discuss that with you later, Colonel. However, we're going to have to plan for a garrison, the question is the size and potency. That brings up the second phase of that request, in addition to small arms, we're looking at vehicles, everything from jeeps to artillery and armored vehicles like personnel carriers and tanks." She swiveled again, "If you'll pardon a bit of American chauvinism, it would be great to get Detroit and all those empty factories going again. Think 'galactic export market' as well as Imperial sales. However, I'm not the one making those buying recommendations. You're up against the other countries like Russia, Japan, Korea, Germany and Italy." Crystal coughed, and Mattie smiled, "And of course the UK. Sorry, how could I forget?"

The President nodded, "Anything else?"

"One little hiccup has occurred. While the US Senate has recognized the Empire as a government, the Defense Department seems to be … reluctant to allow US forces to participate. In particular, we need to develop and train for urban and close-quarters fighting, like aboard ship."

"I'll ask the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs." He stood along with everyone else, shaking hands, "Thank you, Tsaritsa Wayne, I'll have the Vice President get in touch with you and Colonel Smith."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 8, 2003: 10:15 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Canary Wharf:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Harri King of Seattle, the former Dr. Harleen Quinzel of Gotham, looked around the broad plaza. Once known as the London Dockyards and the Isle of Dogs, it was now an office complex with soaring skyscrapers. She glanced at her map, then sighed. "Excuse me," she asked who she thought was a cop, er, bobby. "Where's the Imperial Building? I have an interview…"

"Lots o' you do, miss," he replied politely. "Yank, are you? It's right …" Sirens whooped, covers slid back from lines of ornamental fountains, and lasers started to track as a small plane flew overhead. Someone had radioed the pilot, who turned and started to fly west, upriver. After a few seconds, covers slid closed and the fountains started up again.

Cooly, the bobby pointed, finishing his sentence. "… over there, miss." He looked up, "Bloody student pilots, begging your pardon, miss. This is marked as a no-fly area, but every few weeks, someone must test it. In any case, there's a tea shop there on the ground floor, good luck to you."

"Thanks," she said with a smile.

* * *

Harri looked around the outdoor patio, her paper cup of coffee in her left hand, and used her right to adjust her bag. Eddie hadn't been inside, but this is where he said he'd meet her. She'd already looked around the lobby, as much as she could with the security, and if he had stood her up, London was such an expensive town … She sucked in her breath, that bald head looked familiar … She walked over, "Excuse me, but Eddie? Edward Nigma?"

Edward Nigma looked up from his conversation with the younger redhead, and regarded the young brunette. "Do I know you, miss?"

"Harri? Harri King?" She saw his look of confusion, "Harley? The Iceberg Lounge, in Gotham?"

An eyebrow twitched upward. "What was the barkeep's name?"

"Um, Sly, and Raven was the hostess, and Pengy was the owner…"

"Indeed." He stood, "Ms. Weasley, this is the young lady I told you about. Ms. King, this is Ms. Weasley. Good day, ladies," and with a nod, he left. Ginny looked around, then put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, "Oi! Green number five! Get your arse over here!" One of the figures, a young woman with long black hair in an elaborate net-like 'do turned to look from her conversation with an older man with salt-n-pepper hair, Ginny waved, and the young woman ambled over, coffee in her left hand, followed by an older blonde. A scrape of an iron chair on the concrete patio, she smoothed her skirt and sat. "Green number five?" she asked with a slight smile.

"Would you have preferred 'Oi, your snakiness?'" Ginny asked with a grin. "This one claims to be from you hometown. Someone named Harley."

"Oh, really?" Mattie said. "Where's Raoul's cart, and what does he sell?"

"Outside Robinson Park, and the best coffee in Gotham."

"True, very true. Where's the light?"

"Top 'o Police Plaza. Been there a few times. Controls are on the left behind a locked door." Both girls smiled, Mattie asked, "Who used a scarred coin?"

"Harve. Drank two-shots of double malt. Ivy drank Cosmopolitans. What happened to your left hand?"

"Lost the finger in a sword fight. He lost his manhood and bled out." Mattie regarded the older girl. "I thought you were a blonde."

"Hair dye. Mistah J preferred blondes, they're supposed to have more fun." She sighed, "He was fun, and such a wonderful sense of humor, too. Then he was … he was killed in Blackgate."

Mattie caught Ginny's eye. "Mistah J was also known as Joker, look him up, but not after you've eaten. You thought your little bimble to Gotham was bad? Joker was a thousand times worse. He'd kill you for wearing yellow socks on the subway."

"He … it was a joke!"

"Four times, Harley? What was the punch line? How many times did he hospitalize you?" She took a gulp of coffee, adding to Ginny, "Joker was killed in the shower at Blackgate Prison with a bar of soap. Of course nobody saw anything, and nobody looked too hard, either." She took another gulp of coffee, then pulled out a hairpin. "I've said before that anything can be used as a weapon, including this." She put the coffee down and resecured her hair. "She's from Gotham, and I'm willing to extend you a second chance, Harley, but I don't make those decisions." She stood, raised her coffee in salute. "I came back to London this weekend to get some things done that I absolutely had to be here for. Ladies," and she walked off to rejoin the older man and the blonde.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 8, 2003: 10:25 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Canary Wharf, Imperial Building:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Have a seat, please," Mattie said as she showed Col. Smith to a cubicle. "This is the 'secure contractors' area. Washrooms in the corridor, coffee and tea in the break room. This is your data files with things like TO&E for our Special Forces teams. We ask you to use the DataPak™ for your files." He nodded and she continued, "Based on captured enemy intelligence, we have tentative plans for regime change for each of the twenty five planets in the Republic. I would like you to analyze them and review them, look for strengths and weaknesses. You have a reputation of thinking way outside the box. If you think a particular bit of equipment, or specialized personnel would work, please say so. This task does involve long-term political and economic changes, as we want to absorb the planets of the Republic into the Empire."

The Colonel grunted, "What about bringing my people in?"

"Clear them, and use one of the meeting rooms. Instructions for logging in, reserving a meeting room, and so forth are here," and she tapped a three ring binder behind the phone. "That also has an internal phone directory."

The Colonel grunted again, "I assume this has strategic plans for each system as well. If I have comments on that?"

"Put them down, especially if it will conserve manpower. We are getting in lots of volunteers, and putting out propaganda toward volunteering for the Imperial Army, but we would rather not go into conscription. This isn't World War One, we're not assaulting with massed infantry over trenches but we will need to have planetary garrisons." She thumped the floor with a booted heel. "We're currently _one_ planet up against _twenty five_, so we have to fight really smart if we're going to survive. If we need to use a sniper team to take out a reluctant politician or oligarch on one of those planets, that's what we'll do. Better that than putting in twenty divisions of infantry and armor against an insurgency."

"Asymmetric warfare, only we'd be the 'terrorists' (he finger-quoted)." He took a gulp of coffee, "What kind of assistance can we expect from the local slave population?"

"We don't know," the Tsaritsa replied. "We're making the assumption that all the slaves are Enhanced, as all the ship's slaves were, but there's no data on that. Remember, to the average Republican, slaves do not exist except as animals. They're titled property, like a car or motorcycle, and they have to be fed like any other livestock, but that's as far as they go." She moved to take the single guest chair in the cubicle, "I would assume no assistance. We do have intel people covered as slave girls, as well as off-planet traders, but that's going to be dicey when our blockades go in."

"You mentioned that," he replied.

"Our blockades are designed for economic targets, specifically the oligarchies. We are going to plant a blockade just inside the warp limit, so they can't go FTL. For our Sol system, that would be about two AU, or just inside the asteroid belt. Cargo ships can get through it if they're Terran owned, or if they pay an outrageous tariff. So we'll let oatmeal go through for the slaves, but slap a ten thousand percent tariff on caviar and steak." She shifted, her right leg going over her left. "Colonel, I grew up in the crème-de-la-crème of blue-blooded society. Those types will rather starve before they lower their standards to eat something as low-class as oatmeal, or in this case, slave gruel. Where they might have paid twenty dollars a pound for sirloin before, now they're forced to pay a hundred thousand dollars a pound. We anticipate that will have three effects: first that the high-and-mighty insist on a military response to break the blockade. Second, blockade runners and smugglers will come into being, smuggling that caviar."

"Which is what you suggested in Cuba."

The Tsaritsa nodded, "Third, the oligarchy will finally, and in secret, start to eat that oatmeal. They won't have any choice, because _that's_ getting through the blockade. They'll still go out and buy that caviar and sirloin for the dinner and cocktail parties, but it won't be on the daily menu."

"I see …" the Colonel mused. "What about the Republican military forces?"

"Captured enemy data has fairly light naval forces, up to a few heavy cruisers. They're oriented toward pirates, which are heavily armed enough to take a passenger liner. However, we're deploying carriers and battleships, to use a World War Two analogy. Our customs ships would be based on corvettes and frigates, up to a light cruiser, because we're looking at blockade runners."

"So we would be the smugglers in the fishing boats," he said with a slight smile. "We would have that sirloin and caviar available at five hundred dollars a pound, which would be both a considerable bargain and a nice profit. It would also give us access to the oligarchy, and their protection." He took a gulp of his own coffee as he thought. "What would our method of getting through the blockade be?"

"Aside from the usual hidden compartments, I was thinking you would bribe one of our customs officers. We'll call him Ensign Able. He would procure your false Terran registry chip. However he won't always on duty when you get stopped for inspection, which means some occasional cargo will be confiscated. That's the price of doing business, and it adds realism to your cover if the oligarches ask."

"And we don't want to reveal Ensign Able's true identity because …"

"Because you want to continue to get cargo through, and corruption in office is a capital offense. You don't want to lose the asset of Ensign Able. Neither one of you wants that, and while you've got friends of friends, Able isn't the only Terran you've bribed." She tented her fingers under her chin, "I'm sure there will be actual Ensign Ables in the fleet, but the fleet admirals would be aware of this plan, and make the appropriate arrangements. Our Ensign Able doesn't want to be on the receiving end of a firing squad, so you'll advise him to keep things quiet, but if you happen to need something …"

"He should be able to supply it."

"Or she. That might prove interesting with some of the more … misogynist cultures. I think you'd have to play that by ear. In any case, galactic corruption and graft is so widespread that an honest government is unusual at best, suspicious at worst. The oligarchy will expect some payoffs and some haggling." She took a swallow of her own coffee, "Second point, we need to establish a ground presence, a shell company of some sort, like Air America was for the CIA in Vietnam. I mentioned personnel shortages. We have to have intelligence on all levels of a planet's society, from slave girls to free traders to aristocrats. If we have event 'A', it may be reported differently as 'A1' through 'A5'. Part of the problem is that our galaxy has roughly forty billion stars or stellar objects. Divide by thirty-six hundred sectors, you have an average of eleven-point-one million stars. In our sector, we know of ninety-one thousand planets, eight thousand of which are inhabited."

Colonel Smith blinked, "Eight thousand inhabited planets …"

"Each just as big and complex as Earth is," Mattie said, thumping the floor again with her heel. "Now, they may not be at our particular level of social evolution, and we can't hope to have saturation coverage on every planet, what we hope to get is not only any military information, but political, trade and economic news as well. Remember, that is just one sector, too. We have been out at least half-a-dozen sectors on either side of ours, so multiply those eight thousand planets by the additional dozen sectors. That is roughly one hundred five thousand inhabited planets that we know about. Imperial Research & Survey will be checking and updating those charts, and this is just _one_ small slice of _one_ galaxy out of thirty one."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 8, 2003: 14:34 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Stockwell Orphanage:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Mattie looked at the glass of Mrs. Cole's outer office, which was dark. "I don't think she's here."

"It's Saturday," Margo said. The oldest of the three sisters at eight, she regarded Mattie. "You going to take us with you?"

"I would love to," Mattie admitted. "I can't even start until I'm eighteen, though. The best I can do for you now is helping the school out. Where do you think she might be?"

Edith, the middle child at six, said, "Maybe she's watching a game on the pitch."

"Well, let's go," Mattie said, boosting the youngest, Agnes (who was four) to ride on her shoulders.

* * *

"Hello, Mrs. Cole," Mattie said cheerfully as she watched the barely-organized mayhem of a boys-versus-girls footy game. Agnes still rode on her shoulders, while Edith had one of Crystal's hands. Margo held onto a railing and watched. "Stinky boys," she commented. "Get 'em, girls!" she hollered.

"She's not going to be calling them 'stinky' in a few years," Crystal commented. "Oi, what happened to proper British behaviour?" Mattie turned, looking at her with a raised eyebrow, and then turned to Mrs. Cole. "I'm just in town to swap clean for dirty, but how are things going, ma'am?"

"Fairly well, although one of the construction blokes did turn up a body. We had a bit of excitement while the Yard was called in; it threw us behind schedule a day. You do know the crews are working almost 'round the clock. They've a bonus for finishing ahead of schedule and under budget. However, Ms. Hawking said she wouldn't count the delay with the Yard against us." She mused, "I wish I knew what happened there."

"We can find out if you've need to know," Crystal offered, but Mrs. Cole waved it off. "No, no, dearie. Simple curiosity. Don't bother."

"The new uniforms come in? The casual clothes?" Mattie asked.

"Yes and yes, but why did you suggest the blouse colour of 'Straw'?"

"It was the closest I could come to 'Stockwell', but you don't have to use it," she replied. "Did you get the pleated skirts?"

"No, because I hate ironing pleats," Mrs. Cole replied. "I won't have the girls wear something I won't."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 8, 2003: 15:30 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Headmistress' office:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Minerva turned as the fire flared green, and Mattie Wayne's head stuck out of the floo. She raised an eyebrow, "Well, come on through, my dear."

"Yes, ma'am," and she came through with Connie Koslowski and Crystal taking up the rear. Clothes were brushed free of soot, tea was offered, and Minerva asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Clean for dirty swap, ma'am," Connie replied with a grin. "Some things we had to take care of in London, and it will be a few weeks until the next pirate fleet comes, so…" she shrugged.

Crystal put in, "While you're doing that, I'm off to check in at the office and go to my flat, to do my own exchange. You'll be here, ring my mobile if you need me." She took a pinch of floo powder, and left.

Minerva sipped tea. "You're considering resuming classes?"

"Possibly," Mattie said as they sipped tea. "I'd like to check in, see how things are before we need to go back to Warsaw to handle that fleet. I don't know how that would affect any, well, momentum in education, especially with our tutors." She shifted, "I also want to see how the second-year math class is getting on."

"I have been covering that class," Minerva said. "As far as any 'momentum' (she finger-quoted) goes, one lesson is supposed to blend seamlessly into another. That is the theory behind lesson plans, in any case." She sighed, "You mentioned another fleet?"

"Yes, ma'am, a supply and reinforcing fleet," Mattie replied. "Hopefully we can take it without casualties. Out of the original fifty-six ships in the initial pirate fleet, we have repaired twenty-three warships and fifteen slave ships, using the others for parts. Combined with our own ships, we should be able to handle the incoming fleet. That doesn't get spread around, of course."

"Of course," Minerva agreed. She sipped tea, and then asked, "Do you really need to be there for this upcoming fleet, and any subsequent ones? You do need to complete your education."

"Headmistress," Mattie started, as she placed her teacup in its saucer with a click. "I believe I do, for several reasons. First, our education is not being neglected; we have several very competent tutors for both the magical and muggle subjects from all over Europe. While I agree Connie and I are not sitting in a Hogwarts classroom, we are still being taught the usual OWL and GCSE subjects, in addition to practical lessons in politics, languages, and military affairs. Secondly, for better or worse, I am the _Tsaritsa_. Connie is my Chief of Staff, and currently my Heir. I have duties and obligations there. Lastly, the people of Poland remember France and Great Britain promising to stand with them in the case of invasion. On September first, 1939, that invasion happened, and neither France nor Great Britain sent as much as a squad." She tented her fingers as the Headmistress winced. "I keep my word, ma'am. I have said I would be there, and I have been. That is one reason why public perception of lawyers and politicians is so low - they are seen to be nothing but liars, without honor."

"We are well aware of '_realpolitik_', ma'am," Connie put in. "We are taking lessons in this from the world masters, the Russians. You thought we _Slytherins_ were devious and ambitious?" She smiled softly, "Ma'am, you ain't seen nothing yet."

"The difference, ma'am, is between realism and fundamentalism or ideological policy. While I love him, Arthur has a hard-line ideology; it is his way or nothing. We need to effect major social changes in the thinking of people regarding slavery, _including_ by the slaves themselves. His way would impose the social, political and economic changes we want from the top down, regardless of what anyone else wanted OR what existing factors existed locally." Mattie reached with her wand to tap her cup, refilling it, and sipped again. "We didn't learn from history, but we tried that on Windfall. Did not work, it came close to a civil war on that planet. In order to gain the social changes we want in the end, we have to be able to compromise in the middle, no matter how all sides detest it."

"Politics is smoke and mirrors, but public perception, especially for something as new as the Empire, is critical," Mattie continued. "I have to work on public support of the Empire, which means I need to address what's important to the average bloke: his job, taking care of his family, and therefore his own perception of his self-worth."

"Propaganda," Minerva sniffed.

"Of course. Also known as marketing and public relations. Not cheap, but extremely valuable. We need to grow the Imperial economy, which also helps that bloke. I have seen some nationalist criticism, that I should put all the business in the US because I am an American citizen, or the UK because I live here, but we have to spread the wealth and create an export-based economy for the planet. Look at the economies of the Germans, Japanese and the countries on the Pacific Rim," Mattie replied.

Minerva sighed, "And you are the public face of the Empire."

"Yes, ma'am. How many schools have requests in for me to speak?"

Connie snorted in reply. "Hundreds. Thousands. Enough you could spend all your time doing just that."

"Precisely. However, that does bring us back to education, and a proposed solution." Mattie took another sip of her tea, "Something that I would like both you and Albus to take a look at. You have contact with other magical schools around the world, and I am only aware of one magical college, in New Orleans. Until now, wizarding students who wished to continue their education had to sneak in, so to speak, with either someone planted in the university admission office, or a series of _confundus_ charms handling the paperwork."

"Unfortunately true," Minerva agreed. "Your proposed solution?"

Raising a finger, Mattie continued. "Because they did not follow the normal muggle educational path, they are at a disadvantage when it comes to background information, especially the wizard-raised. Look at Arthur Weasley and his obsession with electrical plugs, and how wizards make strange fashion choices in their attempts to blend in with muggles." Minerva nodded. "You are also aware that some schools have distance learning arrangements, and some military forces, for instance the US Air Force, have fully-accredited college courses offered as an inducement for their personnel."

"No, I was not aware of that," Minerva raised her eyebrow as she took a sip of her own tea.

"We have kicked around the ideas for the Imperial University, and we would like it accessible for anyone, with placement offered by examination if a person did not have formal training," Connie put in. "For instance, Hagrid has enormous experience in livestock and magizoology, but because he was kicked out of Hogwarts in his third year and has no OWLs, he is unemployable outside Hogwarts. He is the only male I know of that can approach a unicorn mare and her foal. Now, as a half-giant, he could find work on a loading dock somewhere, but he has no muggle work history, nor any of the paperwork required, such as an NHS card."

"Unfortunately," Mattie put in, "That would force him into the illegal economy, probably as someone's enforcer given his size and strength, and he's far too gentle a person to break heads or kill someone." She took another sip of tea, "Whereas, as an Imperial citizen, he could sit for a series of exams, giving him the educational experience and documentation required for a degree in exozoology, which would be valuable in figuring out the various species on the different worlds. We need to know as much as we can about them, strengths, weaknesses, and above all if they are intelligent. Our survey crews would love to have him."

"In addition, we need someplace that anyone can go to get trained, even if it's not for a college degree, on anything," Connie put in. "I'm a city girl. I have absolutely no idea how to milk a cow, or shoe a horse, or even how to saddle one up. We can put a branch campus of I.U. on every colony world, where everyone who needs education, especially the rescued slave girls, can go to get up to speed on anything they need. Everything from accounting to churning butter to … to …"

Minerva raised her hand. "I see what you mean. However, you have no idea how to accomplish it. How to accredit this proposed school, staffing, facilities, coursework, financial structure and so forth." Her guests nodded, and Minerva swiveled in her chair, "I shall discuss this with Albus and let you know." She sighed, "Getting back to your extended absence from Hogwarts. I am not pleased with it, but unless Mrs. Morton or Mrs. Wayne objects …" she sighed again. "Miss Wayne, please try to show up for your OWL and GCSE examinations, and you, Miss Koslowski, for your fourth-year examinations." She gestured, "Go see Severus and your friends. Should you need it; the current faculty password is 'assumption'."

* * *

"So how are things going?" Mattie asked 'Little' Bill as he sat in the Great Hall with Ami Bones. She slid onto the bench and took an apple out of the bowl. Taking a bite, "I feel kind of guilty about skipping out of your class."

"As well you should," Bill replied with a mock scowl and a shake of his finger. He grinned. "It's cool. I doubt Churchill skipped out on the Blitz because he had to teach a class."

Ami smirked, and then said, "I really liked Arthur's style, no offense. I prefer real-world examples, as the Headmistress' class is more theory. She's a competent teacher, but both you and Arthur could give those real-world reasons." She took a sip of tea, "So, you're back now?"

Shaking her head, Mattie said, "No, clean-for-dirty swap and we had to handle some things in London. I was talking to the Headmistress; we're hoping to be back for the end-of-year exams." She sighed, took another bite of apple, and then asked, "How's the public sentiment?"

"I'm taking calls too," Ami replied. "I can always use a few galleons." She took a sip of tea, "There was a sense of relief when they announced the capture of the fleet and that bloody bitch." Mattie nodded, and Ami continued, "There's a sense of waiting for the other shoe, with that incoming fleet."

"One other thing," Bill said. "Could you have a word with Emma? Something's bothering her and I've tried to talk to her, but …" he shrugged and nodded toward a group of first-years.

"Sure," Mattie replied.

* * *

"Emma? Can I have a minute?" Mattie asked, sitting next to the firstie. She cast a privacy charm, "I understand something is bothering you. Maybe I can help."

The young blonde former slave eyed her. "I have heard we are expecting others, other slaves here. I wonder why I was chosen to live, and my friends to die."

Sighing, Mattie scrubbed her eyes, "I see … no, I don't." She looked Emma in the eyes, "No matter how much money I have, I cannot buy every slave. If I had bought you and your friends, there would simply be another group of slaves taking their place as living targets. That's the same thing with those other girls, only we learned from you, and found out they also have the zarroj gene. The other girls in that group, those without the gene, are safe, working for us and members of one of our colony worlds. Free members, daughters of our colonists, who will make sure they grow up safe and happy." She nibbled at the remnants of her apple, "If we had been across from you, facing another slave, wouldn't you be happy that she had been bought?"

"I would have been jealous of her, that she would live while I would die, but …" Emma sighed.

"And those incoming six or ten girls next year, they will look up at you, and you'll be able to help them," Mattie replied. "I'll do what I can, but I can't relate to them like you can."

Emma sighed again, "I see. The Source calls for me to help as I have been helped. I shall, and hope someday to see justice done for my friends."

"That is something we're working toward, but it may be many years. Centuries, even." Emma nodded at this, and gestured at the pale blue ripples of the privacy spell. "Gratitude."

* * *

In the Slytherin girls' dorm that Saturday night, the younger girls were given the important mission of securing the pizza from the house-elves (deep-dish, everything) while the older girls had acquired the butter beer through one of the school's secret passages to Hogsmeade. (The semi-mythical Marauder's Map had been created by Gryffindors, not Slytherins, and it was therefore incomplete.)

There was a lot of gossip, talk about various relationships (and the various boys), who was doing what with who, and a detailed planning session about Sprink's upcoming nuptials. For a while, Mattie Wayne could put aside being the Tsaritsa, and just be a normal teenage schoolgirl.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, March 9, 2003: 08:34 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Georgia, Atlanta Baptist Church:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"My friends," Reverend 'Billy Bob' Thornton said as he took a sip of ice water from the glass before starting his sermon. "My friends, I am concerned. We have all seen the television news, read in the newspapers about the new Terran Empire, and I am concerned." He touched a control on the pulpit, and a photo appeared on a large screen. "While Miss Wayne seems a decent, God-fearing young woman, even if she was raised in the Church of Rome, she was raised in a church, and went to services, took Communion, and participated in Confession. All of this is good, and while I would wish she would direct more of her business toward these United States, she makes a good point about sharing the wealth with the rest of our poor world. While I would wish she would have fewer dealings with the God-forsaken Communist island of Cuba a mere ninety miles from our shores, she has done more to turn around the dictator of that sad island that forty years of diplomacy have. All this is to the good, and to her credit."

He took another sip of ice water. "No, my friends, what concerns me are not her business dealings, but rather the state of her immortal soul. Miss Wayne is a witch, and goes to a school in Scotland where they teach young men and women the arcane evils of witchcraft. We all recall what happened when the Godless Chinese heathens took aim at her betrothed, Mr. Morton, and killed him in broad daylight with poison. While she has, and I am sure, is still undergoing grief over his murder; I will pray for their souls." There was a murmur of agreement, and the slide changed to a photo of the pair of them. "Not only that, my friends, I will ask you to add them to your prayers as well (another murmur), especially since she has been known to consort with demons, the undead, and the Devil himself!" The screen changed to an aerial video, taken from a news chopper, showing the group standing on Wayne Manor's lawn, with Mattie Wayne (in housecoat and fuzzy slippers) patting a spectral horse's muzzle and feeding it a carrot, while hellhounds gamboled in the snow. "You can see for yourself, my friends, not only does she allow them into her home and hearth, giving them shelter and supping with them, she consorts with Satan himself; and she undoubtedly lays for him! What is next, my friends, some half-demonic love child?"

The predictable call, "But what can we do?" came from the congregation.

"My friends, we can but work from the roots. We can refuse to buy products from her companies; we can speak to our friends regarding the truth." There was a murmur of assent, and Reverend Thornton smiled to himself. '_Gullible sheep_,' he thought to himself. "I have prepared a list," he continued.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 10, 2003: 07:39 (GMT)  
Terran System, 'The Hexagon' space station:  
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Vice Admiral Mackenzie Herschel considered his problems as he sat back in his chair. One of them was apparent as he looked down at himself, or rather, at _herself_. As a member of the 'rejuv' class, he had attended the 'getting to know your new self' classes after having gone through the process from aged, crippled and infirm old man to a young(er), fit and healthy woman's body. He had even gone through classes on such things as makeup, grooming, and proper clothing choices. However, he still had one problem in that regard: he did not think of himself as a female, as 'herself'.

'_Bugger that_,' he told himself, as he looked down at his … her young body. He did admit they had done a bloody wonderful job, and he admired his … her looks as his booted ankles rested on a partially open drawer. The (surprisingly comfortable) black leather boots featured a modest heel (and rubber soles) gleamed in the concealed lighting in his … her Flag Office, the white tights leading up and under the short-skirted white uniform dress, while underneath the command-yellow bodysuit under the wrap over front of the uniform dress. _Her_ (she mentally changed her thoughts, emphasizing the feminine) space-black shoulder boards held the three silver stars of her rank, while her 'fruit salad' and name plate (Herschel) adorned her left and right breasts, respectively. Her sleeves bore the bands of her rank, as well as a cuff strip with her current ship (the Fleet BattleStar _Albion_). In all, a perfectly well tailored uniform, one in which she still found herself fascinated in her mirror.

'_It's not all you_,' she reminded herself. '_A lot to do with Corinne, your Steward. She gets you up in the morning and to bed at night, feeds you, does everything but bathe you. She has corrected your mistakes with that bugger-all makeup, and makes sure you are presentable at all times. You could not manage without her, and you need to keep your eyes and your mind off her collar. She volunteered for your service, and wondering how to make use of her sister-slaves is not your worry. Now stop admiring yourself and get back to work_.'

'_Yes, ma'am_,' she replied to herself, raising her hand to give herself a salute in the privacy of her office. '_Perhaps the psychologists were correct, I should have chosen a feminine name instead of keeping Mackenzie. Bugger that. Back to work_.' She shifted, standing and walking to the sideboard for a fresh cuppa as she considered the holo of the Terran system and Fleet Problem One, the first of the annual Home Fleet exercises. Other fleets, she knew, would be doing similar exercises after they were formed. However, this one she was in command of, sitting as umpire. She had already chosen both her aggressor and defending fleet commanders, at which point she would sit back and let them hash things out.

Fleet Problem One was simply a re-creation of the Republican attack on the system. Both fleets would be firing 'blue' or practice weapons, both sides were to use different frequencies and encryption schemes for their data links to _Albion_. While it would put a strain on her Comm section, it had been designed for this type of situation, and the Problem would test both personnel and hardware of both fleets, as well as her own Tactical section, who would be awarding 'damage scoring' to both sides. While the tactical sections were primarily Terran (and those rescued slaves that were psychologically ready for it), the Engineering and Support sections were primarily composed of rescued slave girls.

'_One thing I need to work on is plans for the integration of both fleets when the Republican reinforcing fleet comes to visit_,' she thought, taking a sip of tea. '_We know what size is expected, but not the actual composition and timing. How often has one side had perfect intelligence on the enemy_?' She snorted to herself, set her tea on her desk, and walked about the holo-sphere showing the Terran system as she pondered. '_It would be nice of those lazy buggers to provide us with our small craft_,' she thought.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 10, 2003: 12:46 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Detroit, Renaissance Center, Room 899:  
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"So, your opinion, mein Herr und damen?" Herr Schmidt asked his colleagues in their informal, private meeting. "Do we go on to Atlanta and Phoenix?"

"If it were only my decision, I would say stop here," Sami replied. "The Yanks, sorry, the Detroit people have an almost turn-key setup ready. We were obviously shown their best, and the union people I met at the parties were almost begging for jobs. They have government, industry and the unions lined up, we could start installing robots and such and be producing by the end of the month."

"Except for politics," Senor Vasquez put in. "I was most impressed with the Canadians and their interaction with the Yanquis congressmen. I would say to build the plant in Windsor regardless of where the actual final assembly point is. Once the antigrav plates cross the border, they can be shipped wherever is needed." He took a swallow of coffee, and then regarded his (temporary) colleagues sitting around the hotel room.

"Politics is right," Gabi put in. "While Atlanta and Phoenix are new buildings, according to their designs, which adds in time for the construction, permitting and inspections, and so forth. At least another month, maybe two, and we've been getting some pressure to make a decision and start producing these for the fleet."

"And for export to other star systems," Herr Schmidt added. "Anyone else? I call a vote, first on the Canadian anti-gravity plant for Senor Vasquez. Do we tell them to start the process?" Hands raised, and he continued, "I see no 'nay' votes. The various legal and political maneuvers go along with that vote, I assume." Once again, he waited for any dissent; and then continued. "Stop here, or proceed to Atlanta and then Phoenix?"

The IAI team's Moshe Shenberg, who had been silent up to now, spoke up. "With your approval, I will let them know in private that we prefer Detroit, but for political reasons must go to Atlanta and Phoenix. This will give us cover to negotiate better deals with all three cities; I for one would like to see less property taxes and better utility rates. They are getting fusion power from Canada, after all."

"We will be using a lot of electricity," Sami agreed. She sipped her tea, "What about leasing the robots instead of buying them?"

"There are several manufacturers in the area," Gabi agreed. "I move we authorize Moshe to do so, and then proceed to Atlanta, and then to Phoenix. All in favor?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 10, 2003: 14:04 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Detroit, City Hall:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The Mayor stepped up to the microphone, tapping it. "Please be seated, ladies and gentlemen. The review team (he gestured at the seated guests) has made their analysis and their decision." There was a wide politician's smile, "They prefer the Detroit and Windsor area, and we're going to do our best to ship spacecraft to the Fleet by the end of the month." He continued in this way for a few minutes, and then reluctantly surrendered the microphone to Sami.

She smiled, and caught the Mayor on the way back to his seat. "We said we preferred Detroit, not that it was a final decision!" she hissed.

"I'm a politician who's facing a down economy in an election year," he hissed back. "Work with me and I'll make it up to you."

She hissed, "You'd better, you bastard!" and continued on to the podium. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor," she said with a smile. "I'd also like to announce two other contracts today. In Atlanta, we will be talking to various manufacturers about antigrav transport platforms for space-to-ground lifting of heavy equipment, such as generators as well as military vehicles such as tanks. I'm sure that production of heavy-lift antigrav units in Windsor for this purpose is welcome." She brushed back her hair, "In Phoenix, we're looking at not only ground-to-orbit frames to carry Detroit's finest production up to the Fleet, but various anti-grav versions of military attack and transport helicopters. Overall, I think this has been a most profitable trip. I would like to introduce Senor Vasquez who will be discussing antigrav production under license in Windsor. Senor?"

"Thank you, Senora Urquel," he replied as he took his place behind the podium. He grinned, and then commented, "As you can see, Cubans do not have horns and a tail." There was some laughter, and he continued, "I will be most pleased to report to my countrymen that Americans are pleasant, and that while you drive a tough bargain, we can do business with you." There was some applause, and he continued, "As the Senora mentioned, while there is some details left to resolve with the City, primarily due to electricity rates and taxes, we look forward to delivering these fighters and other craft to the brave men and women who have decided to take up arms in our defense. We have detailed plans, and with a great deal of work, and God willing (he grinned), we shall meet our deadline. Together, we can start this great task, working together to arm our brothers and sisters who stand to defend us. I will wager that together we can ship the first units to the Fleet by the end of this month."

"You betcha!" the Mayor said with a smile. "Herr Schmidt of Focke-Wulf would like to say a few words."

"Thank you, Herr Mayor," the tall man said, smiling as he took the podium. "Ladies and Gentlemen, my information of the last time Detroit geared up for war, the Willow Run plant was fighting the Nazis and that demented paper-hanging corporal." He paused a few seconds, then said, "Thank you," with a small bow. "Germany and the world thank you." There was a few seconds of silence, and then a ripple of applause started, growing to fill the room. Herr Schmidt waited in silence until the applause tapered out, "My friends, Germany and the United States have a long history of both solidarity and friendly competition. We have stood side-by-side in war, and we competed, Detroit and Stuttgart, Ford and Mercedes, in peace." He smiled again. "Senor Vasquez has sounded the patriotic note, the call to service, but we also serve who craft the rifle, who build the fighter for our brothers and sisters in uniform. There is concern about jobs, and rest assured, there will be great numbers of jobs, although with modern manufacturing. These are not jobs putting washers and nuts on bolts, my friends. We have robots that can and will do that. No, these jobs are making the parts the robots assemble, making certain every fighter, every pinnace and every small craft that leave our factories is ready, stocked, and complete to be turned over to the Fleet for use. It is not just bandages and blood plasma in our ambulances, but ammunition and missiles that needs to be produced for our fighters. It is making spare parts, manuals and the software for training both the men and women who use what we build, but also maintain it. We are also building communications and radar gear for the Space Control Ships, the space-based version of our AWACS, the radios that link the troops with the attack craft and the transports and the star-fighters that we will be building." He took a sip of water, "In other words, we will be providing turn-key units that our people can climb into and use."

He took another sip of water from the glass, "My friends, I am an industrial engineer by trade, not a public speaker, and certainly not a politician." (He glanced at the Mayor.) "I design and build factories. I will tell you what the Republic's production process is. They use a slave to build, by hand, a small craft like a pinnace or a shuttle. She constructs each part individually, assembles it into a hand-built frame, taking most of a year to build that one shuttle. She then goes on to the next one." He paused, "Think of hand-building an expensive limousine, from scratch. Not modifying an existing car, but cutting and welding it from the frame up. Hand building the motor, the transmission, the power train, through the power windows and the motors for the wipers." He took another sip of water, "My friends, even with thousands of workers doing nothing but putting nuts on bolts, much less advanced robotics, we can simply outproduce them. I see no reason why we cannot build a pinnace in an eight-hour day. After all, the automakers do essentially the same job, the only difference is in the details." He nodded his head, then stepped back from the podium.

"Thank you, Herr Schmidt," the Mayor said. "I'd like to mention the increased educational funding we're providing to …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 10, 2003: 18:23 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Grandview Heights, Morton home:  
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"… In Imperial News," the blonde talking head announced on the TV News, "Detroit is announcing the production of several new small craft for the Fleet. We take you now to our Samantha Brown in Detroit …"

'Big Bill' Morton picked up the remote from the dinner table, muting the sound of the TV. "That means shipments are going to be up. Good thing we bought stock in Greywolf and DHL. I'm thinking we might want to …" he ran down as Elena commented, "Good thing. I hated to assault ships in enemy shuttles. There weren't enough and it just felt … wrong. Teela, how you doing with your company?"

"We're doing training holos under contract, we just got in the equipment from WayneTech™, I was helping their guys to install it." She took a swallow of her ice water, "They're just as crazy as Mattie and her family are, in a nice way. They all move like striking snakes." Taking another swallow, she continued, "We're taking Army and Fleet manuals and doing virtual personnel, things like reporting for duty on board your ship, uniform regs, basic stuff. We're hoping to get some of the training manuals for the ships being produced up in Detroit." She looked at her older sister, "You want to come by? I think it would really help us out. We'll spring for pizza…"

"Well, when you put it that way …" Elena replied. "Deep dish with everything, please."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, March 11, 2003: 07:56 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cuba, Granma Province, Oriente fortress:  
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In the courtroom, the defense attorney sat back in his chair. "What will happen in a minute or two, when court is in session, is that I will start to negotiate on the criminal charges against you. You will sit here, peacefully, or the court will have you removed. In an ideal situation, I would get all the charges against you dismissed."

His client, the young woman named B'tan, cocked her head to look at him. "You said ideal situation. This is not one. Also, can you get these chains off me?"

"I will ask the court to allow it while you are here, but you must give your word of honor you will not start anything. You will sit there, peacefully, speaking only to myself or the judge when asked a question. If you have a question, you will ask me, and I will answer it. Otherwise, you will be placed in a cell where you will watch the video of the proceedings."

"I wish to be here, to learn of this. You have my word, but you said, 'ideal situation'. Explain."

"I believe I can get two, maybe three of the charges eliminated based on the military situation. However, that still leaves at least two charges, both of which are capital charges: the attack on Paris, with eight million dead, and your personal attack on two heads-of-state." He expanded at her raised eyebrow. "Our President Castro, and our Empress, Ms. Wayne. I will try to pass these off as legitimate military actions, but there is no official state of war between the Empire and the Republic. Furthermore …"

He was interrupted by the bailiff's call, "All rise! Court is now in session, Judge Angel Gutierrez presiding." The Princess stood at her attorney's urging; hands cuffed behind her and wearing pink scrubs as a short man with a mustache, wearing black robes entered, tapping a wooden hammer on a block of wood. "Please be seated." In the back of the room, the pool television camera's red light was on as he said, "The People versus the Princess B'tan of the Republic of Sodolokve. As this defendant is not native to our beloved Cuba, or to this system, we shall proceed slowly, so that she may understand. Defense counsel, you had some preliminary requests?"

"Yes, sir. First, the Princess wishes to be released from these shackles, and to wear her normal clothing. Secondly …"

The judge held up a finger, "Your pardon, senor, but let us address this one at a time. Your reasons?"

"Sir, the prisoner feels like a slave, and wishes to cooperate with the court as much as she can. As she is facing multiple charges, I think this is the least we can do to foster friendly relations with the Republic. She has given me her word she will speak only to myself or the court, and will behave herself."

"Does the State have any comments?"

The prosecutor stood, "Assuming the clothing has been properly searched, and she is properly shackled while in transit, the State has no objections; assuming she behaves herself."

The judge banged his gavel, "So ordered. Bailiff, arrange for her clothing to be brought here." He pointed a finger at the defendant, "Senorita, I will accept your word. Do not break it. When your clothing arrives from storage, we will recess for fifteen minutes to allow you to change." He looked at her attorney, "Next request, senor?"

"Sir, I would like to address exculpatory evidence toward dismissal of all charges. The Republic and the Empire are in an undeclared war and the Princess, as her nation's fleet commander, was addressing recognized military targets." He paused as the judge held up a finger, while the bailiff leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"We are recessed for fifteen minutes to allow the Princess B'tan to change clothing." He gestured to the bailiff, "Senorita, please accompany the bailiff, and do not speak to anyone without the presence of your attorney." He rapped his gavel, and the bailiff approached her with several keys.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, March 11, 2003: 11:40 (relative)  
Aeeloh, Glavni Grad, Palace briefing room:  
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"… still no contact from our fleet? The Princess?" the King asked. The various courtiers trembled in fear at his rage, when he continued, "Double the reinforcing fleet. Triple it!"

One of the senior admirals risked, "My King, that will seriously deplete the defenses of our planets. We will not be able to stand off an attack."

"Who would attack us? Pirates and slavers?" The King made a throwing-away gesture. "Provide for that defense, and send the rest of the fleet and a large contingent of soldiers. These are barbarians, perhaps they have managed to kill off some of our troops. I want at least five hundred thousand of our best troops, and at least two hundred fifty ships. Activate our reserves if necessary!"

"My King that will take additional time …"

"You have an extra five-day to carry out my orders." The King spun and stalked off, his elaborate hairdo turning in the breeze from the environmental system. Outside the private chamber, his personal slaves hurried to catch up to him as the Admiral last saw his King. He sighed, then turned to shout at his subordinates, "You heard! Send the orders out!" They scurried off, and he turned to the rest of the General Staff, "I have a bad feeling about this …"

"A hundred thousand hands of troops?" the Army general asked, his eyes buried in the nest of wrinkles under his snow-white hair. "We will need to call up the Reserves. That will imperil control of our civilian population…"

"They are slaves, what can they do? Nothing," another old man on the General Staff said dismissively. "The planetary Guards are over-manned in any case. It is time they proved themselves and their expensive training by breaking barbarian heads. We can consolidate the new fleet at … Melotte. That is only a day's travel from the barbarian system, and is somewhat central to the Republic."

"Good. Send the orders," the head of the General Staff said. "I hope this Terran system is worth the effort."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, March 11, 2003: 16:50 (GMT)  
Terran System, 'The Hexagon' space station:  
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In any organization, there are those who do not quite make the grade. The 'one-per centers', the 'square pegs', the 'misfits', the 'Peter Principal' or just plain incompetent. Whatever they are called, there are two methods of dealing with them. First, the competent personnel can waste a great deal of time, energy and paperwork demoting or removing them from the organization. With the Imperial Terran military organization expanding so rapidly, this was not the solution. The second choice is to transfer them, concentrating them in a group and deal with (ie: ignore) them that way. While not an official policy, this is well known, especially in military service, as an 'Omega outfit'.

The captured Republican troop ship _Benefits of the Source_ was the 'Omega' ship for the Terran Home Fleet. She had been refit to carry a brigade of Terran Army troops in addition to their equipment, including a month's worth of consumables such as fuel, ammunition, and food. Her Captain had the appearance of a Greek god, looking every inch a recruiting poster. He sported tanned skin, blue eyes, a heroic nose and a chin that was so firm you could crack eggs on it. Below the shoulders however, he had short, stubby arms, a chest that narrowed to a tiny waist, and bowlegs, one leg longer than the other. He held strong religious beliefs against corrective surgery (including eyeglasses), which he tried to pass on to his crew. His patron (and father) was one of the US Senate's most powerful members. This explained how he had managed to get his master mariner's license. A starship with variable gravity was ideal; and why he kept the ship's gravity permanently set for one-fifth g.

Docked in bay 2311, Captain William Pertwee (his crew had nicknamed him 'Peewee', though they thought he didn't know), reflected that zero gee meant that you could build in three dimensions. His ship, the _Benefits_, was docked along one arm and 'up' relative to the axis of the station's central ring. With construction supplies 'behind' the dock's bay, this allowed three bays on each of the junction docks, 'above', 'below' and 'level' with the central axis. His ship, one of the larger ones, was further 'out' from the central ring, on the second 'arm' and the first bay on the third junction. Lightweight aluminum panels had been mounted between the bay's arms to prevent the Republican ships from observing activity, with bright floodlights illuminating the ship and its new white paint job. Like the other ships, they were waiting for various small craft to be constructed, in the interim, they trained on the simulators.

The _Benefits_ had been assigned to the aggressor fleet under Admiral Fletcher, and Captain Pertwee adjusted the video camera that would relay his image to the Admiral's conference. Unfortunately, in order for his nearsighted eyes to see the podium (and the Admiral that would be there), the camera had to be zoomed; with the wide-angle lens his nose took up most of his image. He sighed and sat back, "Nina!"

"What?" she shouted back. Another rescued slave, her attitude was somewhat … different from other former slaves. "I'm busy, doing your work!"

This was not the way his aide was supposed to be, he reflected. "I can't get this camera to work right. We're going to the Admiral's conference in person."

She entered the compartment (topless), kicking off in the microscopic gravity he kept in his personal quarters, and on the bridge. "That means you need to get cleaned up, you've got something on your shirt, and I've got to change into uniform. Source, that will take most of the hour remaining. Let me send a quick message letting them know we're coming. I assume I'm coming, _master_?" She spoke the last word sarcastically as she kicked toward his closet, braking and opening it. "Here, a fresh shirt," she said, tossing it toward him. "Give me ten minutes, and I'll be back, Source help us both."

* * *

Captain Pertwee waited behind the black-and-white checkerboard that denoted the limits of the grav field, while Nina waited behind him, wearing a space-black backpack (with pink trim) on her white uniform. He noticed she had taken the time to polish her collar, since they were going 'out' and off the _Benefits_. The line advanced, and she gripped him under his arms, throwing him toward a hand-loop on the long transport rope, which he managed to catch. "Good job, my master," she said from behind him, she had leaped and caught the next loop after him. Whenever they went 'out', she reverted to her full Enhancement speech programming; he thought it was just to irritate him. "This slave approves of my master's endeavors." A few people turned to look at him as the long rope carried them down the tube toward the connecting junction. He ignored them, and looked through the series of ClearSteel™ windows. The view of the station got better as they progressed toward the central ring and the naval offices that housed Fleet command and the local offices of the subsidiary commands. On other parts of the ring, the Army and Imperial Marines had their offices.

* * *

Admiral Fletcher stood at the podium, cleared his throat on the dot of 18:00. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the briefing on Aggressor Force for Fleet Problem One," he started. "Our mission is to successfully simulate the invasion of the Terran system, which is Problem One Alpha. We have a secondary tasking, Problem One Beta, which is the reason our Order of Battle primarily consists of salvaged Republican ships, and why I will be commanding from the Republican battlecruiser _Seren the Wise_. We anticipate the arrival of a reinforcing Republican fleet by the end of the month." He waited out the resultant murmur, "We will have a false Princess B'tan aboard, an actress from Imperial Intelligence that mimics her to an amazing degree. Should the reinforcing fleet appear before the conclusion of Fleet Problem One, we will assume the disguise of the original Republican fleet and try to persuade them to join us and surrender while the Defensive Force maneuvers under stealth to block their retreat and the departure of any messenger ships."

He took a sip of water from the podium's glass. "Let's go over Problem One Alpha," and he nodded to his Flag Lieutenant. The large hologram lit up with a representation of the system, and he continued. "We will rendezvous at point Alpha, the blinking green cursor, three-point-five lights outside the Oort Line, and arrange ourselves in Republican fleet order. We will then proceed …"

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Wednesday, March 12, 2003: 10:28 (GMT)  
Terra, Reykjavík, 'Alþingishúsið' (Parliament House):  
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("Well, Halldór,") Davíð Oddsson, the Prime Minister said in Icelandic. ("We have this proposal from our Nordic friends regarding the Imperial Army. Should Iceland participate?")

The President grunted, pulling a file folder from a stack emblazoned with an iceberg-blue '1' for the 1st Nordic Division. ("They are suggesting we field a brigade, sixty-five hundred troops. That's two percent of our population. No, I would think we would be better off letting them contribute the infantry and other combat arms. We have no experience with modern war, but we can put together a signals company of several hundred though. That plays to our strength in telecommunications.")

("I tend to agree,") the Prime Minister said. ("If all the Nordic countries contribute troops we should have at least a brigade, more likely a full division of twelve to eighteen thousand. We are allowing our women to participate as well, I assume.")

The President sighed, ("My daughter told me that it was just as much her fight as mine, and she would not sit home and knit while someone else fought her fights. She also said that the enemy calls us barbarians, and think they can get away with the spilling of our blood. I think Vikings will show them the true meaning of the term 'barbarian'.")

Similar conversations were taking place all over the world. Names that had once fueled nightmares were being raised again; names like Apache, Cheyenne, and Navajo. Names like Cossack, Goth, Hun, and Mongol. Names like Sparta, Gaul, and Berserker.

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Wednesday, March 12, 2003: 12:42 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Imperial Research & Survey:  
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Harri woke up when someone started to remove the mask over her head. She lifted her hands, helping them, only to hear the hum of the motor elevating the chair. "That's all right, luv, I've got it," a voice told her.

"Did I pass, Doc?" she asked the other woman.

"Haven't a clue, luv, and you're not to tell me what you saw." There was the rip of Velcro releasing the straps on her gloves, and the woman continued, "You're being relocated. I have an envelope with your new information, all I know is they'll meet you, you're off to pack up your kit at the hotel, and then off to a secret place." She lifted Harri's mask off, and she saw the nondescript young woman who had greeted her these last few days. "I'm told you might be a bit dizzy. Sit there, have a bit of water, and don't forget to remove your gloves. Rubbish bin by the door."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks, Doc." Harri started to pull off the thin latex gloves she had worn under the red-colored diagnostic gloves, wadding them up and throwing them at the trashcan. She missed, and the young woman scooped them up on the way out the door, binning them. She looked at the clock, then said, "Not to rush you, luv, but I've someone else coming at one."

* * *

She wasn't sure how it worked, but on leaving the Doc, the security people had looked at her access badge, then directed her to a small room with a large, roaring fireplace. This was how she had come and gone from this building over the last few days, by tossing a pinch of this glittery powder in the fire, waiting until it turned the flames blue. She then called out her destination: 'Imperial Building'! And marched through. It was weird, she had asked, and was told it was called the 'secure floo'.

Whatever. She giggled, and then said it aloud, with a Jersey Girl accent: "What - evah." She giggled again, the security guys on this side of the fireplace raised their eyebrows, then they scanned her red striped pass, which she left with them. "What - evah, dah - ling," she pronounced, and giggled and smiled again for them. She gave her claim ticket over, and they pulled out the plastic box with her bag. She snip - snip - snipped the plastic ties and claimed her bag, stuffing the envelope in her bag. She had time for a cuppa, and while it wasn't Starbucks™, it was still decent coffee.

* * *

"Harri?" She started and looked up from the envelope, and the young, red-haired woman pulled out a chair with the scrape of iron on concrete. She continued, "I'm Ginny, and this is Susan, and Tanya. We're waiting for … there he is!" She stood again, gesturing the older man with salt ' n ' pepper hair to a chair. "This is John."

"Pleased, ladies," he said with a smile. He removed the lid from his cup of coffee, adding, "No last names, please. I understand we're still waiting on someone."

"Yes, her name is Cam, she's coming in separately," Ginny said. She cast a privacy spell, to Harri's surprise. "Harri here is your shipboard doc, John, while Susan is your case officer, and Tanya is your instructor in tradecraft."

"Um … my degree's in psych, not medicine," Harri said.

"Oh. Bollocks," Ginny replied. "We'll have to work around that. I guess we'll have to go with Plan B regarding you, Doc. Tanya, will you …"

"Of course," the blonde replied. "The rest of your team will be meeting you in the car park. We've laid on two vans for you and your luggage." She finished her own tea, "Shall we?"

* * *

"Now then," Susan said when they had met with the others. "The location is protected in various ways, some of which are known as wards, another is what's known as the Fidelius Charm. Who's driving?" BA and Face raised their hands, and Susan held up a Rolodex™ card. "This is the address. Read it to yourself." Susan handed over a map to each driver, and then said, "Let's go to your hotels and pack up."

* * *

A few hours later, they pulled into a car park. "Time to stretch," Susan said. "We're almost there. This is the Red Lion pub. This is the beach road; down that way is the harbor. We're within sight of the house, but only the two drivers should be able to see it besides me."

BA frowned, "The big red brick house?" Face added, "White shutters and a Widow's Walk?" Susan nodded. "We've put in a firing range in the basement, and there are various charms and wards set." She passed around a small wooden box, "Take one and put it around your neck, next to your skin." People did, and Face asked, "What's a ward?"

"Think of it as a force field," Susan replied. "There are various alarms and ways for this to hide in plain sight. You still don't see it?" Heads shook, and she dug out the Rolodex™ card again, holding it in front of each person's face. As they read it, they reacted as the house, built into the side of the shoreline, suddenly appeared.

"But what if someone walks across that bit of land?" Harri asked.

"The wards will prevent that. Unless I tell you the address with that card, you will never see it. Top-shelf wards like these are done by professionals, last for years, and are expensive. That's why when you leave, we'll send in a cleaning crew and recycle the house for another group," Susan explained. "It was built in 1704, and most recently was a bed and breakfast that went under. There is a farmer's market down that road, and the necklaces are charmed so you will not be remembered. When you meet with Tanya, you will meet here, at the Red Lion. Your last team-mate, Cam, is in the van you drove," she added, gesturing to Face.

"There's nothing in that but a coffin and our luggage."

"She's in the coffin."

* * *

BA pulled the coffin's cover off, and they looked down at a naked blonde slave. Her collar was dark, her wrists cuffed behind her, and the cut-off end of a noose was around her neck. Harri reached down and checked her pulse at the neck, "She's dead."

"She's not supposed to be," Susan added, somewhat nervously. She took out a folded sheet, consulting it, then said, "Twenty-nine palms."

"Semper fi," the corpse said, her collar lights coming on yellow. Her eyes opened, she grinned, "Oh, come on, it was a good joke! How often do you get to play a zombie?" She started to sit up, "I'm Sgt. Camanetti, one of Uncle Sam's Misguided Children. Force Recon. You're the Imperial Special Forces group I'm supposed to join?" She stood, turned her back to BA and wiggled her fingers, "Help a lady out?"

* * *

"The last I heard, the Marines didn't have women in Force Recon," Colonel Smith mentioned as they met in the safe house's spacious kitchen.

Cam, now wearing a white slave tunic and skirt, nodded as she stopped the blender. She poured the mixture into a glass, taking a gulp, then finishing off the remainder into the glass. She moved to wash the blender's pitcher, "I would agree, but that's where I started out. I've gone through biosculpt a couple of times for the Company and for the Empire, and here I am." She gestured at the fridge, "Anyone need another beer?"

"You're collared, a slave girl," Harri started.

"And Enhanced, and I've got some additional implants and body armor," Cam replied. "That's why you didn't feel a pulse, and why they were able to hang me on Windfall - my necks armored, among other things." She moved out of the kitchen, leaning against a wall. "From what I've heard, it doesn't hurt, but then again, I was unconscious at the time. It also means that my collar can't be removed, and my cover is always going to be a slave girl." She shrugged, looking at the two other women, "You thinking of doing something like that? Some really useful implants, and a cover as a slave girl is really good, there's billions of slave girls."

"But the collar can't be removed," Captain Charissa Sosa commented. "I'm not so sure I want to be covered as a slave girl. Still, it's one way into Special Forces."

"If I'm serving as your medic," Harri started, and then paused. "Like I said, my degree's in psych, not medicine. I can do first aid, but not surgery. I'd have to get trained up for that." She chewed her lip, "I may need to do that, get all Enhanced. There's training for that, I assume?"

"Yes, and we could get you programmed for that when we stop by Eunomia," Cam said. "Colonel, let's do the mission brief."

Colonel Smith nodded. "A bit of history first," he told Susan and Harri. "The US Army Special Forces go back to World War Two and the three-man Jedberg teams. It's a grueling selection process, and then training goes on for two to three years. Normally, there is a twelve-man Alpha team, but it looks like this is closer to what CIA deploys behind enemy lines."

"In our case, we're to be covered as smugglers, flying a small starship, and breaking the official Imperial blockade to the profit of the planetary elite." Colonel Smith continued. "In order to build our cover as a tramp freighter, get used to running our ship, and to interacting with other planets, we're going to start in the Hyades star cluster, about one hundred fifty light years away. This also has one of the out-planets of the Republic, Melotte, which is one of their trade ports. In this cluster, there are one hundred thirty one inhabited planets, so we should be able to build up a good history before we finally approach Melotte."

Susan cleared her throat, "Our information is that Melotte was reluctant to participate in the invasion, only sending a frigate, the _Collinder_, and that only due to treaty requirements. We have captured that ship and its crew, and you are not the only ship and crew we're sending out to that cluster. You will be equipped with assorted secret equipment, which will be rigged with anti-tamper equipment powerful enough to destroy the ship." She nodded toward Sosa, "As the general electronics person, we do suggest you volunteer for that collar, as all of them will be fitted with a suicide circuit. You are aware that as a female you are more vulnerable, and there is no such thing as civil rights. Any security services you run afoul of will be operating under the 'torture first' school of interrogation."

"On the other hand," Cam put in, "Graft and corruption is so widespread that everyone has their hand out. While I doubt that we could afford to bribe someone of sufficient rank if one of us is bagged, that does allow an escape for the girls at least, and we could program Doc for those surgical skills. We then have her tested and certified as a Healer Fourth, and after sufficient time-in-grade, to Healer Third, and so forth." She swirled the remnants of her drink, "Second point. The information I hear as a slave girl is going to be much closer to the truth. The slaves are the ones at the messy end of the stick, and that's where I plan to do most of my agent recruiting." She held up a finger, "Remember, though, the security services are headbreakers and door-kickers, they are looking for signs of a slave revolt, and as a slave, you're an animal." She jerked her head, "The guys may be free males, they'll be treated at least a little politely. Not us. We're property. That's why I like the idea of a suicide circuit." She finished the drink off, "Third point, ladies. Should you choose to wear a collar, remember that it is a discipline device for animals, and they do include pain circuits. We'll want to enable at a minimum the lowest three levels, so when some sadistic bastard decides to discipline a group of slaves for, oh, breathing, you'll react appropriately. We'll be titled to the ship, so we'll be reasonably protected against theft, we'll be registered with the Portmaster, so as long as we behave properly, we're reasonably safe."

"Well, Milady Wayne did say that it wasn't a nice galaxy," Susan said after a moment. "BA, Captain Sosa, why don't we go see the ship? It's in a rented hanger at the local airpark. Anything else?"

"Yes, please," Cam said. "Bring back ten decks of Tonton cards and a set of chips, please." She turned to the others, "Tonton is the galactic equivalent of poker. If someone invites you into a game, you'd better know how to play it. Games have gone on for months, if not years, because one of the features is the 'out' player …"

* * *

"Here are the cards," Cam said, spreading out a deck. "It's a card counting game, so there's no such thing as a flush or straight. There are four suits; Planets, Ships, Fuel, and Crew, with sixteen numbered cards; null through fifteen." She threw down the four suits, continuing. "There are three face cards per suit, Trader, Owner, and Slave. The Slave card is wild; Trader is worth fifty, Owner twenty." She tapped the three cards; "There is one person who is always 'Out' to take over a hand. That means if you gotta take a piss, wait until either the end of a hand and call a five minute break for biological processes, or let the 'Out' player take over. When you come back, you're 'out' then. There's one deck per player, shuffled, cut and passed left. High card dealer, low card bank." She collected the cards back, "Literally anything is gambled. Slaves are gambled at one kilo, Enhanced slaves like me would be one-point-two kilos unless previously agreed." She shuffled the deck, passing the other six around. "Cut goes to the left. Be willing to draw a sidearm, games have gotten ugly, and Colonel, do your ship's slaves have permission to be armed?" She smiled sweetly.

"Of course you do, you're part of my crew," he replied as Susan took the 'out' stool. "Friendly game, we can talk about the upcoming mission." He eyed Susan, "You've never played poker before?" She shook her head. "A unit always has a game going. There's no rank around a poker table." He looked at Harri, "You?"

"In college, yeah, in the dorms, and in Arkham Asylum, when they locked me up for being … well, let's not go into that now." She took a sip of beer, as the Colonel grunted, "We'll need to know your capabilities, what you can and can't do. I've got an idea with Cam, there, I know what Force Recon does for the Marines. You're more of an open book."

"Greater love hath no man that to give up his b***s for her country," Cam said with a smirk, and the men winced. "Or her Empire. Everyone shuffled? Then cut and pass left, and draw your top card." There was the soft whisper of cards, and Cam said, "Okay, as the Colonel said, this is a friendly game to learn the ropes. Charissa is dealer, see, she's got a Trader of Fuel, so that's worth fifty. Face has bank, he's got a four of Planets. Everyone else is between them. Shuffle again if you want, then pass the cards to Charissa."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, March 13, 2003: 08:17 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Detroit, Imperial small craft complex:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Carol checked her appearance in the news truck's mirror, and then walked over to the one of the vans waiting in line at the security gate. She smiled at the driver, "Hi, I'm Carol McNeil from …"

"… CBET," the driver said. "Watch you all the time. I'm Todd. Hey, can you get a shot of the company van? Boss would love the publicity, and y'know, Proudly Canadian."

"Not a problem," she replied. "Wait for the red light on the camera, we're recording then." The driver nodded, the light went red, and Carol started, "We're here at the Imperial small craft assembly complex, waiting while security checks in these contractors. We're here with Todd, from Binford Electrical Services. What can you tell us, Todd?"

"We're glad to be here, Carol, doing our little bit to help our boys and girls in the fight for our freedom." He gave a rakish grin, "The work's certainly appreciated, too."

"I'm sure it is, Todd." She gave a smile and moved down the line to a cement truck, "Hello, I'm from CBET in Windsor. What can you tell us?"

The driver was standing on his running board, watching the line of trucks. "Howdy, I'm Ralph, from Liquid Rock Concrete. Hey, this is a big job, and I'm certainly glad to have the work. We've got a lot of floors to re-lay and ramps to build, and from what I hear, there's gonna be more work coming." He patted his ample stomach, "Me, I'm too old an' too fat to join up, but my girls, just outta high school, they're rarin' to go and kill those alien sonsabitches. There ain't gonna be no collars on their throats, and if this helps them out, all the better." He took a swig from a styrofoam coffee cup, "I just hope this ain't gonna take too much longer. I gotta window to deliver my load in."

"I don't think it would be too much longer, they're doing pre-clearing of the trucks. You're fifth in line. Thanks, Ralph," Carol said, and moved down the line. "Hi, I'm Carol from CBET, what can you tell us?"

The driver belched, looked embarrassed, and then said, "We're not live, are we?"

"No, it's recorded, and you'd better hide that beer. Don't worry, I'll edit that out. Let's try again." She waited until she had a thumbs-up from her camera guy, and then said, "Hello, I'm Carol from CBET-TV. What can you tell us?"

"Hi, Carol, watch you all the time. Driscoll Plumbing, glad to have the work, of course, and even happier that it's for such a good cause. We're all behind our boys and girls, and we have a service banner up in front of the shop. All told, we have four of our relatives up there fighting for us, so we're gonna do what we have to. All it comes down to, Carol. We support our boys and girls, and those bastards have the nerve to call us barbarians?" He snorted. "We'll show them what 'barbarian' means. I'm just worried there's gonna be a bigger follow-up wave, but not much I can do about that."

"Other than get this place going."

"Well, we're gonna bust our asses to do that." He blushed, "Sorry 'bout that."

"Don't worry; we'll bleep it if the lawyers make us, but its talk straight from the heart." She turned to face the camera, "From the Imperial assembly plant, back to you, Susan." The light went out, and the camera guy put his gear down. "Great job, Carol. On to the Admin building, now?"

"Yes, let's go see what the Mayor is taking credit for now." She turned and waved, calling, "Thanks, guys!"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, March 13, 2003: 09:05 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Detroit, Imperial small craft complex:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

In the administration building's auditorium, James Patterson, MSIE, stood as the Mayor finished. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor. I'd like to give an overview of our planned production process here. We're going to start out slowly, working out bugs as they pop up, with our target production one of each small craft every hour, running three shifts." He smiled, his white teeth in his light brown face. "We've got sample presentations in your media kits, but let me go over what we're doing with what's known as 'Just in Time' manufacturing."

He waited, as photos were snapped, then continued, "Behind this building and all those people lined up for jobs, is our main Receiving building. This is where trucks will be coming from our suppliers, twenty-four seven, which is another source of jobs. We're planning on a minimum of two suppliers for each component or subassembly, whether its sheet steel or wiring harnesses. More jobs and the Mayor tells me that D-Dot(4) will be installing a twenty-four hour bus stop. We'll be looking for everyone from IT types to divers, because we'll be pressure testing in large, deep pools, so if you're a PAADI certified diver, jump on in." He smiled as the newsies chuckled.

"Central to the process is the fact that of the different small craft we'll be producing here the flight deck and the environmental module are common to all but the starfighters. The reason for that is that the starfighters are catapult launched, while the others enter and exit the ship through hanger bays." He moved to a larger display and rotated it. "This is a quarter-scale assembly truck. As the craft goes through the different work cells, having the internal sheet steel stampings welded to the frame, scanners read this barcode on the nose of the truck, above this tow bar, and the computer knows which way to send it to become a pinnace, a VIP gig, an attack or utility boat, or a space control ship, like an AWACS." He stepped to the side, showing a slide on the overhead. "As you can see, the major rework for the factory floor has been laying new concrete and the chain drive for the tow bars on the trucks. The existing concrete was cracked and broken, and would have taken longer to break apart to install the channels for the chain drive. Questions so far?"

(Warning: death.)

Thursday, March 13, 2003: 13:58 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Imperial building cafe:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"She at least has the virtue of being early for her appointments," Selina Wayne commented.

"Trust me," Amelia replied, as the toad-like woman waddled up. "She's usually typical of government: scheduled to suit herself. She must be worried." The director of the DMLE waved at the arriving Senior Minister, "Good afternoon, Dolores. Please, have a seat."

"Go away, you filthy muggle, before I hex you," a perspiring Dolores Umbridge snapped at Selina, pulling back an iron chair on the outside patio and squeezing into it.

"That's the Umbitch we all know," Harry Potter said from the other side of the table. "Were you to try and hex Mrs. Wayne, Dolores, I feel certain that as my guest, I would feel obligated to defend her vigorously." He smiled, although it did not reach his eyes, "Really, Dolores, do you want to take me on in a duel?"

"Or me," Mattie Wayne said from her seat. She rolled a wand between her fingers, "You've just insulted my mother and tried to break up Arthur and I with your silly Marriage Law. I've been studying from _Most Nastye_, among others in the Slytherin library." She smiled sweetly, "Why should I allow you to continue breathing?"

"Mudblood, you dare to threaten me?" Dolores shrieked. "I'll have you all sent to Azkaban!"

"I think not, Dolores," Amelia Bones replied. "I certainly didn't hear anything threatening." She leaned back in her chair, "Did you?"

"No, ma'am," Auror Tonks replied, and then looked to the side. "Any of you lot?"

"No, ma'am," Crystal Evans replied. "None of the Imperial Guard heard a thing, and you know we werewolves have very sensitive hearing." Some of the other purple-uniformed Guard grunted acknowledgment. They had had the dubious 'pleasure' of dealing with Dolores Umbridge before.

"Now that we have the preliminaries out of the way," Selina commented. "This is a very simple business deal, Ms. Umbridge. In return for a few signatures on your part, you continue to breathe; we provide transport to your new posting, where you shall take up your new duties for the Empire."

"A truly lovely planet with a small, struggling colony," Mattie Wayne put in. "True, the weather's not as pleasant as today, but I'm sure you'll grow to love it."

"And why should I even listen to this tripe?"

"Because I have ironclad evidence that you have been using Ministry funds for your own personal use, Dolores," Amelia replied with a smile. "That's a crime, you know, and will earn you a stay in Azkaban."

"Go ahead," Umbridge sneered. "I own the Wizengamot. I'll have you on the streets by nightfall."

"I think not," Potter replied. He polished his nails and inspected them. "A number of them have outstanding loans. Between the Waynes and myself, we've bought the loans …" He straightened up, "… including yours. Your colleagues can read the handwriting on the wall, Dolores. Try something in the Wizengamot, and you'll be homeless, impoverished, without a knut to your name, and living on the street yourself."

"That does mean a muggle homeless shelter," Mattie said softly. "Oh, dear. What's a modern wizarding pureblood bigot to do?" She shuffled some papers, "Oh, I stand corrected. An 'almost a squib' half-blood bigot." She tapped the folder of papers, "Thanks to research by Gringotts, the House you claim, Selwyn, had one living member, a very old man who you married when your parents died, leaving you the only member of Umbridge. As an only child, you inherited the titles and so forth of both houses, and Selwyn, who was a cadet house, but still a descendant of House Slytherin. You paid good money in bribes to hush this up and plant false information in the _Daily Prophet_. Additional bribes to former Minister Fudge, along with some blackmail, and you were in your position, the actual power-behind-the-throne of the Fudge Government. You survived his death, and were able to maintain your position with the Scrimengeour Government."

"Who has filed a deposition with me about your use of blackmail on him and other members of the Ministry," Amelia put in. "Should we decide to prosecute, dear Dolores, the Ministry will confiscate your house and property, use what we can to settle your note, and sell whatever's left at a Ministry jumble sale. Should you have any Dark artifacts, additional charges would be levied, and you would have additional time in Azkaban."

"Whereas with just a few signatures, your Wizangamot votes would be transferred to me," Selina Wayne said. "I would have Mr. Potter here, among others, vote my proxies, as I don't have the time to become involved in local politics."

Dolores sputtered, "Local politics? Why…"

"Nor I," Mattie put in. "I have an interstellar Empire to run, and if you haven't noticed, there's a war going on. I don't have time for local politics, whereas Mr. Potter is already involved as the Heads of Houses Black and Potter." She sat back, "Ms. Umbridge, sign or not, I don't care. We will get what we want; it is your decision where you are going to sleep tonight. In your bed or on the streets of London."

Dolores Umbridge was turning purple with rage. She managed to extract her short, stubby wand, and found herself facing a dozen or more. "You … you … filthy … mudblood … little … bitch!" she got out.

"I take offense at that, my parents were married, and I come from both French and Scottish wizarding stock. I'm more a pureblood than you are, Ms. Umbridge."

Umbridge aimed her wand at the table, roughly between the two Waynes. "A … Avada …" Crystal hit her arm in a leap as she finished the killing curse. "… Kedavra." A bolt of sickly green light flashed out, hitting Dolores Jane Umbridge above her right eyebrow as the chair toppled over onto its back, and Umbridge's right arm flopped to the ground.

There was a moment of silence, and then Crystal cleared her throat. "Well. It looks like you move on to Plan C. For 'Corpse'."

(Warning: execution)

Friday, March 14, 2003: 16:19 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cuba, Granma Province, Oriente fortress:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

("Have you reached a verdict?") The judge asked the jury in Spanish.

("We have,") he replied, passing the folded note to the bailiff, who passed it to the judge.

He studied it, and then motioned the defendant and her attorney to stand. ("Princess B'tan, on the first capital charge, that of piracy of a star system, the jury finds you not guilty.") The audience reacted, and he gaveled them down. ("One more like that and you will be cleared from this courtroom! Now be quiet!") He glowered at them, then continued, ("The jury found persuasive that argument that as a naval fleet commander, you were executing the attack as a tool of your government. While we find reprehensible and dishonorable such a sneak attack, it is not without precedent. Moving on, the capital charge of terrorism is similarly dismissed. A military attack is not terrorism.") A ripple of discontent went through the audience.

("To the charge of violating the cease fire, which is known as perfidy. This attack under a flag of truce is dishonorable, but it is not a capital crime in the case of Empress Martha, who as a head of state is a legitimate military target. As President Castro had not been introduced as another head of state at the time, it was argued that she had no idea of his status. The recorded attack was conducted in a very brief period. Therefore, this attack is reduced to the non-capital crime of battery, of which the defendant is adjudged guilty.") The judge waved his gavel at the audience, who settled back. He smiled at the television camera and its red light.

("Finally, the defendant, as the fleet commander, ordered the destruction of the city of Paris. The last estimate I have seen counts upward of eight million fatalities, which well qualifies as the capital crime of mass murder. While there was an Imperial communication facility in Paris, that single building does not make the entire city a target. Instead, captured Republican recordings have the destruction ordered to 'teach the barbarians a lesson'.") He smiled briefly through his mustache. ("The defendant is adjudged guilty of this war crime, and is automatically appealed to the President of the Republic of Cuba. Jefe, your thoughts?")

In the front row of seats, President Castro stood. ("My thanks. I think you have covered the situation correctly, and have no objections.")

("We now move to the penalty phase,") Judge Gutierrez continued. ("On the count of battery, the defendant is sentenced to twenty years of hard labor.") He paused, then continued, ("On the charge of mass murder, the defendant is sentenced to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your soul.") He banged the gavel, stood, and strode off as B'tan blinked, and the bailiff pulled her arms behind her, snapping heavy cuffs on her wrists, and then pulling her out the door.

* * *

("You cannot! I am the Princess B'tan! This cannot be happening! There was a bargain with an actress to take my place!") The Princess complained in Spanish as she was arranged on the trap.

("I can't conceive of anyone volunteering to be hung in your place,") the executioner said as he arranged the noose on her neck. She shifted, moving the knot from under her left ear to the back of her neck. ("Stop moving,") the executioner said. When she did, he pulled the lever, and with a shriek, she dropped.

The television cameras watched as the young woman in the black and white body armor dropped about two and a half meters, bouncing once, twice at the end of the rope as the noose tightened and she swung, twisting so the cameras could see her fighting with the thick silver cuffs holding her wrists behind her as she struggled. Her legs kicked as she fought to live, dancing on air. She pivoted in the air as she slowly strangled, her movements slowly growing weaker as her face grew blue. Her struggles became weak, finally ending as quivers as her muscles reacted to the lack of oxygen. Eventually, she hung quietly, her tongue and eyes protruding from her blue face, her only motion was the sea breeze that swung her body on the rope.

* * *

(1): 'COD' = Carrier Onboard Delivery. A light transport to carry urgent supplies, mail, and personnel between a base and a deployed fleet.

(2): 'REMF' = Rear Echelon Mother Fucker. A rather contemptuous phrase for rear area support personnel, used by front-line troops.

(3): 'DSC' = Distinguished Service Cross. The US Military's second highest award for gallantry. One step below the Medal of Honor.

(4): 'D-Dot' = Detroit Department of Transportation. The city's public transit bus service.


	14. 16 31 March 2003

(A/N: Apologies for this taking so long!)

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter XIV: 16 ~ 31 March 2003  
Sunday, March 16, 2003: 07:15 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Boston:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

As he was getting ready for church, Chris McCain's laptop said 'You've got mail!' He finished tying his tie and popped open his email client.

_To: The Dweeb (Boston)  
CC: Dad_

_From: Brenda McCain  
Date: 16 March, 2003  
Subject: Graduation  
_

_Hey there, Dweeb!_

_I'm graduating from Basic, and I have this to say to you: _

_I GOT FLIGHT TRAINING! I GOT FLIGHT TRAINING! _

_NA, NA, NA! _

_I'm gonna fly, Dweeby brother o' mine! Suck on that! _

_NA, NA, NA! _

_I got leave! Dad's heading down to Cincy to finish selling the house. Tell Aunt Sophie and Uncle Greg I should be getting into Logan about eleven your time on the Delta orbital shuttle. She agreed I could bring along my buddy Ruby when I called. I'll see ya then. _

_Your loving sister, Brenda. _

"Oh, man …" he told the bedroom mirror. He hit 'Print' and locked his computer so his cousin David couldn't read his mail and headed downstairs to breakfast.

* * *

"So what's this Ruby like?" his cousin Dawn (David's twin sister) asked as she passed over the maple syrup.

Chris shrugged, "Dunno. All I can tell you is she's one of the collared girls, I got a photo Brenda sent me of the two of them; I'll show you." He poured from the small pitcher, "Pass the butter, please."

Uncle Greg mentioned, "You 'don't know'. Proper English, please." He took a swallow of coffee, "Social adaption. Your dad mentioned it in his email. We're trying to integrate these girls into our homes and families, build up their self-confidence."

"I thought I was the professional brain-bender in this family," Aunt Sophie replied. "Finish up; we'll have to take both cars to church. After church, we'll pick them up at Logan, and then stop by WalMart™ to get two more beds and additional supplies. Goodness, I went from two kids to five!"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, March 16, 2003: 06:41 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Broadcasting House:  
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"… We're back. If you're just joining us this morning, welcome to Morning Cuppa on the BBC," Nigel told the camera. "We're fortunate to have Ms. Wayne of the Terran Empire with us. Changing the subject, milady, I understand that you've gotten some unusual mail …"

"Yes," the young woman said, taking a sip of coffee. "Like other places that get a lot of mail, both postal and email, a lot of the process is automated. I get thousands of them a day, and most fall into broad categories. However, there are some that just tear at me, Nigel. I want to help them, but there are legal, ethical and moral questions."

"How so?" he dutifully asked, taking a sip of tea.

She reached down and pulled open a thick file folder. "For instance, there's this one from Kim P. in New York City. She's taking care of her daughter Laura who has severe cerebral palsy. If you're not familiar with that, the victim lacks motor control of their body, but they're generally extremely intelligent. So you have a very bright, intelligent person who is trapped in a body that not only lacks fine motor skills, but sometimes control of bodily functions."

"I see," Nigel said, making a note.

"That's the kind of thing that Laura can't do - pick up a pencil, make a note, use a TV remote, or even go to the washroom by herself." Ms. Wayne took a sip of coffee, and then waved her mug. "She can't even feed herself, yet her mother wrote me to ask if there was something we could do. The thing is, we can. Now I'm going to ask you a question, Nigel. Know what a shell person is? That's taking a disabled person like Laura and encasing her in an armored shell so her physical needs are taken care of, and hooking up her brain to a computer. We know enough about how Enhancement works, and we have additional examples of specific models of slaves used in computer networks." She took a sip of coffee, "The question becomes, what is ethical? If the … subject volunteers, if they have control of their body, of what they do, do we regard this as just another prosthetic, admittedly more extensive than an artificial arm or leg?"

"Oh, my …" Nigel said.

"The thing is, this is something that could be extremely useful, in the field of tele-robotics, Nigel. Having them control a robot that goes into hazardous areas, such as underwater or high-radiation construction, controlling drones in combat areas, and of course ships themselves. Artificial Intelligences that we have on ships are traditionally appointed the rank of Second Officer. However, we do not want to make these people any sort of unwilling slave ourselves." She waved a letter from a folder, "What do I answer her, Nigel? What do I offer Kim and her daughter?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, March 16, 2003: 11:17 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Boston, Logan Airport Terminal E17:  
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Chris waited in the International Arrivals concourse with his in-laws. "Where is she?" he wondered aloud as other passengers started coming down the ramp. Other families greeted arriving relatives, then he thought … He put two fingers in his mouth, whistled, then shouted, "Hey, Brenda! Over here!"

His sister looked, waved, then grabbed her friend's hand and started to move through the crowds. "Dweeb!" She gave him a fierce hug, then thwapped him on the head. "Chris, everyone, I'd like you to meet my partner, Ruby 037. Ruby, this is my brother Chris, my father's sister Sophie, her mate Greg, and their two children. Dawn is the female, David is the male, and yes, they're twins."

"I have heard that is more commonplace on this planet," Ruby said softly. She was a felinoid, with dappled reddish, tawny fur, vertically slit red eyes, and catlike feet in boots. Her collar gleamed silver on her throat, and her furred tail moved behind her, in contrast to her grey uniform. Her tail had two stainless steel claws, and when she spoke, small steel fangs could be seen in her jaws.

"So, what's the plan, guys? We go pick up our bags, then …" Brenda paused.

"Now we go downstairs to luggage claim, then out to WalMart™ to get two additional beds and other stuff," her uncle Greg said. "Sunday's our normal shopping day, anyway. We go home, get changed, and get the chores done. Ruby, I need to know if you have any sort of food allergies, or preferences."

"Allergies?" she replied.

"Certain foods that would make you ill. For instance, I have a disease called diabetes, which limits my sugar intake. Dawn (he reached over to muss his daughter's hair) is mildly lactose intolerant, which limits her intake of dairy products. Her body can't handle the proteins in dairy products well."

"Daaaad!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, dear," her mother replied, pulling her daughter into a brief hug. "After chores are done, then we were planning on a barbecue, which is cooking meats, fruit and vegetables on an outdoor steel grill."

"I understand," Ruby said softly. "No, I have none of those problems, and I do not know of any preferences. We shall determine these in the fullness of time. For now, I agree, we should proceed to reclaim our baggage. How is this done?"

* * *

"Here we are, our neighborhood WalMart™," Aunt Sophie said as she parked her minivan. A few spaces away, Greg had parked his Nissan station wagon, and was waiting for the women. She continued, "Greg is a professional chef, so we let him handle the food, and I'll go get the beds and other things."

Brenda trotted a few steps and claimed a grey shopping buggy, pushing it toward Dawn and Ruby and claiming another. "Let's go. I never saw a decent grocery store on Corfu, just these little stalls."

"I'm sure their messes had commercial contracts," her Uncle Greg commented. "The Navy bought local when they could, but they also shipped in enormous quantities of food. Pallets of eggs and watermelon, that kind of thing." He motioned Ruby over, "We load our purchases in the basket, and generally lean on this bar while we shop. This is at least partially a social time; we meet friends and neighbors, catch up on the gossip …"

"Gossip?"

"Casual conversation about mutual acquaintances," Sophie replied. "Like we're doing now. For instance, we'd like to hear about your adventures on Corfu, your training, that kind of thing."

* * *

"And how are you, princess?" Greg asked jokingly. He explained to Brenda and Ruby, "Patricia here once admitted to being related to some European royalty, ever since I've called her Princess."

"I'm of two minds about the title now," Patricia replied. "Milady Wayne seems just as uncomfortable about her title of Tsaritsa, which the Russians, believe it or not, gave her, and the bad example of Princess B'tan. On the third hand, we have her niece A'ya, who seems to have some common sense."

Ruby asked, "This is the 'gossip'?"

"It is," Patricia replied. "We discuss news, politics, weather, that kind of thing. We try to stay away from anything that might be considered personal, for instance, my asking questions about you and your digestion. On the other hand, Greg (she gestured) as a relative taking care of you would be within his rights to ask for this information, in order to safeguard you against some problem."

"That goes back to the food allergies question we had," Greg added. "That's not to say someone wouldn't ask you, but it would be impolite and discourteous for them to do so. Other bad topics would be the religious questions, especially those who want to try to convert you to their beliefs."

"Like some of the born-again," Brenda commented. "They have taken on a mission to convert as many as possible to their belief system, and won't take 'no' for an answer."

"Like 'Gospel Luke' there," Patricia said quietly. "I'll decoy him, you guys disappear." She headed toward a grey-haired fellow, calling, "Luke! How are you doing? I've got those T-bones you were asking about …"

"That's our cue to exit stage right," Greg said. "Let's go over to Produce …"

"Bunk beds," Sophie said. "David, you take your sister and your cousin and find a larger chest of drawers. Go grab another buggy for it, I will meet you in the linens…"

"Yes, mother," her son drawled. He pulled Chris with him, as his mother called, "Stay away from the video games!"

* * *

"Greg, what do you think about this corn?" an older lady asked. "I need four ears …" She glanced up, her gaze lingering on the two girls in uniform, adding, "He's such a well-known foodie, I trust his judgment."

Ruby watched as her host carefully examined the thick green vegetable, peeling back the long green covering leaves. She cocked her head, and he motioned her close. "These aren't quite in season yet, but this is almost there. Another day or so. She was watched by a blonde woman in a navy blue shirt. "We should get some more in Wednesday," she commented. Her name badge read 'Mandy' and 'Produce Manager', and her gaze flicked to the two girls, lingering on Ruby's collar.

"You can ask," Brenda said gently. "What's your question?"

"I … well, you hear the news, you see things in the paper and on television, and you wonder …" she hesitantly said. "I … well, you're the first, well, former, well, slave, I've seen, and you hear Miss Wayne talk about what she says is the treatment …"

Brenda replied gently, "Ma'am, I've only seen the news myself, but I can say because I've seen it myself on those girls, they're scarred on the backs, they're branded (she slapped her thigh), and I've heard them talk about it. I've seen girls come in from the Republican fleet, and it matches photos I've seen from the Civil War. They come in, they're hesitant to pick up a knife, afraid it might be misinterpreted. We've had people come in from the active duty brigades, and they've confirmed what we've heard on the news."

"But we're going to war …" she said softly. "I remember when my brother went off …"

"Ma'am, we're already in a war," Greg said softly. "My brother-in-law signed up with his daughter (he motioned to Brenda) right after the Paris Atrocity. We're not at total war, yet, but I think it's coming, and while I'm no happier than you are, from what I've seen and heard, it's only a matter of time. We're not in a draft yet, but I think we will be in a year or two. We have to, we're outnumbered. Fortunately, from what I've heard, the enemy doesn't know how to fight." He smiled briefly.

Brenda gave her friend a hug, then added, "Ma'am, Ruby is my battle buddy, yes, but she's also my friend, and I won't let anything happen to her. We're going to flight training together, I want to fly some of those new fighters. We've been fighting ourselves for thousands of years, but now we have a common enemy. I know it's not particularly feminine, but they've pissed us off, and I want to beat the crap out of them."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 17, 2003: 08:43 (GMT)  
Terran system, _Seren __the __Wise_, Flag deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Master?" The flag comm slave turned at her station, "I have an incoming communication request from Captain Saa'son of the _Princess__ A'ya_. He requests to speak to the … (she cleared her throat) _former_ Princess B'tan. He has apparently been sitting here under communications silence with three other ships; the frigates _M'ur_, _N'casa_, and _D'reng_."

"I see," Admiral Fletcher replied, stroking his chin. "Stall them for a bit, you have requested the Princess' presence. She will be here when she desires to be. In the mean time, you lot need to be playing at full slave again."

"Yes, master," the other flag bridge slaves said, and leaned down to snap their ankles into their (modified) shackles. They could escape these, as they were secured with simple magnets to replace the locking mechanism. They also wore standard Republican fleet slave clothing, the only 'slaves' on the ship that did. They were most likely to be 'on camera' and thus wore their older clothing. While they did so, the Admiral walked the few meters to the former Princess' quarters, knocking once, and then entering.

A head appeared from a large plastic tub of brownish goop. "Yes?

"A Captain Saa'son of the _Princess__ A'ya_ wants to talk to the Princess B'tan," Admiral Fletcher replied. "I'm going to the command deck while B'tan strolls on stage."

"Sounds like fun," the shape shifter replied. He rippled for a bit, and then the Princess appeared, stepping out of the tub, followed by two gagged slaves to handle her long, knee-length hairpiece. A glob of goop broke off, forming into the Princess A'ya, whose own hairpiece wasn't quite as long, only to her upper thighs. "Think I should make an appearance?" she asked, as B'tan leaned over the ship's computer.

"Later, I think. This is a bit of improv theater," B'tan replied. "Your namesake, my sister's daughter, is another battle cruiser, and … let's see … These ships were detached as a backup comm section during the original invasion. It seems like the Captain and B'tan weren't as stupid as we thought." She leaned back, tapping a fingernail on her teeth, and then said, "No, I think they were. Notice, they've got tanks of capture gas plumbed into the environmental system. I think the Princesses A'ya and B'tan will have had a rapprochement. Admiral, I'll be as drawn out and bitchy as possible, but see if our signals guys can trigger the ship's load of capture gas on board. While I'm being a bitch, get them to lock out those four ships' command functions. We've got some troops aboard; we'll see if we can capture those four ships without firing a shot."

* * *

"Get me that captain, slave," the Princess B'tan ordered as she strolled onto Flag Bridge.

"He is standing ready, mistress," the comm slave said. "The others report ready to proceed with the capture. When they report successful release of the capture gas I shall cross my wrists behind me."

"Good," the faux princess said. The comm slave nodded and flipped a couple of switches, as Princess B'tan strolled to her command chair, her personal 'slaves' following along, holding her elaborate hairpiece aloft. She settled comfortably, ignoring the waiting Captain for the moment as she studied a datapadd. Finally, she looked up, "Captain? Present your report."

"Yes, my Princess," he said quietly. "First, may I inquire as to the date?"

"Oh, that silly thing? Are you referring to today, the second of Juli, or the glorious day of the twenty-third of Nocht, in the six hundred thirty second year of my family's reign over the Republic?"

He exhaled loudly, and then said, "The last, my Princess. I see the _Seren_ received a new coat of paint, and I was curious. He is not his normal color."

"Yes, the barbarians had a great quantity of white in their shipyard, and in the interests of speed I permitted its use. You have done your duty well, my Captain, sitting quietly here while we started to subdue the barbarians. I know you wish your part of the rewards, and I plan to gift you with such as fall to us." She smiled, a cruel smile. "Tell me of what you know, and then of what you think. I must have all the information, my Captain, even if it is such I do not like it."

"Yes, my Princess," he replied nervously. He swallowed, and proceeded, "My Princess, I have not heard from the other hidden ships for several days, so …"

"Wait," she snapped. "Other hidden ships?" She scrolled through her datapadd.

"Yes, my Princess," he cringed. "The _Lord__ M'isa_ hand of five, the _Lord__ T'alzon_ hand of five…"

"Ah," she nodded to herself. "My Captain decided to re-task those ships without informing me. He was suitably punished when I discovered this. Still, I wish the information you have added to the written report you shall transmit to me. Continue."

"Yes, my Princess," he said, and tried to stifle a yawn. She noticed this, and snapped, "Am I perhaps _boring_ you, my Captain? Should I arrange your transfer to a posting that will occupy your full attention? Perhaps duty on one of the torturer's tables? Have you perhaps forgotten your loyalty oath to the Republic?"

"No, my Princess!" he said, terrified. Despite himself, he struggled to suppress a yawn. She slapped her command chair's armrest, "Report to the torturer for punishment! A'ya! Go to this ship and assume personal command! This one is too incompetent to lead my ship!"

The (faux) A'ya strolled into the camera's view. "Which one? Source!"

"Your namesake ship."

"I remember his launch. I shall be there as quickly as possible, my mother's sister." That brought the poor Captain's head up, he murmured "No … Please, my Princess …" before his head dropped again. The (faux) Princess' B'tan's comm slave crossed her wrists behind her, and B'tan could see a vac-suited Terran enter the command deck. The Terran saluted her, and reported over his external speakers, "So far a clean sweep, milady. You're looking good for being dead."

"Clean living, major," she replied with a grin. "A weekly black Mass, sacrificing virgins, you know how it is. How are the other ships?"

"Last I heard, about the same, ma'am. We'll evacuate these people and flush the ships to vacuum, then put passage crews aboard to get them back to the shipyards for appraisal. Head and capture fees should amount to a nice bit of change. I can use it, my twin daughters are starting college this year."

"I'll send over a slave ship for them. Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing them bio-sculpted and collared as slave girls. Poetic justice, I think." She turned as Admiral Fletcher returned to the Flag deck. The major noticed him and saluted, he returned the salute with the comment, "You have your orders, Major."

"Yes, sir!" and the connection was broken. The Admiral looked at his Flag deck crew, "Comm, contact the _Benefits_ and Captain Pertwee. Pass on the orders, then get me Vice Admiral Herschel. I'll be in Flag Quarters, Princess, you have the conn."

B'tan turned to look at him, "Are you sure, Admiral?"

"I'm the Admiral, I can put anyone I want in the center seat. So far you've done well, and I'm only a few steps away." He gave a casual salute, then left.

"That was interesting, and some easy money," A'ya said from where she was looking over the various slaves' boards. "You can unchain yourselves, and think about what you're going to do with your shares of the money."

"Money, mistress?" the engineering slave asked.

"Money. You're all a part of this, which means you all get a share. You're all Guild-rated, aren't you?"

"Yes, mistress, but we're slaves …"

B'tan snorted, "Slaves my foot. You may wear a collar, but you're ship's crew. We might have you talk to your sisters on those ships, but I don't think you'd mind that. Now get me the _Benefits_ and Captain Pertwee."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 17, 2003: 09:05 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Detroit, Imperial small craft complex:  
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In the administration building's auditorium, James Patterson, MSIE, stood and said, "Good morning, and welcome to the assembly process overview. You will be responsible for overseeing your workers, as well as troubleshooting the assembly process. That means you must thoroughly understand it. Lights, please." He clicked on the first PowerPoint™ slide, and started. "We have two separate production lines; the _Falcon_ class fighters and the various types of boats. While there is some commonality of parts between the two lines, there is much more with the boats." He changed slides, "North of the building behind us, central receiving, are the assembly lines for the different types of boats. South of us we have the much shorter assembly line for the _Falcons_."

Another slide, "As you can see on this flow chart, internal assembly for the boats is the same until we reach the third stage, the passenger or cargo compartment. This is where it diverges into one of five secondary lines. From north to south, the 'gig' for VIPs, the 'pinnace' for normal ship-to-ship and ship-to-planet personnel transport, the Space Control Ship and the 'attack' boats and the 'utility' boats. Only on the 'utility' secondary line do we have tertiary lines, as there are several different models." Another slide, "First, the general 'utility' model. You will notice the pressure lock to forward, the double doors to aft, and the brackets every half-meter for connecting equipment and machinery. Ms. Wayne made mention of this with the machinery to dispense the chewing gum sensors. In that particular case, we simply change out the aft steel doors and install the distribution machines inside a temporary bulkhead. Inside, two or three crew members simply change out the magazines as the utility boat flies along, spitting out sensors. When that job is done, the utility boat is returned to the hanger, where the temporary fittings are removed and the aft doors are replaced. The boat is serviced and stored in the hanger."

Another slide, "One common point for all these boats is the handling rails located on the underside. You'll notice there is a pair running longitudinally. The boats are picked up and moved by, essentially, forklifts hanging from the ceiling of the hanger bays. Frankly, I've never understood why the US Navy hasn't done something like this. Not having to devote much space to aerodynamics, such as the large wings fighters and other aircraft require, we can essentially hang each boat from the walls, connect data and power, and conserve valuable floor space for actually servicing the boats."

"Moving on," he changed slides again. "Wiring, plumbing, and so forth are installed here, on the port and starboard angles of the third stage hexagon. This is where things like fuel tanks are installed. Fuel is propane running fuel cells and the antigrav plates. Speaking of which, one of the utility boat permanent modifications is a tanker. Over the frame and associated plumbing and cabling is light plating, primarily for aesthetics and to protect those connections."

Changing the slide, "Of the different models of utility boat, they are all single steel boxes with variable internal arrangements. This is a good point to bring up transport. You'll notice the draw chain is a flat chain that is moved by small motors at each work cell. Instead of having one long chain, several hundred meters long, a chain starts at the end of the previous cell and draws the assembly cart to the center of that particular work cell. Five meters above each work cell is the control position on a suspended catwalk. These are handicapped-accessible (he changed slides), with a long primary catwalk, accessed by stairs and lift cages for wheelchairs. At each control position are the controls for the individual machines and the stop buttons. We don't want people near the machinery when it is energized, these are industrial robots. That first machine in Work Cell #0 is a stamping press that forms twenty-eight hundred pound sheet steel for the lower hull. That's why there are safety fences. If a machine needs supply, it's handled by other robots, or for servicing the controller locks out that machine and the work cell."

He changed the slide again. "When people come and go to work, there's an electric tram in the buildings, running from the admin building north and south on the west side of the buildings. There are locker rooms, washrooms, lunchrooms and so forth spread out, with a large one near the utility area. On the east side, on the other side of the safety fence, are robotic supply trucks to feed the different installation robots. Let's get back to the utility boats (he changed slides), where most of the labor will be building the utility boxes. They are then mounted in the frames by sliding them into channels and connecting them. For instance, a pinnace is like a small corporate jet. We'll be installing things like heating and air conditioning, insulation, lights, windows, seats and so forth. A lot of this is off-the-shelf parts from the aircraft industry. When that particular pinnace box is done, it's moved to the pinnace assembly line, inserted and connected into the frame, which then moves down the line to the next stage, the aft end and engines. We install the outer shell, do final checkout, including final pressure testing, and move it to storage for delivery. Ideally, we should have one being worked on, one in final assembly, and one entering delivery storage at the start of every shift."

Changing slides again, "Questions before I go on to the _Falcon_ assembly line?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, March 18, 2003: 09:50 (GMT)  
Terran, Hogwarts, Second year mathematics:  
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Bill held the door for Ami, who smiled at him and moved down to their seats in the front row. She said, "Good morning, Milady Tsaritsa," with a grin.

"Oi, I'm just Mattie until ten o'clock," she replied with a tired answering smile. She bookmarked her page, and Bill asked, "More tax stuff?"

"No, a political primer," she said, turning the book so he could read the title: _Basic __political __maneuvering__ - __turning __'No' __to __'Yes!_' "God help me, I'm turning into a (she shuddered) politician."

"It can't be that bad, all that power …," Miss Whitloe said, warily taking the seat on Bill's left.

"The power has to be used responsibly, Sara," Mattie replied, startling the young blonde. "There's a phrase that goes, '_With __great __power __comes __great __responsibility_.' It's using that power to benefit the most people. That means spreading out contracts for manufacturing all over the world, instead of just in the UK or in the States or Japan. That means more jobs, more business, and more money circulating. That's one reason the Germans and Japanese moved to an export based economy. For every Euro Mercedes makes, they generate seven into the economy. Those seven euros multiply out, because that Mercedes worker takes their family out to eat, they buy better cuts of meat when they shop for groceries, they put more into savings, all of which cascade through the economy."

She took a breath and a swallow of water. "The same thing happens with us. The small craft for the fleet are being built in Detroit, which means the antigrav plant is built across the river in Canada. That plant licenses the technology from Cuba, which means more hard currency going into Cuba, allowing them to spend it on their people. Better food, medical care, and so forth. The Cubans also provide a lot of the health care professionals for the Fleet and the Empire, which means they're sending that money home."

"And in Detroit?" Bill asked.

"In Detroit, they're refurbishing those old factories from GM, Ford and Chrysler, which means more concrete poured, windows replaced, electricity, and taxes going into the city. Once they're done with that, people will be working there, and for the various subcontractors, which means people getting off unemployment, building self-confidence, putting money into the local economy. We're also looking at exporting those small craft throughout the Empire, and selling them to other star nations." The bell rang, and she stood, pointing her wand at the door and casting '_Colloportus_'. The door sealed with a 'schloop' and she stood behind the lectern, "Class is in session. Good morning everyone. If you don't remember me (the class giggled), I'm Ms. Wayne. Take your seats, everyone, and let's get started. Last week, you were assigned the odd questions at the end of chapter fifteen. Please pass those up while I take roll."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 19, 2003: 08:34 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Georgia, Atlanta, Thornton home:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"That's funny," the Reverend 'Billy Bob' Thornton said as he saw a light under the door to his study. "I could have sworn I turned that out last night." He opened the door, moving to the desk to turn off the old-style banker's lamp on his mahogany desk. The expensive leather chair swung around, the door closing and locking with a soft click, and he asked, "Who are you?"

"Snapclutch, Gringotts Bank. Audit division. Sit down, Mr. Sven Yarrow."

"You've got me all wrong! My name is …"

"I am not wrong, Mr. Yarrow. Nor am I wrong about the false identity you've been living under, that of the Reverend Thornton. Sit. Gringotts goblin time is precious, the sooner we conclude our business, the sooner you may proceed to your golf game." He smiled, showing white, sharp teeth. "We in the audit division, specifically my division of Religious Affairs, have been looking into your financial dealings. I am certain the Internal Revenue Service and the Secret Service would be interested in examining your books and that of your church. Specifically, the purchase and use of a Gulfstream V jet by the church, as well as several expensive automobiles which I note are parked in your garage."

"Perfectly legal! My accountant said so!"

"H'm. Perhaps. Perhaps we should let the Internal Revenue Service decide that?" Snapclutch waved his hand, gesturing at the house. "I also find interesting the fact that on an alleged salary of ten thousand a year, you can afford this modest home. Fifteen acres, I believe?"

'Billy Bob' was sweating now. "Um, Mr. Snapclutch, was it?" The goblin nodded, and he continued, "Surely there might be some sort of arrangement we can make?"

"Mr. Yarrow, I am an honest goblin. Furthermore, you don't have anywhere _near_ enough to bribe me. The Roman Catholic Church has several hundred tons of gold and jewels in the Vatican, in addition to various religious and magical artifacts. The Knights Templar also has several hundred tons in their vaults in France and Spain. Phillip IV didn't get anywhere near what they have. The various Jewish orders in Jerusalem have items like the true Cross, the Spear, and the American government has the Ark of the Covenant." He sat back, tenting his long fingers, "My kinswoman, Ms. Wayne, on the other hand, who you have defamed in your sermons, has made Gringotts the official bank of the Terran Empire, as well as gaining us a franchise with Lantern Bank. Why, the transaction fees alone… Ms. Wayne, should she so choose, can buy _planets_. You think _you_ can bribe me?" He snorted. "No, Mr. Yarrow, I would like you to dispose of the aircraft and various other luxury items. You can obtain a mortgage with us for your home; we will in turn reimburse your church. We'll give you excellent terms. Lastly, I would like you to join in with your fellow evangelists to support the Empire, which means of course supporting Ms. Wayne."

"You're trying to dictate my sermons? That's a violation of the First Amendment …"

"Don't be absurd, Mr. Yarrow. I'm doing nothing of the sort. I'm simply suggesting you exercise your patriotism toward the new Empire. They are defending us from the Republic, and will be taking the fight to them. A suggestion toward enlistment of your congregations wouldn't be amiss, I think."

'Billy Bob' swallowed, and Snapclutch knew he had him. "The market's kinda soft right now for luxury goods …"

"Understood. Perhaps alternative arrangements, having the items sold to a holding or leasing company, medical flights for organ donors, that type of thing would be more suitable," Snapclutch allowed. "Perhaps you can persuade your fellow evangelicals to join in this arrangement." He stood, examining a pocket watch with multiple hands. "I shall take my leave of you. I will be in touch; enjoy your golf game." He gathered his papers into a binder, and then walked to the fireplace. With a gesture, the flames lit. He threw a pinch of a glittering powder, and then vanished into the flames.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 19, 2003: 06:09 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty lounge:  
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Minerva knocked on the battered table, "Shall we get started? I'd like to pass on to Miss Wayne a letter." While it was being delivered down the table, the Headmistress added, "I understand it has taken a most circuitous path. From Beijing to Formosa by way of the Swiss, from thence to London and the Foreign Minister, then to the Queen, and then to me. I must confess I am most curious."

Severus waved his wand over the letter, and then passed it on, commenting "There are no traps or other insidious things on it. No poisons, portkeys or other spells. It is what it appears, a muggle letter."

"Thank you, Severus," Miss Wayne said quietly. She pulled out the multi-page document, then laid it on the table while she adjusted her translator implant. The other Professors could see lines of Chinese script; she picked it up again and started to read.

"Hmm …" she mused, turning the page. "Most interesting." She finished reading and sat back, "There is a group of high-level provincial leaders who have been meeting in Beijing, along with people from Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Macao. They propose to create a new Chinese federal union, somewhat similar to the US or the United Kingdom, organized along the lines of the European Union." Professor Chang motioned for the letter, she tapped the pages together and slid them across to Professor Chang, who began to read.

"What about Tibet?" Professor Croft asked.

"They propose a series of referenda," Mattie replied. "There are currently eleven provinces in the mainland, along with the other three. I believe they are sending this letter for my information." She grinned, "I think I scared them with the Horsemen, although to summon them as my minions would require the blood of an innocent."

Aurora Sinestra yawned and commented, "Sorry. You've gone shopping with Death. I'm sure that must have been interesting for the shop girls, asking what size shroud she took."

There were some chuckles, and Cho rapped her knuckles on the table. "I think you're missing some subtleties here." She waved the letter, "Note the calligraphy. This is not printed on a laser, this is a hand-painted letter, a very formal letter with very specific phrasing. They are not simply asking your opinion, they are asking for your attendance as an interested _head__ of __state_. That means they are willing to endorse the Imperial compact if you trust them enough to go to Beijing and meet with them."

"Then why the round-about delivery routing?" Minerva asked. "Surely they have Hogwarts's postal address."

"They do, but by going through various other governments and letting them _read__ and__ copy__ it_, they are announcing their intent," Ms. Wayne replied. "With the decapitation of the national government, they can't go through the various foreign ministries, and yet this is a formal invitation." She sat back and thought.

"You shouldn't go," Professor Sprout said. "They've issued contracts on your head!"

"The _Politburo_ issued those contracts," Professor Chang replied. "From what I've heard in the Chinese and Asian communities, it's a general sense of 'Thank god they're gone.'." She sipped her tea, "I think you should go, and in your speech…"

"Speech?" Mattie asked.

"Oh, my yes. You're a guest, but you're also setting out your conditions for your approval." Cho looked over the letter again, "Going by this, after the introduction, probably second speaker. You'll be properly thankful for the invitation, admiring the long history of China, not mentioning the bloody periods, recalling the great moments in that history, skirting around things like the Cultural Revolution and the Gang of Four, then phasing into what your conditions are."

Miss Wayne sat back in thought. "I think cleaning up the environment with western-style labor laws and installing a multiparty system. I would include the Communists, as I'm sure there would be some True Believers. We don't want to disenfranchise them, but when the Poles held their first free election, their Communists only got about three percent of the vote."

"Which I'm sure they've noted. They also mention the military along with the Imperial compact," Cho said, as Mattie added that to her notes. "They have a draft, and this stroke on this character (she pointed one out), changes the sub-text to 'inclusive' as to the military draft. That means they're willing to draft women as well as men. The next phrase would include 'assets', which I would assume meant expensive things like their naval ships."

"Aren't you reading too much into a letter?" Professor Harry asked. The Ravenclaws and Slytherins looked at him, Filius replying, "No." Aurora continued, "If they're willing to sell off parts of their Navy, that means they're in something of a cash crunch. There are some things you need to have done on a federal or national level, like common defense or financial regulation."

"Their system was more feudal than communist," Cho put in. "Every general or admiral had his own private pasture of influence or industry that he ran for his profit. Now a lot of those upper-level types are dead, but they still need to feed those troops. If they can reduce their expenses by selling off a few ships to Taiwan, they will. If they can reduce the expense of their Army on their border with Russia, they will. They're looking to form something like the EU, because they saw how the diverse European states managed to do that and become a successful political and economic federation. They have a head start, they already have a common language and currency." She took a sip of tea, "I would suggest getting in touch with the Russian Embassy, possibly discussing a peace treaty so they can stand down part of their army for duty with the Empire. That would also give you a good-sized pool of trained personnel."

"Good idea," Miss Wayne said with a nod. "Headmistress, I'd like permission to leave school after my Transfig class today. I need to practice my Russian, anyway."

"I'll assume that you're up to scratch," Minerva replied. "Call Ms. Evans and set up a meeting with her at the Leaky Cauldron."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 19, 2003: 09:08 (GMT)  
Terra, London, IR&S (covert section):  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Good morning," Ginny said as she entered her office. "Sorry I'm late; the Tube was delayed out of Charing Cross.

"No worries, ma'am," Lena, her secretary replied. "I just got in myself, but you've a ladder in your tights. Your left calf."

"Bloody tights." She caught a package Lena tossed her, "I notice you were wise and wore slacks. What do I have up today?"

"I overslept and didn't shave my legs," Lena replied. "You've your covert planning group at half nine, after that Susan and the other cell leaders disperse to inform their respective cells and you've a luncheon meeting with Lady Sarah at half eleven, scheduled through to thirteen." She shooed her boss, "Go, change your tights, milady."

"I'll bring you a pair this afternoon when I visit the chemist's on the way back from Lady Sarah," Ginny promised.

"Light tan, please," and her boss waved as she entered her office.

* * *

"We have a general outline for taking each of the Republican planets," Liam said. "Of course, local factors will change some specifics. In general, there are three phases. The first is the Navy's responsibility, to eliminate any space-borne opposition from enemy fleet units and impose the blockade inside the warp limit. After that, the Army will seize and hold control of the orbitals, such as the orbital stations and satellites." The Irishman took a swallow of tea. "While communication and power satellites will be inspected and then left alone, orbital docks, stations, and other structures will be captured and garrisoned by the Army. That would include the slave tracking kit, customs, and so forth. That's phase one, estimated personnel is a battalion of Army troops up to a brigade of six thousand plus."

Ginny made notes, "Go on, please. A battalion is how many?"

"Figure a thousand troops, ma'am. Several companies, at least." He cleared his throat as she made additional notes. "Second phase is securing a space-head on-planet and meeting with planetary leaders. I'm sure everyone would prefer the enemy to fold their tent and allow us to move on to direct control with a minimum of bloodshed. In that case, we simply set up a domestic surveillance network and work on regime change along with the Army." He took another sip of tea; "Unfortunately, the current odds are between seven and ten percent on that, depending on the planet."

"So we go to Plan B on phase two, which is?"

"Which is unconventional warfare, ma'am. That includes a slave insurrection, the blockade runners and smugglers, what the planetary leaders are going to call terrorism, guerrilla warfare, the whole kit." He turned pages in his notes, "Ma'am, in this case, we'll be playing supplier and trainer to the Viet Cong and the Afghan Mujahedin. Given our experience with the slave girls we're using …"

"…Helping, Liam. Helping."

"Er, yes, ma'am. Helping." He took a swallow of tea as Ginny smiled at him. "Not to be politically correct, Liam, but we have to remember to use the proper language. IR&S is helping the downtrodden and opposed slave classes, not setting up revolutions; even if the revolutions do manage to help those oppressed slaves. We have to think in terms of Assembly inquiries, although it would be Lady Sarah or I who would be called to testify. Please continue."

"Yes, ma'am." He shuffled his papers, then continued, "The experience of most revolutionary groups is that the populace can be apathetic, up to eighty or ninety percent. The other ten or twenty percent can be split between the enemy collaborationist and the firebrands and revolutionaries." He shuffled his papers, "Urban and rural asymmetric warfare take different strategies and tactics, but both draw on the common base for support. While I'm sure that there have been slave uprisings, they're not in the captured enemy data we have access to."

"I would think the politically correct, party line propaganda would be all anyone would have heard for years," Susan Bones put in. "Still, in my studies, there have been underground press and pirate radio, that type of thing."

"Yes, and that's part of our campaign, as well as the 'slave grapevine' (he finger-quoted). The _samizdat_ newspaper publishers and other alternative media. We would provide funding, some equipment, and a very loose editorial control."

"How so?" Susan asked.

"Well, on the assumption that the vast majority of slaves are female, we don't want any sort of 'kill all the males' or 'kill all the masters' content," Liam replied. "There are bound to be sympathetic males and 'good' masters (he finger-quoted again), who are following the Republican party line because they don't know any different. They may treat their slaves well, and complain about the government in private, which the individual slaves would know. They would be at best sympathizers, former slaves, who would provide information, possible funding, or at least a blind eye. We don't want them killed simply because they're male, or slave owners. The slavers, the officers, the planetary Guard, those who keep the upper crust in power, yes."

He took a swallow of tea, "Getting back to the basic plans, of those ten or twenty percent, there will be the ones who have itched for a way to strike back, but haven't seen a way. There will also be the hotheads, which can be used for the 'suicide bomber' role, providing convenient martyrs for the cause by driving truck bombs into police stations." Another swallow of tea, "That would also allow the extraction of any prisoners in that police station, who will be willing to aid the cause."

"The downside is that all those slaves have the collar transmitter giving their locations, and their hip implants give a second method of identification," Susan objected. "We can't have a revolution if the authorities know who, where and when."

"All too true," Liam replied. "In addition, it is safe to assume that all those slaves are Enhanced, and therefore they cannot lie. In addition, there is the conditioning that slaves receive to accept their treatment, and the religion of the Source, which call for acceptance of your fate as a slave. All very good reasons why a slave revolt would have failed in the past. After all, seeing a slave tortured to death in public, taking days or weeks to die in agony would be a strong point against, and there's no reason that would not happen with us. However, we can reduce the odds tremendously."

"Go on, please," Ginny asked, leaning forward, her chin on her folded hands.

"First point, the collar tracking network. This is a system of satellites in low orbit with a control center on a space station. Our Army troops would capture that equipment. We can therefore control the output to whomever we wish. Secondly, we have developed slave clothing that blocks the transmission. A policeman can get a reading, but not past thirty meters or so, which means our slave agent, would be able to pass roadblocks, at least for that. Our slave girl simply changes clothing, from one tunic and skirt to another. We have also gained a great deal of information on the collar and enhancement programming, and are working on ways to reprogram that so the girl can lie to police and her owner. That is in alpha testing with some of our volunteer girls. That would be part of the equipment we would supply."

"Interesting," Ginny said. "What of the conditioning, and the Source?"

"Taking the second first, we have some propaganda that re-interprets several of the Source's passages. As with any religion, there are the true believers, and those who only give it lip service for social reasons. Regarding the operand conditioning, the psychologists say they have a way to extinguish that behavior, or at least reduce it. It is grounded in fear and pain, if the slave does not obey her owner, she will be punished. We need to produce a way for the slave to obey, yet take part in some way. One way is to insist on a slave being paid, even a minimal amount. She would have control of that money …"

"Wait," Ginny objected. "I thought some planets already allowed that."

"Some do, some don't," Liam replied. "We pitch it as an improvement in the general economy, which it would be. More money circulating, and with slaves not having much to spend it on, they will probably either leave it in the bank or join together with other slaves."

"Assuming their owners don't simply confiscate it," Susan objected.

"This would give an incentive to the slave girl toward disobedience." Liam shifted, leaning forward. "Think of the psychology. The girl finally has something to call her own, something she has earned through her own sweat and labor, and her owner _steals_ it from her. Yes, she's a slave, she's well aware of that. She can feel the collar on her neck, the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, the belt on her waist and groin. She's well aware that she's a slave, she's property, an animal, but this is simple _theft_. It's outrageous, and if she continues this work, and the thefts continue by her owner, she's going to look for a way to get even. She goes to a popular demonstration, standing on the sidelines, reading a flyer, perhaps keeping a copy folded up very small in her slave belt. She thinks about this when she's chained in her cell, perhaps talking quietly to other slaves she knows, or her First Girl, and will eventually make contact with a revolutionary slave cell."

"And if the slave isn't Enhanced, the process is much simplified," Ginny commented with a nod. "Still not a fast process."

"No, ma'am. With the passive resistance, it does provide for a much more stable eventual society," Liam replied. "Still, going by the Vietnamese example, it's doable within ten years or so."

"That's part three of your plan?"

"No, ma'am. Part three is assisting them in setting up a pro-Imperial government, a client state. We're assuming some sort of federal union, along with aid toward environmental repair, getting a stable economy and social structure, that type of thing."

"Good," Ginny said, making more notes. "Please keep me informed on that programming revision." She turned to Susan, "How are you and the other team contacts regarding …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 19, 2003: 12:18 (GMT)  
Terran System, _FBS__ Albion_, Flag Bridge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Vice Admiral Mackenzie Herschel considered her plot. The holo tank was currently showing a parsec (3.26ly) sphere around the Terran system, with the Oort clouds and asteroid belt shown as a white haze, and the planets with blue trailing lines in their orbits. The various defenses were shown in blue, while civilian installations were shown as green icons, with a spattering of green in the asteroid belt, representing mining operations.

The battlestar orbited Saturn's moon Titan, along with the moon's space station. The station was the outer system's control and supply point. She studied the plot for a minute more, and then stood, stretched, and returned to the command chair, remembering after she sat to smooth her skirt. '_Thank __god__ for__ permanent - press __uniforms_,' she thought. On the plot was Rear Admiral Fletcher's attacking force, holding station two lights outside the system, and Rear Admiral Yushchenko's defending force, currently in orbit around Ceres. Even though Fleet Problem One hadn't started yet, neither side knew the others location - only _Albion_ did.

'_Now __if__ the __bloody__ Republicans__ give __us __some __time_,' she thought, sitting back in the command chair and crossing her legs above the knee. She reached for the steel insulated mug sitting in her cup holder, rocking it gently to break the small magnetic field. She held it between both hands and sipped the hot tea slowly while she thought.

While they knew what the enemy was expecting in terms of reinforcements and supply, that enemy had also expected a walkover victory _and_ to retain communications via courier ship with their planets. The closest of those planets was Melotte, only 150 lights or a twenty-hour flight away. However, IR&S also said that Melotte was only reluctantly participating, being far more interested in local trade among the sixty or so planets in its stellar cluster.

'_We're__ rushing __things, __which __is __going __to __bite __us __on __the __arse_,' she considered. Extremely limited training, pushing things into production without adequate testing, ships being launched and working up on their first deployment. She shook her head, '_What __concerns__ me __is __using __untested __engines __in __our __ships __without __a __backup. __From__ what __I __heard, __Ms. __Wayne __tore __a __wide __strip __off __the __shipbuilders, __but __we __were __the__ victims __of __a __Pearl __Harbor __attack. __In __their __defense, __they __didn't __have __much __choice __- __we __had __to __deploy __a __fleet __as __quickly __as __possible. __We __didn't __have __that __blessed__ twenty __year __interwar __period __between __World __War __One __and __Two __to __refine __things, __test __and__ work __out __procedures. __We're __taking __what __experience __we __have, __and __crossing __our __metaphorical __fingers_.' She sighed to herself, '_This__ should __be __an __interesting __war. __Untested __ships, __green __crews __and __troops, __and __rescued __slaves __below - decks __that __panic __when __you __clear __your __throat. __Bloody __hell, __an __interesting __war, __and __I'm__ the __Admiral __in __charge __of __Home __Fleet_.' She grinned wryly to herself, '_Maybe __I __should __have __turned __down __that __recruiter. __Life __would __have __been __much __simpler __if __I __had __stayed __a __feeble __old __man __who __had __to __use __a __bib __when __fed_.' She looked down at herself and grinned; '_You __always __wondered __what __the __grass __was __like, __old __bean. __Now __you __know_.' She took a deep breath, then told herself '_Back __to __work, __girl_,' and keyed the first of the simulated Republican resupply plots. The projected missions had different compositions of slavers, naval, troop and supply ships. Projections ran the gamut from no resupply mission, to only a mail boat, through the Republic stripping their planetary garrisons to send _everything_ as reinforcements. IR&S considered this a low probability, because the Republic's neighbors were sure to pounce. However, with the inbred Republic's royal house and the psychological profiles of the top of the hierarchy, they had included it.

The 'mail boat' option was the simplest in some ways. Home Fleet would play 'hide and seek' until the mail boat (or boats) was deep inside the system, and then use captured Republican ships to decoy and capture it. Depending on contents of the mail, a false picture would be painted, or the ship would simply disappear like the recent capture of the battle-cruiser _Princess__ A'ya_. However, if the mail boat smelled something wrong, they might try to rabbit, which meant placing light, fast ships in position to intervene. She looked over at her Flag Lieutenant, asking, "What's an open code word?"

The young ensign looked at her datapadd, did a quick search, then said, "Liang pi noodles, ma'am."

"Sounds interesting."

"They're translucent Chinese noodles made from wheat starch." The tiny young woman smiled, "It's a cold dish, very tasty, I'll make some if you wish, ma'am. They take a day or so to prepare from scratch. They're a specialty from Shaanxi Province, my home in central China."

"That sounds good, Ensign Zhao. Set it up with my steward, please. Reserve Liang pi as an operational code, we're going to use it for the range of possible Republican relief missions." Ensign Zhao worked at her datapadd, then looked up and nodded. The Admiral continued, "The first one is Liang pi one dot one. That's if a single Republican mail boat comes in system. What we're going to do is deploy light forces behind her in an umbrella formation to catch her if she tries to run, while a heavier unit matches course and speed." The Admiral stood, using a control wand to draw lines in the holo tank, while the Ensign took notes. "One dot two would be for two ships, ma'am?" she asked.

"Yes. The Republicans like to use a 'hand' of five, so…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 19, 2003: 18:36 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Columbus, Ohio State University Library:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Maggie Morton heard the chime of her computer's email, and finished re-shelving books before she walked back to her desk.

_To: Mom (work)  
CC: Bill (school), Julie (school)  
From: Elena Morton  
Date: 19 March, 2003  
Subject: Back at Mars  
_

_Hello!_

_Well, I'm back at Mars again, or specifically Phobos. Mom, I know you were thinking I was getting sweet on a guy named Draco, but I don't think you realized that he's the Company Cat. I've attached a photo of him, although I should say he's more of the Regimental Cat. He enjoys exploring, and only reluctantly allowed us to put a collar on his neck with an ID tag and transponder. (We had to explain why to him. He's a very smart cat.) Phobos is a LARGE place, with a volume of 5600 cubic kilometers, and has a native gravity of only 0.0009 gravities (and change) which isn't a whole lot. Without grav plates everything and everybody would be floating around, bouncing off things. Of course that means that sports like tennis and handball have their rules re-written, you can rent wings to fly with (they strap on your arms), and football (soccer to us Yanks) is played in a tubular pitch. There's some discussion about hosting the Olympics here, but there would have to be a lot more civilian - grade hotels. _

_Not that the transient quarters we have are bad, but they're on the level of a motel. Michelin hasn't made it out here, but at best I'd give them one star. There's a Swedish logistics contractor who does the laundry and cooking for us, and they're OK, but this is still a military base. _

_Our regiment is tasked with Testing and Analysis of new equipment, and we've gotten some new guns to play with. These fire steel caseless saboted darts, which look like a finned needle, come to think of it, only in a thick, square case. That case is the propellant, which means no more collecting ('policing' is the proper military term) used brass for recycling. The sixty-four dollar question is how they'll penetrate Republican heavy personnel armor. Right now, we're just testing usability - one thing I wanted to see is the ability to reload the magazines and swap out/recharge the battery in that magazine. It fires electrically, and the battery has to be somewhere! _

_I'd also like to see different types of ammo - explosive, tracer, and phosphorus (known as 'Willie Pete' for white phosphorus), preferably in different colored casings. It can't be that difficult to add dyes and paint! Also, as one of the 'long guns' I'd like to see this in a sniper variant. I haven't sniped anyone yet, but I'm rated for it, at least with the M82 Barrett. I know, Mom, not very feminine, am I? Well, this isn't a very feminine environment! grin Besides, I think I'm over the screaming fan girl part of my life. Having actually MET celebrities like Superman and our own beloved in-law of a Queen (or Empress) and hearing Superman fart kinda destroys that larger-than-life image. _

_Right now, the scuttlebutt is primarily on a couple things: when we'll FINALLY get our small craft and what we're going to do when we have to hit dirt and place garrisons in the enemy cities. You probably know more about those small craft, and we've heard of different military - type vehicles. We've also heard more scuttlebutt about orbital commando drops. That doesn't sound too survivable to me! _

_On the civvie side, what's this I hear about the various Chinese states reforming into a 'Chinese Federation'? From what the local Chinese say, there were eleven pre-Communist Chinese kingdoms before they were consolidated. They're saying these would be combined, as the US is a collection of states, along with Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Macao. They're also saying they owe an 'honor debt' to Mattie for freeing them from Communist rule. Another bit of news is their argument about political parties, how any one can't have more than ten, or twelve, or some other percent representation … you probably know more about that than I do. _

_Bill, you had a question about … _

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 19, 2003: 08:51 (GMT)  
Firstday, 4 Quintus, 163, 15:47 (WFT +1)  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's Office:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Christine's secretary buzzed, "Mistress, your sixteen hundred appointment is here early."

"Give me five minutes to suction," she replied. "I just got back from lunch."

* * *

"So, this is the former Yuki Fukuda," Christine remarked to her three (free) visitors. "She doesn't look like much. Only another red-collared slave."

"True," Bellatrix Black replied, pushing the hooded slave's head further down. The girl's hands and elbows were locked together behind her; she wore a privately owned slave's white tunic and skirt, with a stout chain leash helping to secure the hood.

"However, she has convinced her master that she now remembers at least one code phrase to restore the garden slaves' memories," Gran Laval said. "We shall see, of course. I shall be most disappointed if she's lying." The slave 90144 trembled, and the third woman, the former slave called 'Kris', said "My former master George didn't seem to think so, and as someone who is Enhanced, I cannot lie. I can, however, misdirect; something I shall be looking for." She touched her collar, meeting the Governor's eyes and sharing something. "In any case, I …"

"Master, the Governor is in a meeting …" they heard as the door banged open, a man storming through, demanding, "What is the meaning of this outrage?"

Bella had her wand palmed, ready to use, as the Governor rose, leaning forward across her desk. She regarded the blue-caped man, "Mr. D'vec." She looked at her secretary, "Call the constable, please." Returning her attention to the Traditionalist, she commented, "You really need to overhaul your communications section. I presume this is in regard to Mr. C'aldo?"

"You know it is," he snarled, leaning across her desk to confront her, face to face.

"In that case, Mr. D'vec, I must inform you that Mr. C'aldo was charged with battery and murder of a citizen, one 13085. We have video recordings of those crimes as well as several witnesses. When arrested in Brazos, he was informed to speak only to his speaker-at-law. He did not, apparently not recognizing that he was charged with serious crimes. He refused the offered legal assistance of a court-paid speaker, he refused the opportunity to hire his own speaker, and the Traditionalists have ignored three separate requests for communication with the court. Since Mr. C'aldo was on your business at the time, we thought it was only fair to offer you the opportunity to defend him with your own speaker-at-law." She leaned forward, and D'vec leaned back. "I consider those more than sufficient attempts by the Crown to provide for Mr. C'aldo's defense."

"This is outrageous!" he shouted. "It was only a female, a slave! An animal!"

"You are aware that I also wear a collar?" the Governor said intensely. "That was not the wisest thing to say."

"We are well aware of your collar, _Governor_," he spat. "Rest assured you will wear it as a red collar at my feet one day."

"Is that a threat, Mr. D'vec?"

"It is a _promise_, female."

"And I will _promise_ you, Mr. D'vec that we will continue to arrest and prosecute any who break the law. This planet is ruled equally under law. Mr. C'aldo received a fair trial, in New Polonia, away from Brazos where local opinion was decidedly against him. He decided to represent himself, as was his right. There was a local speaker-at-law that was appointed by the court to assist him if necessary." She leaned forward, "Mr. C'aldo was condemned by his own testimony when he took the witness chair himself, even though he was warned not to do so by the court-appointed speaker. I have reviewed the recordings, as has the appeals court here in Riverside. We can find no fault with the proceedings, no errors on the part of the court or the Crown's case against him. I will have those copies sent to your offices for your own review." She leaned forward again. "Mr. D'vec, given the history of this case, I fail to see why you are here, and interrupting my meeting."

"I want C'aldo returned immediately!"

"We will send the remainder of his body to your offices. Where would you like it, here or in High Town on Island?"

D'vec took a step back, "Remainder?"

"Mr. C'aldo was charged with a capital crime, that of murder. He refused to recognize the fact that his conviction and approval by both the appeals court and myself as Governor meant the death penalty." She leaned forward once again, "As System Governor, it is my responsibility to execute those criminals. I signed his death warrant and pulled the lever to hang him this morning. We will post his head later this week, among other convicted criminals." She regarded him, "Where would you like the body sent?"

* * *

After D'vec had stormed off, Governor Sullivan smoothed her skirt and took her seat again. "My apologies, ladies, for that interruption. So this slave has indicated she recalls at least one code phrase to restore the memories of the slaves in question?" The slave 90144 whimpered once, and wiggled her fingers behind her without breaking position. The former slave Kris reached down and released her arms from behind her, and 90144 made writing motions.

"Slave, you may high-kneel," the Governor said, passing over a legal pad and pencil. The slave shifted, groping about, and then started to write. Gran Laval leaned over to watch, and then said, "Japanese, I presume. In Trade, so we may all read it, slave."

90144 whimpered once, then groped with her fingers, writing (_The__ beauty __of__ the__ chrysanthemum__ blossom__ is __but __a __pale __imitation __of __the __Empress' __own_.).

"Flowery, the Empress will get a laugh out of it," Bella said with a chuckle. "Should you be wrong, slave, your master George will be informed. We will recommend you be sent to the Farm for discipline, for lying to your owner." The slave shuddered in fear (along with Kris), and groveled, kneeling and pressing her wrists and elbows together behind herself, re-binding herself.

"I have other business for my previous master George," Kris said. "Do you need more of this slave? If not, I shall take her with me, and give her a light punishment to remind her of her collar." She touched her own, and the Governor nodded. Bella leaned down to tear off the page, folding it and returning the pad and pencil. She stood, as did Gran Laval, who said, "Good day, ladies."

* * *

"I do not understand these instructions of Master George," Kris admitted to the tightly hooded slave, who whimpered. "I am to neck-ring you to the fountains, working north to south, for at least thirty minutes each, while I am to 'relax and enjoy myself'. I do not understand this at all."

'_I __have __a __theory, __if __where __I'm __to __be __bound __is __where __I __think __it __is_,' the former Yuki Fukuda thought, as she felt her temporary mistress' grip shift on the leash which helped to secure the hood on her head. Her tongue pushed at the thick inflatable packing which held the gag in her mouth, locked behind her neck. She remembered watching in a mirror as her head was secured by her Master George. On top of the gag, she wore a full-head mask, laced on with openings for her eyes and nostrils, and a small plug for her feeding tube. Above that, she wore a thick blindfold, and on top of that, the thick canvas hood which was laced, locked, and double-locked by the neck ring of the attached chain leash. '_No,__ this __slave __girl __isn't __getting __out __of __this __kit __any __time __soon_,' she thought. Her Master George had once absentmindedly left his computer unlocked, and Yuki had paged through his notes on her various implants. Among them was a short-range transceiver installed in her throat, which explained why she had been left so securely gagged. '_That,__ and __I __tend __to__ babble_,' she added to herself. Antennae had been installed in her artificial arms, along with the brackets on her lower arms and wrists, presumably to disguise the antennae.

'_I__ know __Master __George __is __working __with __Master __Piotr __of __the __Security __Ministry_,' she thought. '_If __my __theory __is __correct, __I __am __a __courier __from__ a __wireless __collection __point __to__ … __somewhere __else. __Events __will __determine __if __my __theory __is __even__ partially __correct. __Who __the __target __is, __I__ do __not __know_.'

"Here we are, slave. A nice public park with a refreshing fountain and neck rings to secure slaves. I do not understand this at all," Kris said as she backed the slave into place, kneeling her and securing the slave's legs. The slave stretched herself up, raising her chin, and Kris adjusted and snapped the neck ring in place. '_Now __go __wander __off, __mistress, __and __relax. __Sit __on __a __bench __and __watch __the __people. __Eat __a __flavored __ice. __Take __your __time, __mistress, __we __have __plenty __of __it. __There __is __no __need __to __rush. __Oh, __is __that __what __I __think __it __is_?' She felt a tingling sensation go up her arms and into the back of her brain. '_Oh, __yes, __I __think __that's __it! __Now __how __does __the __data __collect __from __me_?' she wondered.

* * *

Bella apparated with Gran Laval to the greenhouses, and once again admired the warding Fukuda had installed. Not only did it include the usual anti-muggle wards, but invisibility and avoidance wards, as well as ones that prevented detection by muggle machinery. With a soft pop Constable Rowle apparated in behind them. The two witches turned, and he smiled. "Sorry I'm late. I was just thinking what a fantastic warding job Yuki did. Too bad she's a slave now."

"A red collar slave, at that," Gran Laval added. "Still, her master seems to be getting on famously with Piotr, so we can assume she won't be bored. I know I've talked to him about various projects." She took a deep breath, "Shall we?"

Gran addressed the kneeling slaves in Trade: "(_The__ beauty __of __the __chrysanthemum __blossom __is __but __a __pale __imitation __of __the __Empress' __own_.)" They all cried out, some writhing on the warehouse floor, others stretched full length and twitching. They all bound themselves, and slowly they each took the 'Inspection' position, left leg up, right leg kneeling as they bent forward and panted. Bella looked at Gran and Constable Rowle, then said, "You may move and speak freely."

The slave 11642 looked up, then shifted to a kneel, knees wide. "Yes, my mistress. This slave obeys. How may this slave serve?"

"You don't recognize me, girl? Your Gran Laval?"

The slave blinked several times, cocking her head, then said in a small voice, "Gran? You came for me? You're the rescue party?" She wobbled as she got to her feet, Gran rushing to hug her, and she hugged her with her chin. "_Oh,__ Gran_!"

* * *

"Not that I want to be fair to Yuki, but she believed she was carrying out legitimate government orders," Gran said later as the various witches (and one wizard) sipped tea in the break room.

"The thought that someone from the government would … _lie_ … is so disappointing," one of the newer girls, 33795 said sarcastically. "So tell us what's been going on. We've been in here for the last few months, stuck in our heads."

"Well, as we said, Yuki was lied to, and then collared and disposed of herself. She's now a red collar slave in one of the government ministries," Thomas said. He gestured, "Just like you lot will be when you go out-of-doors."

"Sucks to be a slave girl," 33801 said. She reached around to her collar, running her claw-tipped fingers over it, then smoothed down her pelt over her rib cage. She gestured with her left hand toward the loading dock door, where she had been part of an experiment to see what the code word had unlocked, while she picked up her tea mug. She had the appearance of a felinoid, with a claw-tipped tail coming from her slave belt that she flicked around, as well as the hips, knee and ankles of a felinoid. She stood and started to pace, "We really do appreciate your unlocking us as much as possible, but out there, we're full slave. '_Yes,__my __mistress. __This__ slave_,' and she snorted. "I wish I could remember my name, though."

"Yuki was speaking the truth when she said she had an unlock phrase," Gran Laval said, her granddaughter Marie kneeling next to her chair, leaning back into her legs. "Still, I can see her point that for you lot to go home now would leave a gap here that someone else would have to fill, and you'd be going back as rescued slaves, not as Terran girls."

"But we know at least two girls," 33795 said, pointing at Marie and Eleanor with a clawed hand.

"Yes, but those two are all we know," Bella replied. "All we have are invoices for the rest of you, which would be appropriate if you really were bred slaves we'd bought, or if you had been illegally imported, as the slaves 11641 (Eleanor) and 11642 (Marie) were by the Elders."

Thomas leaned over and hugged Eleanor, who also knelt, leaning back into his legs. She looked up and smiled, then said, "This is not something that needs to be decided today. I've got my mind back, some of it, at least. You lot are right, out there, we're slaves, mentally and physically. In here, we at least know part of our minds, which is a start. I don't want some other girl to have to go through this, and we can make some adjustments now." She turned to look at Bella, "If we have Mistress' permission, I assume."

Bella winced for a moment. "I assume you'll be maintaining your cover. I think we're going to transfer your 'supervision' (she finger-quoted) to the Governor's Chief of Staff, Ms. Evans. She's a muggle, with a bit of magic, who has a wizard nephew and witch sister. I for one want to get back to Earth and my fiancé."

"Go," 33801 said, making shooing motions. "Once this Ms. Evans shows up and we've met her, we can get back to work and you can go see your guy. Be nice to have Fifthday off, and have some cash to see the town, even if it's as a slave girl."

"You do have some funds, you've been paid into a bank account. We'll have that data put together for you, as well as your statements and such. We'll have a banker come out with Ms. Evans," Gran said, and looked at her watch. "Almost quitting time. Any sort of supplies you need?"

"I do _not_ want to be locked in that slave tube again," 33799 said. "I'm a bit claustrophobic. I'd like to have some sort of camp bed and a few blankets and such I can set up in the muggle greenhouse. It's not quite sleeping under the stars, but it's close."

"A radio would be nice, for news and music," 33800 put in. Other girls put their requests in, Thomas jotting them down. After they finished (or wound down), he bumped Eleanor with his knee, and she reluctantly stood, turning and hugging him. He slid his pencil behind his ear, returning her hug, "I'll be back soon with Ms. Evans to let you all meet her."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, March 20, 2003: 05:36 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, _ACD__0001 __Algiers_, troop deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"So what's goin' on, Sarg'n Polli?" Sam asked as he sat down behind Elena.

"You know about what we do, Corp," she replied. "The battalion is aboard this bucket for T&A. Today we get to do the first live drop from orbit, onto a little bitty town in the Outback. We also get issued these new popguns to try." She looked up, and then shouted, "ATTENTION!" while springing to her feet.

"Good morning, people," the LtC said. The black shoulder marks had the four silver stars of his rank. He wore them on the shoulder straps of his grey uniform, and he turned to address his troops. "Stand easy, sit down. Today we're going to live test the orbital drop harnesses. That's primary objective. Secondary objective is to give a usability test for these new weapons and ammo, which is one reason we're going where we're going. The town of Katherine in the Northern Territories has been having a problem of late with saltwater crocodiles. These can get up to eight or nine meters, and they are man-eaters." He leaned forward, picking up one of the new 'evaluation' guns firing a 5mm caseless steel dart. "We'll see how they like chewing on these. I hear they taste just like chicken."

There was a laugh, and he smiled. "This bucket, although don't let the Captain hear you call his baby that, is the first design of an assault carrier. Troops would hit dirt through a drop harness like we're testing today, or through a landing craft, which are being manufactured by Volkswagen among others." He looked his troops over, "Your combat armor has been fitted to a drop harness. Suit up, draw your weapons and I'll see you on the ground."

* * *

With a sucking sound, the ClearSteel™ front closed on the drop harness. Elena wiggled to get comfortable; the interior liners were adjustable to each soldier. '_Suit__ diagnostic __green_,' the computer said in a soft voice. '_Harness __diagnostic__ green_,' it added. '_Display __troop __summary_?' it asked.

"Yes," Elena replied, and the status of her platoon displayed. '_All__ green __- __good_,' she thought. "End troop summary, display firing sequence," she commanded. '_Port __side __launchers, __we're __after __First __Company_,' she mused, and strained forward to look along the loading bay. The drop harnesses were triangular in cross section, with the top of the 'front' clear, the lower half opaque. That's where her pack was stored, while her armor plugged into the harness, which supplied data, power and environmental support. The battalion's troops were lined up along the loading bay, the ship would advance them one by one into what was a large 'gun', an electromagnetic firing chamber, where they would be shot out and start the descent from orbit.

"To our beloved Empress, we who are about to die salute thee…" a voice cut through the chatter on the company channel. "Bag it, Von G," Elena snapped. "I'll have you cleaning the head again."

"She didn't do too good a job the last time, Sarge," someone else commented, and there was a general chuckle, covering up the sense of shared nerves. This was known as a 'HALO' drop: High Altitude, Low Opening. They would plummet down through the ocean of air, the aerodynamic drop harnesses achieving a terminal velocity of just over 320 kilometers an hour. In that time, force fields powered by the tiny reactor would protect them from the intense heat, while grav drives would steer them toward a landing beacon.

Such was the plan. Like all plans, that was before contact with the enemy, in this case the atmosphere. They planned at least ten more drops, including three night drops, to certify this level, before going to HAHO: High Altitude, High Opening. Those drops would be 'opened' at LEO altitude. Then they also had to certify cargo drops as HALO… The display changed, the line of harnesses started to move, and Elena asked, "Everyone ready for the ultimate roller coaster?"

"Is it too late to get out of this chickenshit outfit?" someone asked.

"Sure, call yo' recruiter, chicken mama," someone else said. "Y'all can go back to bein' an ol' man an' wearin' a bib when they feed ya' in the ol' folks home." There were several other comments, none of them even vaguely printable.

"Now, now, ladies and gentlemen, and I use the terms very loosely," Elena said, then paused as her drop harness went from vertical to diagonal as it fit into the firing chamber. She could see the carrier rings moving back, and she added, "Here we goooo…"

"Ye - HAAAA!" she yelled as she shot out of the ship, plummeting down toward the blue of the South Pacific. Ahead of her she could see the continent of Australia, while just beyond was the 'boot' of New Zealand.

"Having fun, Sarge?" someone asked on the company channel, then "Oh, my God ..." Ahead of her, Elena could barely see the meteorites of First Company arcing down toward the 'notch' in northern Australia that was the city of Darwin. The town of Katherine was southeast, she couldn't even see it. She turned, she could see Second Company's flaming trails through the atmosphere, as well as Headquarters Company, just now launching.

She was enjoying the ride down, composing a letter to the family, when all of a sudden there was a 'squawk', something white flapped past, and all power died. She looked out, while reaching up to grab the handle for the emergency chutes, and pulled. There was a 'bang' as they deployed, and she looked up, '_Frackin'__ birds__ … __One,__ two, __three __white __parachutes__… __where __is __number __four __'chute? __Oh, __crap,__ it __didn't __deploy_,' she thought. She looked down, the harness was coming down near a river … There was a splash, a loud cloud of steam as the hot harness was cooled by the river. She saw water flow past the viewing plate, and then a clang as something large with a lot of teeth tried to bite her harness as it settled to the riverbed. The water dragged the parachutes until something caught on the river bottom.

'_Well,__ crap_,' she thought. '_It's __gonna __be __an __interesting __letter __to __Momma__. __'Dear __Momma. __Today __I __sky__dove __down __from __orbit, __only __I __got __hit __by __a __bird, __lost __power, __and __landed __in __a __river, __where __something __tried __to __eat __me_.' _Yeah, __that's __going __to __go __over __well_.' She snorted to herself as the teeth and jaw re-appeared, trying again to eat the harness. "Gawd, what is that thing? Something prehistoric? Time to E and E, babe." Reaching down, she disconnected the power and data connections from her suit, while releasing the harness with her other hand. Relieved, she watched her suit lights come back up, then tried calling, "Charlie One actual, anyone read me?"

"_Algiers_ Comm, Charlie One, you're faint but clear, do you copy?"

"Charlie One, _Algiers_, I'm part of the live drop test. I had a bird strike on the way down and lost all power to my harness. Only three of my backup chutes deployed, my harness hit a river near a bridge and sank, and something large is trying to eat me. Over."

"_Algiers_, Charlie One. Copy you have suffered bird strike and lost power, and now you are sunk in a river. Over."

"Charlie One, _Algiers_, my harness is flooding, I've got to go. Have someone pick me up, please."

"_Algiers_, Charlie One. Copy flooding; try to salvage the harness for examination if possible. We will have someone meet you, but you are a hundred klicks off target, and deep in the Outback. It might be a few hours. Good luck. _Algiers_ out."

"Good luck, he says," she grumbled. She looked around the tiny space, and while her seat and harness had absorbed the impact, opening the capsule would be fun against the water pressure. All she could see was an occasional fish, bubbles coming up from her harness, and she could hear the slosh of water, which meant her pack (which she 'sat' on) was already ruined. She sighed, attached her gladius and the new weapons to her suit, popped the latches and pushed the hatch open.

Immediately she was submerged, she was glad to see she had suit integrity, although the footing wasn't the best. Her harness rested at an angle, the landing legs caught in the rocks, the shrouds for the parachutes partially wrapped around a submerged tree branch. Looking up, she estimated she was thirty or so feet underwater, and she could see the concrete and brick base of a bridge close upriver. She sighed to herself, and started to extract her harness.

* * *

"Charlie One, _Algiers_, do you copy?"

"_Algiers_, Charlie One, we copy. Much better signal. What's your status?"

"Charlie One, _Algiers_. I am on dry land, in a small park next to a bridge built in 1942. Looks well maintained. A sign reads 'Katherine 37 km.' This is the King river, I'm on the western side of this bridge."

"_Algiers_, Charlie One. What about the harness?"

"Charlie One, _Algiers_. I tried lifting it out, but could only get it to the bridge footings, so it is still partially underwater. Send a car wrecker with a long hook and winch, we should be able to get it out that way and put it on a truck. How's the rest of the test go?"

"_Algiers_, Charlie One. Nobody was dunked in the Pacific, which was the major concern. A couple of glitches aside from yours, but that is why we do these tests. Find a nice tree, sit back, and wait. Help is on the way. _Algiers_ out."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, March 20, 2003: 20:06 (GMT +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, King river bridge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Elena looked up as several vehicles pulled into the small layover. She got up from where she sat, and ambled over to the Imperial officer, saluting. "Sergeant Elena Morton, sir. You're my rescue party?"

"Lieutenant Mitchell Stevenson," he replied, returning her salute. "Things went a bit pear-shaped?"

"Yes, sir," she agreed. "Bird strike, at least that's what I think it was, on the way down, I lost power, and then took a swim. Something was trying to eat me, a big-ass alligator." She gestured to where one lay on the bank, quite dead. "They're not endangered, are they?"

"Salties? They're a man-eater; not endangered," the wrecker driver said, looking over the bridge railing. "He's five meters or so. How'd ya kill it, sheila?"

"Knife to the head will kill just about anything," Elena replied.

"'Cept one o' those arses in Parliament," the truck driver put in. "Bloody politicians. So how do we work this, and get you and the LT here back to base?"

"I was thinking we could pull the harness up by the shroud lines," Elena said. "I'll put my helmet and gauntlets back on, go down and take your hook and tie it into the lines, then you winch it up while I guide it." She looked over at the Lieutenant, "Sir, you're not armored, and that wasn't the only croc in the river. I saw at least three others."

"We're still in the Wet," the wrecker driver put in. "Least four centimeters of rain today." He walked over to his truck, backing it to the bridge shoulder, then releasing the hook.

* * *

"… and three!" With that, the croc's body was tossed into the bed of the truck next to the damaged harness. Elena went to check for anything left over, when the LT handed her the test weapon. "This yours, Sergeant?"

"Thanks. This is one of those good ideas that needs some work. I don't think this was supposed to get wet. Electric firing of the caseless round, which has shorted out, and the rounds … well, look." She removed the magazine, and pressed her thumb into the side of one of the molded rounds. "Not supposed to be able to do that, supposed to be hard, and I can leave my thumbprint in it. The white tips are phosphorous rounds, and you can see enough of the steel darts to see rust." She slung the short, bullpup weapon into the truck, tossing the magazine along with it.

"Interesting idea, though," the LT admitted. "Got your report ready?"

"I dictated it while I was waiting, sir. All I need to do is look it over and upload it." She gestured to the truck, "Ready when you are, sir, although I don't think my armor will fit in your car. I'll ride back in the truck."

* * *

"So this is Camp Katherine," Elena said. "I hadn't heard about it."

"Not surprised," the housing sergeant said. "Scuttlebutt has it the Queen is tired of the Greeks' 'go slow' policy, so we're their replacement. Four hundred fifty square kilometers of bush, option on another two fifty. We'll be the largest military base on the planet, bigger than the Yanks' Fort Hood. It's necessary as we have heavy artillery ranges, or we will. Still building, y'know." He pulled out a photocopied map of the base. "This is Bicentennial Road. North of it is Officer's Housing, along with the O-club. Down here, across the street from the raceway, is junior officers. Company grade and senior officers need their peace and quiet, y'know. Stuart Highway here is the main north-south road, while the Victoria Highway runs east-west." He traced it with his pencil. "Shopping area here, paint, hardware, clothing, that sort of kit. Enlisted and NCO housing is here, squeezed in along here. Your transient housing is down here, near the Victoria Highway. Got your orders?"

"Yes, I'm supposed to report in for briefing tomorrow." She looked at the map, "There. Building 942. Heck of a long way to walk, Sarge, and I need a uniform to wear. I can't wear my armor to a briefing."

"Quartermaster's here, behind us in building 47. NCO club here, building 65, and there's an electric tram along this route." He pulled out another sheet. "Schedule, runs 24/7, and there's a bus you can catch to Tindal Air Force Base for a shuttle up to orbit when you need it. Aussies were nice about that."

"I thought you were," she asked.

"Na, I'm a Kiwi, from New Zealand. I'll forgive you, Yank."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, March 21, 2003: 08:30 (GMT +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Sir! Sergeant Elena Morton, reporting as ordered!"

"Thank you, sergeant," the major said, returning her salute. "Stand easy while we go over your report."

"Yes, sir." Elena shifted to parade rest, while the assorted officers studied their datapadds. One did a cursory review, and then tossed his datapadd on the table. "I find your report unbelievable, Sergeant. A bird disabling one of our most sophisticated pieces of equipment. Ridiculous!"

"Lieutenant Pradheep," Major Mountjoy replied. "I do not. I call your attention to the warped cover on the exterior breaker box and the small but significant dent in that cover."

"In addition, lieutenant, the descent logs, all of which stopped recording at the same time," a captain said. "The power output monitor continued to record, but the interior user interface was cut off at the same time as the primary breaker. None of which the sergeant had access to. When she splashed down in the river, the defective cover shorted out the various power buses. If she had landed on dry ground, she would have seen the cover and been able to reset the breaker. Unfortunately, she did not."

Major Mountjoy continued, "This is the third engineering inquiry in which you have failed to do due diligence, Lieutenant Pradheep. I find your disdainful attitude toward Sergeant Morton a failure on your part, and I believe you owe her an apology." He waited, then added, "NOW, Lieutenant."

"I still believe you are the cause of the equipment failure. However, I regret my choice of terms. I believe my duty is finished here, Major, and I request dismissal."

"Dismissed, Lieutenant." The Indian lieutenant gathered his datapadd and left. The major watched him go, then sighed, scrubbed his face and said, "My apologies, Sergeant, for having you see that. Politics …" and he sighed again. "Any questions?"

"Yes, sir. The new ammo? I should not have been able to leave a thumbprint in that."

"No, you shouldn't have, nor should the seals have ruptured enough to rust the dart," Captain Cuthbright said. "That's a manufacturing snafu, as is the poor waterproofing of the design. We'll be forwarding them to the manufacturers; we've already emailed a copy of your report and photos to them. While it was a bit of an adventure for you, we did gain a lot of good data, and its better here than when you're under fire."

"True, very true," the Major agreed. "You're TDY for the next week or so here Sergeant, in case we have any other questions. Knock around Kathleen; it's a very pleasant little town of about eight thousand people. If you're interested, you can take a tour around the various installations on post." He sat back, "As you may have heard, the Corfu installations are being phased down, and transferred here. You're a combat vet, Sergeant, and as such we'd like to get you into our training program. I think you'd make a good DI, myself."

Elena blinked, "Sir, it wasn't that long ago I was graduating from Corfu, and my people need me in the company."

The major reached out a long arm, flipping open what Elena recognized as her personnel jacket. She saw his eyebrow raise, murmur "I thought I recognized that name," then flipped the folder closed.

"Sir, I have never wanted any special …" she started.

"And it's good to hear that from you, Sergeant. Scuttlebutt has it the Queen herself will be going through basic."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" The Major nodded, and she said, "Sir, I think no matter what Mattie or I did, there would be those people who would say she was getting a free ride, or soft treatment. I know her well enough that she wants to be treated just like anyone else. If I were in the same regiment, or even on the same base, people would say that. Respectfully, I appreciate the offer, but I just want to get back to my company." She caught the major's expression, "I just screwed up, didn't I?"

The major cleared his throat, and then removed his hat from under his left shoulder strap. "If I was wearing a proper hat instead of this piss-cutter… let me put it this way, Sergeant. For the moment, I am not an officer, but a relative. An uncle, perhaps. Let me give you a word of advice. When an officer, such as myself, passes on an offer, the noncom in question, such as yourself, is generally advised to take it. Especially when the noncom arrives in such an unusual fashion as to give the commanding general notice. Said commanding general paying for stuffing and mounting said unusual fashion out of his own pocket, for the NCO club. When said commanding general has passed down his favorable review of said noncom. Are you reading me five by, Sergeant?"

"I am, sir. I would be pleased to accept the Major's most generous offer. I would need to return to the _Algiers_ to recover my kit and my cat, though."

The major nodded, "Good, Sergeant, although you might want to leave your cat aboard the _Algiers_. They're good luck for a ship and there are feral dingoes in the area who would regard him as a light snack. As far as the Queen goes, political concerns are hers and the general's." He stood, along with the rest of the engineering board, and Elena came to attention and saluted. "Dismissed."

_To: Mom (work)  
CC: Bill (school), Julie (school)  
From: Elena Morton  
Date: 21 March, 2003  
Subject: Back on Earth  
_

_Hi, Mom! I still have all my parts, and they're all functional!_

_Well, __I __arrived __back __at __Phobos __to __be __transferred __to __the _Algiers_, __an __assault __carrier. __We __performed __a __practice __orbital __drop, __which __is __essentially __skydiving __from__ orbit. __We __used __a__ drop __harness, __which __provided __shields __and __deceleration, __orbit __to __ground __is __about __thirty __seconds. __Oh, __what __a __rush! __The __'target' __was __a__ new__ base __being __built __in __the __Outback, __near __the __town __of __Katherine._

_The drop went well, only three faults, of which the most serious was mine. I suffered a bird strike (some kind of gull, I think), of which Murphy took a hand, and the bird's beak tripped a breaker. All of a sudden, no power. I fired the reserve chutes, three of four deployed, but I was off course, and wound up in the river. _

_Glub, __glub. __I'm __underwater, __but __my __combat __armor __is __still __good. __I __get __out __of __my __sunken __harness, __and __a __crocodile __decides __I __look __tasty. __Chomp, __he __tries __to __eat __my __left __arm,__ but __I__ stabbed __his __head __with __a __dagger, __got __to __the __shore, __then __called __in __to __the _Algiers_. __They __called __someone, __and __we __extracted __my __harness, __little __ol' __me, __and__ the __croc, __who __wound __up __being __4.83 __meters __long. __That's __almost __sixteen __feet! __Without __my __knowing __it, __this __came __to __the __attention __of __the __base __commander, __General __Shimisa, __who__ has __paid__ (his __own __money) __to __have __the __croc __stuffed __and __delivered __to __the __base __NCO __club. __That's __where __I __am __now, __sitting __here __at __lunch. __I've __gotten __an __offer__ … _

"May we join you?" someone asked, and Elena looked up. Two men stood near her, one an obvious African American, the other short and definitely Slavic. She nodded, saving her letter, as the civilian waiter came over, pouring water and collecting the plastic mess trays as the two unloaded their dishes onto the table. She raised her (new) datapadd, with a smile saying, "Just writing home."

"It's Friday, I need to do that. Sergeant Yuri Galenko and this is my comrade, Sergeant McCain."

"Elena Morton and I've just been invited to become a DI here, along with a bump in grade to E-6. Apparently my drop harness falling in the river brought me to the notice of the base commander."

"That will do it, and I'm Walt McCain. We're both transferred in to do the same thing, training for DI duty. Congratulations on your promotion. I'm an E-7, my understanding is that you two will have individual companies, assisted by E-5's, and you'll report to me or another training sergeant. We have twenty four training companies in basic training."

"All infantry?" Yuri asked.

"Everyone gets at least the light training, uniforms, weapons, etiquette, that kind of training so they can defend themselves," Walt replied. He glanced at Elena's uniform, reading her 'fruit salad', and then said, "You've been through some assaults. How are the collared girls doing? We really need the personnel."

"Eh," she replied, waggling her hand. "They've got a lot of conditioning to overcome, some are afraid to even pick up a knife, especially the bred girls. You really need to emphasize the teamwork, the esprit de corps, to help them overcome it." She picked up a slice of Italian bread, breaking it apart, as she thought. "Once they know they've done it, they're all right, rather gung-ho in fact. Motivation, positive reinforcement all has to be applied continuously. One member of the unit beating them down to make themselves feel better can destroy all that other work, and break unit cohesion."

"Let them discipline themselves, a collective reward and punishment system," Yuri commented. "We will also be in competition between the different companies with such things as timed marches, hand to hand, sharpshooting and so forth. We must emphasize that no one is good at everything."

Walt grunted, "In addition, we must emphasize the differences pull us together." He nibbled on a bread stick, as Elena asked, "What about former Republican military?"

Shaking his head, Walt continued, "No, we don't trust them, although we may try a few as a test. Last I heard, we were going to bio-sculpt them, collar them, and ship 'em off to a prison planet as colonists, along with the slavers." He swirled the bread stick in the spaghetti sauce, taking the last bites. "After basic, our people go to Individual Training, also here on base, but they move out of barracks and into junior shared housing, where they commute to their training areas on base. They're finishing up that construction now, as well as things like mortar pits and artillery ranges." He sat back as the waiter came by again, collecting various plates and refilling the water glasses.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, March 21, 2003: 10:39 (GMT)  
Melotte, star port, dock 1138, _Scythe_:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Oh, damn," Sandra Woosan said as she caught sight of her ship, holding out a hand to stop the three slave girls with her. Outside the fence were several grey-clad Planetary Guards, discussing something with the Captain, while Second Officer Diijon raised a flag. She watched for a moment, reading the flag's symbols, then turned, shooing the other girls along. "Follow me, we need to get your ownership transferred to me," she said. "The ship has to leave; we're going to need to go to ground."

"Yes, mistress," 81149 replied. A professional intelligence officer from somewhere on Earth, she had been bio-sculpted, collared and Enhanced to look like a felinoid - bred slave. Melotte City was cosmopolitan enough that she didn't stand out - she was a humanoid slave, her fur and tail were ignored, passer-by simply looked for her collar and clothing. They saw 'common collar and a private slave smock' and didn't look further; as such, she blended into the background.

The other two girls, 22411 and 22458, were former hotel slaves that had become part of the _Scythe_'s crew. Legally free, they had continued the masquerade of slavery to help provide the ship's cover. Officially the ship was a free slaver, but she was actually an intelligence ship for the Terran Empire. _Scythe_ had been on Melotte to perform reconnaissance. However, something had made the authorities suspicious, the flag Diijon had raised was a warning for the four of them.

"In here," Sandra said, motioning to an alleyway with a large rubbish bin they could hide behind. "Strip off your clothing and cuff yourselves. I just bought you three and it wasn't a legal transaction, so you're going to have to be re-collared. Sorry about that."

"It comes with the collar, mistress, don't worry about it," 81149 replied, bundling up the tunic and skirt she wore, and making a jump shot into the bin. "What was the message flag?"

"The Greys were suspicious of something, we're going to have to go to ground, hide, and wait for the Fleet to show up. In the meantime, we'll continue collecting intelligence, caching equipment, and working on identifying the leaders for a general slave insurrection."

"Why couldn't we keep our clothing, mistress?" 22458 asked.

"Slaves are bought, sold and collared naked," her sister 22411 replied, cuffing her sister and collecting her clothing. "Will you be leashing us, mistress?" She asked as she binned the clothing.

"Um …" Sandra mused. "I don't see the majority of slaves wearing a leash, so we won't. I don't plan on Enhancing you two, either. We're going to one of the safe houses to live, and a way to make some legitimate money, which may mean renting the three of you out for a while."

"A courier service, mistress," 81149 suggested. "We can travel around, and look for good locations for caches, dead drops, and possible recruits, but that may mean Enhancing these two. For now, we'll need to contact that forger for paperwork for you and fresh collars for us." She turned 22411 around, cuffing her, then offering her own wrists for Sandra to cuff.

"If you need to Enhance me, then do so, mistress," 22458 said, and her sister nodded. "Yes, mistress, as long as we stay with you." She shook her hair back as she watched 81149's wrists secured by her mistress.

"Let's go, then," Sandra nodded, leading the way from the alley.

* * *

"Turning off the collar transmitters? It could be expensive," the forger said. Sandra slid another kilo of tungsten his way, he added, "It's illegal …" (another kilo) " I could wind up in a collar myself …" (another kilo). "Any particular place you'd like them to register, mistress? I'd suggest the city sales yard."

"That will work," Sandra agreed. She looked over her own (forged) history as the forger's own slave locked 81149 in place on the machine, while another stood ready on the slaver's control console. Their master checked the settings, then waved for the girls to go ahead. The extensively (and illegally) modified machine whined, then the different parts opened, expelling the slave as two chips rattled into a small tray. The forger nodded to Sandra's other two slaves, "Did you wish them Enhanced as well?"

"Not now," Sandra replied, motioning the first girl toward the machine. She studied the history of her own fictitious past, committing it to memory. "I did have a deal or two coming up, unfortunately my ship decided to leave me. I'll need a referral to a few similar minded friends of yours, for instance a machinist …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, March 21, 2003: 11:43 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Mrs. Weasley! How are you?" Mattie called to the older woman. She motioned, "Come, walk with me while I cool down from my run." She slowed to a fast walk as Molly Weasley came to meet her.

"Oh, I was hoping I could see Harry or Ginny, they'd know what to do …" Molly worried aloud. She puffed a bit and Mattie slowed, "What's the problem?"

"It's little Renee, there's another couple, a muggle couple that want to adopt her, and we don't have much of a muggle history." She puffed a bit more, and Mattie slowed down again. "The judge is a muggle judge, and finds the whole story of succubi a bit far-fetched." She eyed the teenager, "Is there any way you could …"

"Lean on the judge? Ethically, morally, and legally, no, I couldn't." She saw Molly's face fall, and then said, "However … if I happen to know friends of friends are looking for a bit of extra dosh, it wouldn't be improper to point them your way. What you discuss with them is your matter, not mine." She turned her head, looking straight at Molly. "Your matter, not mine," she repeated.

"Ah, yes," Molly blinked then nodded.

"Good." Mattie pulled out her cell phone, dialed, then said, "Mr. Thompson! How are you this fine morning? Yes … yes … that's good. I was calling on behalf of a friend, who was in need of some work on her auto, yes, a bit of custom work. Yes … yes … I was hoping you might meet her in the Greywolf pub about half twelve. Yes, she's wearing a teal dress and you've got on? Yes, a red-and-blue striped tie. Yes, her name is Molly, with red hair. She'll find you at the bar. Yes, glad to be of service. T'rall!." She closed and pocketed her phone, then reached into another pocket, "Now, then. I've mentioned to you the classes you'll give me regarding baking. You're the world's best baker, and my biscuits and such still come out with burned spots on the base."

"Oh, but dear, that's …" Molly rattled to a stop when Mattie held up her hand. "Now, then, we agreed on a price for those lessons. £500 is fair for professional grade instruction," and she peeled ten £50 notes off, shoving them in Molly's hand. "Mr. Thompson knows a few blokes who can help you. Tell him the story, buy him lunch, fifty pounds should do, and he'll introduce you. I don't know anything more, and I'll get together with Ginny about those baking lessons. I have to know how to bake if I'm going to be a proper mum, after all." She grinned. "Go, floo to the Leaky, then you can apparate to your meeting. Now I really do need to cool down, or my legs will be in pain all day."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, March 21, 2003: 16:08 (GMT)  
Terran System, _FBS__ Albion_, Flag Conference:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"… and we go to logistics. Commander Peglow?"

"We're doing fairly well in most consumables, ma'am," Linda replied. "The refinery orbiting Titan is still building down their intake pipeline, so for now our small craft fuel situation is minimal. However, we're still waiting for our various forms of small craft to be produced. From what my scuttlebutt says, the man in charge is treating each one like a Swiss watch, continually fine-tuning his process. I think they've actually produced one SCS and four pinnaces. No fighters, yet, but then again, this is scuttlebutt. All I got when I called Detroit was routine reassurances; we're working on it, blah, blah, blah."

"I see," Admiral Herschel nodded. "Please pass your contact information to my Flag Lieutenant, Commander. Aside from the fuel and parasite craft, we are?"

"Doing well, ma'am. Consumables are in stock, we have two units of fire**(1)** of the five we're scheduled for, and the lighter ships have three of their five units of fire of the lighter classes of missiles. Give us another week; we'll be full up on missile strength."

"What's the hold-up?" Commander Havice, her Ops officer asked.

"The anti-matter warheads," Peglow replied. "They're very sensitive to shock, which is why our storage has multiple force fields and blow-out panels. They're also shipped out from the moon on very slow ships. Our missiles don't accelerate as they could for that reason. However, it does increase their first stage range."

"True. We have a preliminary report from IR&S about a Republican fleet concentration in Melotte. They were able to pass an estimated enemy ORBATT**(2)** along. They were still waiting for heavier ships, and their current ship list is about two hundred and five, primarily lighter units, frigates, corvettes and destroyers. Nothing larger than a heavy cruiser, and as you can see, primarily oriented toward piracy suppression in their home systems. That's the good news. The bad news is that their ground forces are estimated in the three hundred thousand range, of which a good percentage are taking liberty on planet." The admiral sat back, taking a sip of tea from her mug as the officer continued. "I'm sure that you can imagine the positive response that is generating. For us, these are primarily their planetary guard forces, thugs and head-breakers, collected up and stuffed aboard a ship to fight we barbarians." She gave a tight smile. "We will once again play those cards that have worked for us before: infiltrating their computer systems to lock out command functions, if possible triggering the capture gas if they were foolish enough to leave it plumbed in to their environmental systems."

"Yes, ma'am," Commander Havice acknowledged. "If we aren't dealt those cards?"

"Then we do it the hard way," Admiral Herschel replied grimly. "Fighting our ships, and assault and capture of theirs. I'll want to see plans for using our troops, assuming Detroit gets their thumb out and we have enough boats to do so. If not, we will not have sufficient captured enemy shuttles to do so, so we'll need to disable or destroy those enemy ships. I'll want detailed plans for each option, Commander. Let's move on. Personnel, speaking of those troops?"

"Yes, ma'am," Commander Dunfree replied. The pale, red-haired Irishwoman continued, "We have available …"

* * *

"I have a Mr. James Patterson on the line, ma'am. Audio only."

"Thank you, lieutenant, I'll take it in my office," Admiral Herschel said. She stood, tugged her uniform straight, and then strode into her office. Touching the flashing light on her comm panel, she asked, "Mr. Patterson? This is Admiral Herschel aboard the BattleStar _Albion_."

"Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you this afternoon?"

"Very simple, Mr. Patterson. You can give me my parasite craft. I need them to defend this system."

"Ah. We're still working out the details of this process. As I told your girl …"

"Yes, you brushed her off, Mr. Patterson. I am not so easily handled. You will commit to an initial shipment of one hundred …"

"Impossible. We're not even close to …"

"Mr. Patterson, I will return discourtesy with equal discourtesy. I repeat, you will provide at least one hundred fully operational …"

"Look, bitch, the process ain't ready yet, and won't be for a while, so you can just deal with it."

"Mr. Patterson, I am a Vice Admiral, not your 'bitch'. If you expect this star system defended, you will supply my needs. Deal with that, or I shall deal with your replacement. Is that understood?"

"You'll get these when I declare them ready. I don't care if I have to do every weld, they will be done to my satisfaction." There was the hum of a disconnected line, and Mackensie closed her eyes for a minute, taking a deep breath. She turned to her computer, doing a quick bit of research, then touched her comm. "Lieutenant, please call the Governor of the US state of Michigan. Yes, her name is Granholm, her number is …"

* * *

James Patterson slammed the phone down, swearing under his breath. "That upstart bitch! Who is she to demand that? She'll get those when I'm damned good and ready to …" his cell rang. "Patterson." He stood up, "Yes, ma'am, I mean Governor. You what? What? You talked to … oh, yeah, I mean, yes, ma'am. Well, ma'am, the process isn't perfect yet … yes, ma'am. Well, there are various small errors … yes, ma'am. No, I am not building watches … one hundred … yes, ma'am. Yes, ma'am. Well, we need to hire and train … yes, ma'am. One hundred a week, minimum. Yes, ma'am. Yes, ma'am. G'bye." He slapped the phone closed, throwing it against the wall of his office. "Damn that British bitch!"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 22, 2003: 08:15 (GMT)  
Terra, West Midlands, Safehouse # 3:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Wai peered out the kitchen window as the Mercedes stopped on the gravel parking pad. Mrs. Wouk had popped round with groceries and the news that a visitor was expected this morning; so her husband Liu and her son Jia had tidied up (not without complaints from Jia), fresh tea was brewed, and they waited. The door opened, an obvious bodyguard stepped out, scanning, and then opened the door for his passenger.

* * *

"I had something for you to read," Mattie said as she walked with Wai through the garden. She stopped, casting _Scourgify_ on a bench before smoothing her skirt and taking a seat. She passed over the 'Chinese Union' letter she had received. "I'd like your opinion."

Wai nodded, taking the seat next to her, and unfolding the letter. She read it through quickly, then again, much slower, thinking about the nuances. Sitting back in the shade, she pursed her lips, glancing back at the letter, flipping through the pages.

"This is more of an information memo to you," she started.

"Yes, this is my reply," Mattie passed over another sheet. "Admittedly, my Mandarin isn't the best."

"Yes, it's machine translation. It misses the subtleties," and she pointed out a few words on the original letter. "The order of words, and the syntax, here and here, is subtly blaming you for the current situation." She shifted on the bench, "I know I requested a hit on the Politburo, but I never expected what I saw on the news. Did you really call demons?"

"Oh, yes, and they were surprisingly nice people. I said I didn't have any objections to the common citizen, or the soldiers or sailors themselves, they were just following orders." She fussed with the hem of her skirt for a moment. "What can you tell me about the letter?"

Wai glanced at the pages again. "I think your suggestions on environmental and labor law changes are well taken. I doubt they will happen, it would cost too much and eliminate an advantage of theirs. There is no large environmental movement like there is in Europe or the States, and the peasants and workers are given lip service. There is no real concern for them."

Wai tapped the pages, as she continued, "You may not believe them, but the provincial governors, the men who signed this letter are Chinese patriots, and any sort of balanced, multiparty elections as there are in Europe will be a long time coming. They saw what was happening in Eastern Europe, even if the commoners didn't, and they want to hold on to power. They are identified too strongly with the Party, and they will not hold power when the Communist Party only gains five percent of the popular vote. Therefore any multiparty election (she finger-quoted) will be rigged at best."

She took a breath, and then continued, "Any sort of cooperation they extend to you will be reluctant. You have decapitated the dragon, but it will grow new heads, and they may vote the Chairman in as a figurehead revived Emperor, since you did not take him out. You've eliminated one problem by shattering it into a dozen fragments."

"Joy. Any suggestions?"

Wai tapped the pages, "Assassination works, as do coups. You would have to do them all simultaneously, though. Of course, they know this, and will have taken precautions. My suggestion would be a Taiwanese front that would sponsor Imperial Party candidates in each province. They have, in theory, promised open and fair elections. However, they do not say anything about election monitors. After all, how easy is it to engineer an election?"

Mattie sighed. "True. Very true." She sat back, "I had an offer for you and your family." Wai raised an elegant eyebrow, and she continued, "I need a Foreign Minister and a diplomatic setup. We will defeat the Republic, but there are other interstellar governments, and there are treaties and so forth that will need to be negotiated."

"And you come to me? I thought I was officially dead," Wai replied.

"I don't think that was ever stated, officially," Mattie said. "I think they just had you hospitalized until the media shifted their attention away from you. What I have to do is to centralize my government at Port Oldridge, on the moon, and just have departments of different agencies in the various cities like Warsaw." An eyebrow rose, and she explained, "If I put the home office of a ministry in one of the cities on Earth, there would be resentment and bias. However, if I put them on the moon, which is neutral territory, that won't happen."

"And Port Oldridge is where?"

"The western edge of the Sea of Tranquility, a few hundred kilometers away from the Apollo 11 site. We've been building the lunar colonies up as a centralized location, there are some major shipyards and secondary colonies, and Port Oldridge has the Assembly." Miss Wayne made a small grimace, "I want to get as much done as I can before the bulk of the Assembly arrives. Earth still needs to have elections for the various continents and so forth. If all the planets send all their delegates, that's over a thousand Assembly-persons, and we can only expect growth along with the Empire."

"I see," Wai said slowly. "Assuming I accept, how would my ministry be arranged?"

"I think the most logical is a nodal arrangement, like the military and intelligence services. Each of our existing colonies forms the nucleus of local support for their particular stellar cluster or nebula. To use the Republic as an example, you would have an Imperial embassy on their capital planet of Aeeloh, and consulates in each of the other eleven systems, such as Charis and Taasbah. Routine matters would be handled by an office in the nodal system, which would CC any traffic to an office at Port Oldridge. You would then get a daily brief from each of your nodal officers, which you would then pass on to me in our meetings." Miss Wayne shrugged, "Not being a professional diplomat, that seems logical to me. It would be your ministry, though, you would arrange it as you prefer."

"Of course. I can see some confusion with that, if a member planet for one political group is physically located in another cluster. What is your overall strategic policy?"

"We are outnumbered, quite honestly, so we have to be smart about things. In doing my strategic planning, I was struck by how the Roman Empire controlled such an enormous territory with only twenty-eight legions, each of whom was only six thousand men. That is a hundred sixty eight thousand troops, for an empire that covered most of Europe, the Mideast, Greece, Turkey, and northern coast of Africa. They had some auxiliary troops, but still …"

"Yes, that is quite a puzzle," Wai replied. "That's got to be a border of at least a hundred thousand kilometers. How did they do it?"

"They formed client states and used them as local security, with local kings endorsed and subsidized by Rome, reinforced with the Legions as heavy infantry. Given travel times, even with the Roman roads, that is about all they could do. Remember, their infantry marched everywhere, which meant a legion going from Rome to Germany would take two months to get there. Instead, they developed the infrastructure with extensive building programs, what some have called 'engineering warfare' (she finger-quoted), which increased business, grew the local economy, and so forth."

Wai nodded, "As I recall, they also used very aggressive diplomacy."

Mattie agreed. "This ties in nicely with our fleet and intelligence being based on a nodal or sector model. Our Foreign Ministry would need to set overall goals and staff at least the upper-level positions, but the sector Ministry offices would need to establish the planetary embassies and consulates. If we have client states, we would need to guide the planet's domestic policies to align with both the sector and the Imperial goals."

Wai sat back, "Assuming they cooperate. Those goals would be?"

"I think the Imperial goals would be to develop the peace and promote economic growth, trade, environmental and civil rights. I think it's better to have that done locally instead of the Empire coming in with a battle fleet and ramming it down someone's throat."

"Which can always be done, and the various governments would be aware of this."

Miss Wayne nodded, "One other thing would be to offer the children of the various client states' leaders a free education here on Earth. Travel broadens the mind, and that would give them time to see our point of view and have them ready to slip into place should we need to replace any particular planet's rulers."

"Hostages, as our diplomats would be," Wai commented. "How much of Earth's diplomatic practice is used out there?"

"It is actually part of the Interstellar Commercial Code," Mattie replied. "Generally speaking, only the Ambassador has immunity, although it varies quite a bit with individual planets. That's something the sector office would need to keep track of, and inform any of our people regarding those individual planets." She shifted on the bench, "For instance, the slave issue. Most planets have at least some slaves, although it varies from a judicial punishment, for a fixed term, through a slave class as part of the economic system, to entire planetary slave populations of bred slaves and just a few free persons on the planet." She played with her skirt, "Now, since part of any diplomatic installation's duties includes intelligence work, that presents a conflict with our stated purpose of ending the practice of slavery."

"You would need illegals as well as staff under diplomatic cover," Wai replied. "How would you work that?"

"I confess I am not particularly happy with this solution," Miss Wayne replied. "We have various personnel, volunteers only, who are disguised as slave girls. They are volunteers, they are paid, they are protected to the best of our ability, and they have methods of reporting in and of suicide if necessary. Beyond that, I don't want to say anything more, except that 'need to know' operates. Any particular agent is referred to by number, and only the local office would know an actual identity. You and I would not."

"To keep leaks away from the press …"

"And politicians with loose lips," Miss Wayne agreed. "Even the intelligence oversight committee wouldn't know more than 'Source 1234', just how the local office graded the report. In addition, there are other sentient Terran species that are full members of the Empire, such as the goblins you know of in our financial circles, and house elves."

"House elves? Do they live in trees?" Wai asked with a smile.

"No. Cindy?"

With a crack, a small figure appeared before them, about 80 centimeters tall, with large 'bat' ears and protuberant eyes. Cindy wore a Hogwarts smock; she asked "Mistress Tsaritsa Wayne? What Cindy does for you?"

"Nothing Cindy, thank you. My friend Wai had never met a house elf. Can you tell the Pappy that our meeting next week is still good with me?"

"Yes, Mistress Tsaritsa Wayne, Cindy does that. Cindy is pleased to meet Mistress Tsaritsa Wayne's friend Wai." With another crack, she vanished.

"House elves are one of the Wizarding world's dirty little secrets," Miss Wayne confessed. "Several hundred years ago, they were on the losing side of a war against the goblins. In order to survive, they aligned themselves with the wizards, who then proceeded to exploit them. They were little more than slaves, until a few years ago. Now, they contract through the Pappy, their head of state, with any households that want to employ them. My mother employs two of them, and Cindy is employed by Hogwarts, my school." She sat back, "Psychologically, they're interesting. They love to work, they will happily work twenty or more hours a day, do not want time off or pay, which they regard as laziness, and persist in the slave-like speech. My mother had to negotiate them up to minimum wage, they didn't want to be paid, wanting to work for free. She had to insist on it as the law. But they will cook, clean, and maintain landscaping and grounds beautifully." She shifted, "They have some way of monitoring for their owners (she finger-quoted), and have a way of sensing the … gestalt of a house. The reason I bring them up is that I am negotiating with their Pappy toward having them in our embassies and consulates."

Wai sat back, thinking, "How so?"

"First, they need to bond with someone for psychological and biological reasons, which would be the ambassador or consular officer. That's why they didn't escape wizard abuse, they couldn't. Second, each of our facilities will need to be cleaned and maintained, which house elves do beautifully. That means that we don't have to hire locals to clean, who will probably be spies. Third, they can serve as internal security, they are surprisingly powerful, and will sense any planted bugs. Their magic does need gravity, though, so they aren't as useful on stations and ships. Therefore, we'd have a few elves in each embassy or consulate to clean and maintain it, and for any cocktail parties, we hire a few local slaves to play waitress. Once the party's over, we scan for any bugs left behind."

Wai nodded, "It sounds interesting, but I'll want to talk it over with Liu and Jia. What about schools, work for Liu, and our personal security?"

"In Port Oldridge, there's a nice little community built up over the last few years, and there is a school system, so Jia can go to school." She asked, "Were you actually planning on changing Jia to a girl? If so, what would be her name?"

Wai sighed, "We are seriously considering it. He was a problem in Beijing, and he's bored, so he's gotten even worse since he arrived with Liu. Maybe this will snap him out of it, because if it wasn't for my political influence, he would already be in jail. Perhaps a fresh start as a young school girl. I just hope she doesn't become the new school floozy." She sighed again, "Jia is a name like Chris, it has masculine and feminine aspects, like Christopher or Christine." Also, what about our personal security?"

"As a Minister, you would have a detachment of Imperial Guards," Miss Wayne replied, and motioned towards Crystal, who was lying in the shade several meters away in her wolf form. "It does no good to have you protected when your family is vulnerable. However, they would not prevent any law breaking. For example, if Jia were to be arrested for underage drinking, they wouldn't intervene."

"I understand," Wai said. "One advantage of our living here is there's no place he can get into outside trouble. Perhaps a dutiful daughter _would_ be preferable. What about Liu's employment?"

"I believe he has a degree? If so, I have some educators working on setting up the Imperial University. It would have branch campuses on every one of our planets, and teach everything from milking cows to advanced physics."

"He has a doctorate in physics, but I don't know how acceptable that would be, given the latest advances."

"He could always teach the basic courses if he decides to update his degree."

* * *

They waved as the limo disappeared down the lane, and then turned, each of them putting an arm over their son's shoulders. Jia smiled nervously, asking "Mother? Father?"

"Jia, your mother spoke to Miss Wayne for quite a while," Liu replied. "Why don't we go inside, have a cup of tea and find out what was said?" He held open the door for his wife, who ducked inside, then steered his son after her.

* * *

"I know you've both been bored, but I did receive a job offer, one that I'm very tempted to take," Wai said as she filled the teapot with water. "I wanted to do a little research on the Internet and discuss it with you two. It would mean we'd have to leave our little woodland cottage, though." She got down three mugs as she eyed her son, who had been seated rather firmly at the table. "It also means there would be no more misbehavior from you. You would need to be well behaved at all times, go to school; perhaps find a job. Your father and I have discussed this, and you have been arrested several times. I will be very much in the public eye, and therefore must have a dutiful, well-behaved child. At this point, I would be happier with an obedient daughter instead of a disobedient son."

"Mother! I can't believe …"

"Believe it, Jia," his father said as he leaned against the doorway as his wife sat. "We've even discussed the best approach for you to take in school. I think coming across as what the Westerners call a 'tomboy' would be best for you."

"A 'tomboy' is a girl with some masculine traits," his wife said as the water finished boiling, and he moved to make the tea. "Although you'd definitely be a girl."

"I know what a tomboy is," Jia muttered.

"There is a second part to this, one that your mother was somewhat unaware of," Liu continued. "You mentioned that you were finally 'getting somewhere' with Zong. First, I was not happy about her being older than you are, but when you started up with her, I was unaware of the 'games' (he finger-quoted) and the drugs she was involved in." He fixed the tea, passing the mugs out as his son sat, stunned. "You have not been developing as a teenage boy should be. You should have started to shave by now, and develop body hair."

"What games, and what drugs?" his mother asked sharply.

"I know Zong was dealing in cocaine," Liu replied. "Unfortunately, she and her family were too well connected for the police to deal with. As far as her games, she liked to dress the boys like Jia up as pretty girls and have them do her dealing on the streets, and if they were picked up for prostitution, she would arrange their release." He set his mug down, crossing his arms, "Isn't that so, Jia?"

Jia hid his face, "Oh, god, could this day get any worse?"

"From the video Zong sent as blackmail, I thought you made a very attractive streetwalker," his father said. "Of course, as my daughter, I would never have permitted you out of the house with those heels or that short a skirt, or showing that amount of cleavage…"

Wai gave a soft "Ah! That explains why you wear such baggy clothing, and why you tried to hide from me when I walked in on you in the shower! You're developing! Let me see!"

"Mother! Please!"

"This also explains why you haven't gone out for sports teams," Liu said. "Also why you prefer long pants instead of shorts – you have bare legs!" Jia mumbled something from his arms, and Liu asked, "What was that?"

Jia jumped to his feet, "Bare everything! The only hair I have is on my head!" He savagely pulled off his jumper, than the shirt underneath, scattering buttons. "See mother? I'm almost a B cup, and my … thing … has almost disappeared! I need to sit down to pee like a girl! I'm almost a girl already, Zong said only a few more months of her special drink and I would be! I'm addicted to whatever it is, which is why I've been so nasty with everyone!" He sank down into his chair, whispering, "Oh, god … I loved what she was doing to me, and I hated it … I had no control…"

"The police or MSS in Beijing couldn't do anything?" his mother asked, as she folded him in her arms.

"No, mother. One of my comrades on the street … her father was a Central Committee member … Zong was well connected…" He took a deep, shaky breath, and then asked, "What do we do now?"

"We're away from Zong, and from what the MI-6 blokes said, we've died in a fire," Liu said. He continued, "We can contact MI-5, see if they can figure out what Zong's drink was …"

"No," Jia whispered. "No, please. I … I want to … I was … I liked it, wearing …" He hid his face again, "Please, I want, I … enjoyed the feelings of the skirts, the stockings … I want … to continue…"

Wai looked at her husband over her child's head, and then held the trembling child closer, "Shh… I understand. We can continue; we can adjust things …"

Jia mumbled, "Bigger. Tai … Zong said that was what I would evolve into. Her hair, her breasts were much bigger, and she seemed to like the larger size …"

"Shh…" Wai whispered again. "We can decide that." She hugged Jia again, "The larger breasts are heavy, up to two kilos each. You don't want a backache, and they wouldn't look natural. How are you with hair and makeup?" she whispered.

"Decent, I was doing my own, but I looked like a slut." Jia chuckled sourly, "I AM a slut. What about a name?"

"We can stay with Jia for now," Wai replied. "We'll need to buy clothes anyway; we can do it after you've completed your transition. We'd need to do it for your skin-suit anyway." She gave Jia one last hug, then said, "My job offer from Miss Wayne was as her Foreign Minister. We would be relocating to Port Oldridge, the Imperial government center on the moon. The Empire is starting up an Imperial University, so your father could teach, while you would enter the local school system as a student."

Jia frowned, "A girl's uniform?"

Wai tousled Jia's hair, "Well, a boy's wouldn't fit. Skirt, blouse, tights, jumper and so forth. You're small for a boy, but about right for a girl." Wai crossed her arms, "We are all starting over, your father and I will need to go through the med tanks ourselves, to get back in shape."

Jia exhaled, "I'm glad, I wouldn't be the only one. I still want bigger tits to go with the longer hair. Double-D's."

"Staying with the 'school slut' look?" Liu asked with a gentle smile. He reached over to tousle Jia's hair in turn.

"It's what I know as a girl," Jia said, then looked down. "I don't know how to act demure. The good girl. You know there are more guys than girls in China, and that's how I saw the girls in school behave. They twisted their boyfriends around their fingers with just a look, and that's how I handled customers." He looked up again, adding with a snort, "Well, that, and a push-up bra."

"We can work on that," Wai said. "First, we need to fix this addiction of yours. I will ask Mrs. Wouk to take a blood sample, she is a registered nurse. I'll email Miss Wayne, ask for a discreet meeting and tell her about our problems."

"Oh, god…" Jia said, hiding his face again.

"I doubt she is the type to tell tales," Wai said. "I had some questions for her, anyway."

"As I do," Liu added, and Jia nodded.

"In any case, she is closer in age to you, and will know the current teenage fashions. I will need to get all of our measurements, then we can start with some clothing, and I can teach you how to be a proper daughter. I would suggest a bust no larger than a D cup; larger than that will give you a backache even with a properly fitted bra. Your hair will need to be kept clean and styled. You will be fortunate not to worry about a period, as I understand it, bio-sculpt is mostly a surface treatment."

"I … I'm nervous. How will I get along in school? I'm used to being an arse."

"Start with shy, but we've some time yet," Liu said. "It's the middle of March, school doesn't start until September. We've some time to get our feet under us, and I doubt you would be the only new kid."

Jia exhaled, "True." He took a deep breath, "I have some questions to write down for her. I never got into the shopping thing, though."

"It's a competition," Wai said. "You've got to figure out what makes you look best with what you've got in your closet. Shopping is … well, women compete with each other that way. In your favor, there will be girls and women, and their particular styles from all over the planet and the Empire. Don't worry too much about it. Find something you like that's comfortable, and you can vary it." She crossed her arms, "Which reminds me, what are your feelings regarding boys and girls?"

"I'm not sure," Jia replied slowly. "I'm confused, I like to look at a pretty girl, but there are guys that … well… the Party says that homosexuality is a crime …"

"The Party … we don't have to worry about it," Liu replied. "Let's take it one step at a time." Jia nodded slowly, and Wai said, "There's a measuring tape in my sewing basket. Let's get started."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 22, 2003: 08:08 (GMT)  
P'wheel, Imperial trade island:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Percy Weasley maintained the traditional British 'stiff upper lift' as the trade delegates left the inter-island transport. Beside him, his wife Penny dropped into a formal curtsey as he bowed to the three delegates. "Lord Plips, how good of you to come. We have accommodations arranged should you wish to rest before we start our talks."

"That would be welcome," the tiny man said, looking up at the towering (to him) redheaded man. "My mate tires easily."

"Please come with me, then," Percy replied.

* * *

"I don't know if we can get over their size," Penny said. "I never thought I'd need dollhouse furniture for them."

"Well, we have them here now, and it should prove a proper challenge to negotiate with them, and provide for their needs," Percy replied. "Come now. Just because they're six inches tall doesn't mean we can't make what they want."

* * *

Lord Plips looked askance at the tall Terran. "You will have no difficulty supplying items in our size? Far too often, it is we who must adapt."

"I do not see any major difficulties," Percy replied. "Of course, that depends on the specific item, and we would need to consult with the appropriate manufacturers."

"Why not a trial run, before you commit to major purchases?" Penny asked. "As we communicated with you before your actual arrival, electronically, there is a great deal that can be done that way."

"Truth," Lady Plips agreed. "We also wish to protect our domestic manufacturing, things like clothing, housewares, and so forth. Frankly, our tastes are quite different from yours."

"Also true," Penny agreed in her turn. She took a sip of tea, "Still, I can see a market for your products. I hope I do not give offense, but there is a large market for toys and amusements in your size, as well as craft-work. I can see a mutual trade between us."

"Hmm," Lord Tottenham, the third member of the delegation put in. "Business is business. What about your electronics?"

"As I understand it, it is not the computers and such themselves," Percy replied. "It is more the size of the devices you use that would need to be rescaled." He gestured at the computer monitor on his desk, "Scaling that down, and the other things, is why I said we would need to consult. I would not like to strain our relationship by promising something undeliverable."

"An honest answer," Lord Plips replied.

Penny nodded. "Of course. We generally deal with small things such as timepieces with great magnification and tools that reduce motions from our scale to, forgive me, yours. That is why I said I can see a market for your products. You could either handle such things directly, or through your own reduction equipment. This is a mutual exploration in trade and capabilities."

"You spoke of toys and amusements," Lady Plips mentioned. "We would need to sell a great deal of those to pay for spacecraft, something that others have generally not been willing to sell us. If they were, it was for high cost and a long delivery time."

Percy sat back in his chair, "One thing we are also learning is to accommodate others with different biological requirements, such as water-breathers; as well as those who have differing numbers of limbs, sensory organs (he pointed to his eyes), and manipulatory digits (he waggled his fingers). Since our primary difference is in size, I do not know of any major technical restrictions. However I would need to consult with our shipbuilders, and you would need to send any crews for training in using and maintaining the equipment."

"Our designs are constantly being updated, based on new information," Penny added. "I don't see any reason why you couldn't manufacture the equipment under license, which would boost your own economy."

"You would do this?" Lord Tottenham asked in surprise. "You would not seek an exclusive arrangement?"

"Why should we?" Penny replied. "Increased business helps everyone. While there are some components that you may not be able to manufacture initially, that can be researched and negotiated. When you have the capabilities to do so, other discussions can take place."

* * *

"I cannot deduce the Terran plan," Lord Tottenham mused later in their guest quarters. "They must have a different motive that lies under their apparent reasonableness."

"You are paranoid," Lady Plips replied. "Why can't they simply be who they claim to be? They have answered all our questions immediately, they have provided all the information we have asked for." They sat on a human-scale table, and she crossed her arms. "With the exception of specialist information, if the Governor and his mate had it available, it was ours. They called in their communication specialist, and while he was initially surprised at our appearance, he was happy to explain and diagram his information." She pointed to the legal pad and to the computer terminal in their quarters. "His explanation of their network makes sense, and he was perfectly willing to show us his equipment."

"His assumptions of how a ship is wired also make sense," Lord Plips agreed. "A warship's cost is higher because of the different requirements of a merchant ship. He said he was not a ship-builder, but I can agree with his logic. Furthermore, none of them have spoken to us as if we were idiots or small children. I agree with their proposal of small steps, small agreements first. I also want to see some of their warships. If they will agree with that …"

"They would be fools to allow us to see their warships," Lord Tottenham snorted. "A sprug says they don't allow it."

"I will take that wager," Lady Plips replied. "Let us see how quickly they arrange it."

* * *

"Certainly," Percy said when they called with their request. "Please do not disconnect, I will conference in Admiral Graves aboard the _Alexander_."

"What is an _Alexander_?" Lord Tottenham asked.

"The command ship, a carrier," Percy replied. "Please stand by."

* * *

"Certainly," Admiral Graves said. "I'll send a shuttle down to you, is there anything else?"

"One minor point, Admiral," Percy said from the screen. "Our guests are about six inches high."

"Ah," the Admiral said, nodding. "I don't see a problem. I'll have the machine shop whip up a modification to a small cargo float. That should be ready by the time you arrive. I'll have my Flag Lieutenant accompany you." He leaned to the side, speaking to someone off camera. "I should meet with you in about three hours, with transit times. Will there be anything else?"

* * *

"That's … a warship?" Lord Tottenham asked in a strangled voice. "It's … enormous!"

"The _Alexander_ is a capital ship, an escort carrier," Ensign David Hall replied. The three guests sat on a small anti-gravity float as they watched the gleaming triangular white ship draw closer. They were approaching from the forward port quarter; the ship filled the view port as they flew alongside.

"What does a carrier do?" Lord Plips asked.

"A carrier launches, services and recovers small ships, known as fighters," Ensign Hall replied. "When we finally get some in. There are production problems in Detroit. We're about to dock, please strap in."

"I did say we weren't perfect," Percy commented. "This is something that perhaps we could license to your planet." The shuttle came about, entering the approach lane, and they saw on the ship's fantail:

_**ITNS Alexander**  
**CVEA 005**  
_

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, March 23, 2003: 06:06 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Ravenclaw table:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"You're here early," Amanda said as Mattie sat down across from her

"I know. One of those mornings when you get up to use the loo, and don't feel like going back to bed," Mattie agreed as she powered up her laptop. "I am getting so tired of skirts, too."

"Why, you look good in them," Charlie said as he sat down. "Of course, not as good as Sprink does."

"Nice save," Amanda quipped. "Please pass the sports page. I have a quid on the Tornadoes."

"Against the Wasps? Easy money," Sprink said, sitting down next to her fiancé. "Hagrid isn't back with the muggle post yet, so I have a minute for a cuppa, and to spread a bit of news. I heard the Yank courier firm, UPS, is building a ship that can carry their packages." She rattled the spoon in her teacup, "Competing with us."

"No passengers?" Amanda asked.

"A little ten thousand ton ship? Maybe a few." She slurped her tea, "Tacky paint scheme, brown and gold." She took a blueberry muffin, pulled it apart, and mumbled, "Oh, this is good. Y'know, we've that thing at Mrs. Weasley's tonight."

"Bugger, that's right," Charlie said. "Thanks for reminding me."

"Thing at Mrs. Weasley's?" Amanda asked.

"Couples are getting together, and the girls are spending time in the kitchen. Household spells and such; and I want to improve my baking," Mattie said. "If I'm going to be a proper mum, I need to learn that kind of thing." Her laptop 'binged' with new mail, and she said, "Excuse me."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, March 23, 2003: 17:10 (GMT)  
Terra, The Burrow:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Dinner at the Burrow was usually organized chaos, especially with the entire family (except for Percy and his wife Penny) and their spouses, plus guests. While Harry was acknowledged as a bloke who knew his way around a kitchen, the women generally congregated there, while the men congregated in the parlor.

* * *

"The secret to perfect, flaky scones," Molly was saying, "Is to keep the dough cool enough that the butter doesn't melt but remains a solid. If it melts, it makes the batter a right soggy mess."

"M' mum uses ice water," Sprink put in. "Butter is a little part water, 'bout one in six. She said that the water in the dough turns to steam in the oven and forces the layers 'part."

"Your hands are warm enough to melt the butter," Molly resumed with a glance at Sprink. "Don't handle the dough too much. Keep a chilling charm on the dough until you pop it in the oven – that's right," she approved.

"I wondered about the placement," Mattie said. "They'll grow together like that."

"Edward has been teaching me muggle-style cooking," Aurora said. "He uses unbleached flour to reduce the gluten, and he likes squiggly shapes." She took a sip of wine, "He also likes to drizzle coloured frosting on them, or brush egg whites on them as a glaze."

"So scones can be considered a foundation recipe, one that can be adapted to other breads?" Mattie asked, drying her hands on the towel on her shoulder; taking a swallow of her own fruit juice.

"Yes and no," Molly answered. "Breads generally need to be a bit more chewy, with less air inside, unless you're making flat breads … "

* * *

"Thought you'd like to know, we got a research request in from Percy," Sprink said later at dinner.

"Oi, how is Perfect Percy?" Gred (or Forge) asked from down the table.

"Doing quite well," Molly replied. "I received a letter from him also. What did he want to know?"

"He's negotiating with a new planet for trade," Sprink replied. "If it goes through, it will be his third new trading partner. 'E's doin' well. Anyway, he wanted to know if it was possible to engineer a ship to match them, but the problem is they're only six inches high."

"Indeed? Lilliput exists?" Edward Nigma asked.

"'Parently so," Sprink replied. "I banged off a quick reply, I didn't think there's a problem, but I've forwarded his request to the designers. Lots a' possibilities there."

"Yes …" Mattie agreed thoughtfully. She took a swallow of her juice, "Uncle Eddie, I was hoping I could impose on you for a quick trip to Archimedes Crater. We, or rather the government of Windfall, bought up that defunct shipbuilder, and had their equipment and slaves transported there. They've been there a while, and nobody's heard a peep out of them. We could really use the equipment they're supposed to have built. On the flight out, the ship's crew introduced them to the concepts of the assembly line and standardized parts. They were working on that when they were dropped off, but they've gone into a hole and pulled it over them."

"It sounds like their Traditionalists," he said with a disgusted tone. He glanced at Aurora, then said, "I shall go, although I do not like dealing with them. This is too important to have them play their usual games."

"Indeed, you have my sympathies," Severus said. "I have my own announcement," and floated at small vial over to Mattie. Her eyes widened, and he said, "Yes, that is what you think it is. Five grains of Fuel. Tested with both Terran and Galactic equipment."

"It doesn't look like much," Forge (or Gred) said as he leaned over to look at the soft, silvery powder.

"That is enough to power Canterbury for two days," Severus replied as it was passed down the table. "I still have several questions to answer, as does Filius, and then we shall need to deduce production equipment."

"As far as production goes, talk to the Twins," Mattie said.

"These two miscreants? Absolutely not!"

"These two miscreants have been doing R & D for the Empire, and produce a number of products," Angelina replied.

"The joke shop, while fun, is now more of a cover operation," Alicia put in. "For instance, we produce the secure floo powder. Does your process require anything unusual, such as vacuum, or enormous amounts of power?"

Severus' mouth twisted. He was clearly not happy about dealing with the Twins, but their wives were more levelheaded, in his opinion. "No. There is a complex chain of assorted charms and various potions, along with muggle treatments." He gestured toward the vial, "That started out as a hundred kilos of source material, reduced down to five grains. That is one of the things I want to resolve."

"The source material – is it anything exotic?" Angelina asked.

Severus shook his head, "Aluminum oxide, although I happened on the process almost by accident. I know what to test for at critical points. I need to refine and simplify the process; I also need to see if other materials, such as iron, tin or silicon dioxide will work."

"Silicon dioxide we use in several of our products," Alicia mentioned, studying the vial. "It's not a problem to get it; nor is aluminum oxide. Regarding the charms, we can use industrial wands for those stages of production. Can it be refined to other forms like a gelatin, or larger crystals?"

"Both questions I need to answer. How difficult would it be to set up a pilot plant?"

"That depends on the process," Angelina replied. "Square feet to square miles, but it doesn't sound as if it would require a great deal of space; less if you outsourced potion production. Would two hundred square meters do for that pilot plant?"

Severus grunted, "Quite possibly. I would prefer a secure facility, though."

"We can produce potions to your specifications, or you can have someone like Blaise do it at her shop," Alicia said. "After dinner, why don't we sit down with you and diagram the process?"

"There is a great deal of money, but also a great deal of risk in this," Mattie mused aloud as she retrieved the small vial. "As far as security, these four are the only ones who know the physical location of their plant. Cargo and personnel travel through floo." She looked at the vial, "There are currently only five planets that produce Fuel in the thirty-two local galaxies, including the Milky Way. We would be the sixth of those planets, and that means extremely strong defenses as well as tight security, beyond what we have with antimatter." She regarded the vial, then looked at Severus. "I think I'll need to visit Her Majesty on Friday. Have you another one of these?"

He extracted one from a pocket, flipping it to her as he replied, "I'll arrange that with Minerva." He turned to Alicia, "Part of the process requires …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 24, 2003: 10:03 (GMT +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Along with the rest of her training company, Elena filed into the classroom, located above her barracks. She sat when ordered, and the First Sergeant (E-8) in charge stood at ease. "I am First Sergeant Clark, and all of you know the score. You are going through an abbreviated Basic to remind you of what your trainees will be experiencing, like this morning's five-kilometer run. My class this morning is on what is permissible regarding those trainees. For instance, you cannot touch the trainees with your hands or feet. You can, however tap that part of their body from the shoulders down with your pace stick. I emphasize the word 'tap'. You cannot leave a mark. If you slap your hand with your stick, and it stings, you have hit too hard. (He did so.) However, you can use the pointed end to indicate parts of the trainee's uniform, such as their sleeve or leg. Is this clear?"

"Yes, First Sergeant!"

"Good. You may yell at them all you wish, but try not to use obscenities. Remind them that they are no longer American, British, or Japanese, but Imperials. Not only do we have multiple Earth cultures, as well as off-world ones among the trainees, we also need to build up the self-confidence of the former slaves. We are a professional army, we do not want to remind them of their former owners. We are short enough personnel as it is; even if we eventually move to conscription."

Someone raised their hand, "First Sergeant, how likely is that? Conscription, I mean."

"Don't know, but that decision is well above all of us. However, the system is under martial law, and our trainees are also under military law. The barracks are co-ed and multi-species, and the trainees should be too tired to play games and grab-ass. However, we're not permitting sex during basic, 'NO' still means 'NO', the barracks offices will have a rape kit available, and the watch and their Battle Buddies will prevent things from happening." He rocked back on his feet, "I would personally compare it to having sex with your brother or sister. Worst case, we court-martial and if guilty, there's a firing squad."

"That's an ugly thought," a fellow muttered from next to Elena. She nodded, and First Sergeant Clark heard him. "Yes, it is. Hopefully it won't come to that; as I said, they should be too damned tired at night to do anything other than sleep." The enormous African-American First Sergeant rocked on his heels again, "The town of Katherine is expanding in anticipation of us. Regarding our trainees, that is manifesting in the usual camp followers: the nudie bars, strip clubs, clip joints and tattoo parlors that surround any military base. We anticipate a number of 'drunk and disorderly' calls, especially once the trainees have their first weekend passes." There were a number of chuckles, and Clark smiled. "However, I do not expect to see any of my DIs in the local jail. We are the image of Imperial Army professionalism, our job is the most important one on this base: to convert a bunch of civilians into Imperial soldiers. If you feel the need to tie one on, use the NCO club instead."

First Sergeant Clark waited a minute, then said, "Uniforms. Perfect and correct at all times, razor creases you can shave with, shoe shines you can use to shave, even after a twenty kilometer march in the mud. We have to show professionalism and how it's done to the trainees. If that means you teach a class on brushing teeth or ironing their dress slacks, that's what you do." He glanced down at his clipboard, then said, "Scheduling. With twenty four training companies, there is no India or Oscar company, for places like the rifle range we can accommodate …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 24, 2003: 13:03 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Charms class:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"… and Miss Wayne," Professor Flitwick concluded the roll. He clapped his hands together, "Good afternoon, everyone! Today we're going to begin the study of wards – how they're constructed and the particular spells and charms that are cast. This is a general overview, we're only going to go into non-lethal wards. Anything beyond that, well, I'm sure you'll find out on your own. However, even the non-lethal ones can be dangerous"

Hopping down from his chair, the tiny professor drew diagrams in the air. "There are two general types of wards: permanent, that are usually applied to a location such as a house, and temporary, in which you would use to ward a campsite or your school trunk." He walked about a bit, "The permanent ones are constructed with an anchor stone, usually placed somewhere in the building's foundation, perimeter and shield stones. The difference between the two is that shield stones are integrated into the building, while perimeter stones are included in exterior walls or gatehouses."

"What about apparition or the floo?" Charlie asked.

"In a house? Good question. Five points to Hufflepuff," the professor replied. "The answer is that you would have a particular area, perhaps that gatehouse, as a designated floo or apparition point. This gatehouse would be outside the wards, and if someone entered you didn't like the look of, you could handle him or her there." He reached up to his desk, and took a sip of tea, "You can also family-match persons to the wards, so any members of that particular House, say the House of Black (Sprink looked pleased) could enter the wards without a problem through the perimeter or the gatehouse, but someone from the House of Flitwick would need permission to enter. This is a variant of blood warding, which would still be done if someone would be adopted into a family."

He took another sip of tea, "We'll get into the various runes you would carve later on. For those of you taking Ancient Runes, ask Professor Croft about these for a bit of extra credit. Moving on, wards on a temporary location, such as a campsite or on your school trunk. For a campsite, you can either draw the runes in the dirt, or carry along with you previously carved stones. The difficulty there is that they must be precisely placed, which may not be possible in that location. An alternative is simply casting the spells without the stones, but they are not as effective. On your school trunk, which already has several charms on it, the limitations of warding charms are …"

* * *

" … the Gossamer charm does only one thing, but it does it very well," Professor Flitwick said. "It is a triggering charm, which you can use to activate another charm, such as an alarm when someone crosses it. It feels like a spiderweb, which most people will brush off unless it is cast at waist height. Waist height for you lot, at least," he joked. "So if you're taking a nap under a tree, it will wake you up in time to deal with whatever …"

There was a loud knocking, the door shivering in its frame, and the tiny professor frowned. "Excuse me, please," he said, and used his wand to unlock the door. He looked out, said a few words, then exclaimed, "My word! We're in the middle of a class!" More words were exchanged, then he said, "If you must. Please come in." He stepped away from the door, "Miss Wayne? Some … beings are asking for you."

* * *

She motioned the four visiting Lanterns down the corridor, where she turned to cast a privacy charm. "What can I do for you?"

Kilowog rumbled, "Ain't heard from you, shorty. Your Ring wasn't answerin', and I was gettin' concerned when y' didn't reply to our mail."

Miss Wayne crossed her arms, "I haven't been getting it, or been able to send," she replied. "My Ring's been disabled, remotely, and we're missing our fellow Lanterns, as well as Kal-el of Krypton. The last anyone saw of them, they were called to Oa by Ganthet for a meeting."

"I had not been informed of this meeting," Tomar-Re trilled.

"Nor I," Boodikka agreed. The tall, well-muscled woman with reddish-black hair wore the insignia of an Alpha Lantern, one of the Corps' Internal Affairs officers. "What evidence do you have of this?"

"Admittedly second-hand," Mattie replied. "Their colleagues on the JLA reported the summons, and we have attempted to contact them when their mates hadn't heard anything. All we got was the reply, paraphrased, 'They're busy, they'll call back later.' However, Kal-el has a young child, and Ganthet wanted to watch the birth." She grimaced, "Kal was rather protective of his mate and child, he threw Ganthet out of the room – through several walls."

The Lanterns nodded – understandable reaction in just about any species. "The Kryptonian has not contacted his mate?" Tomar-Re inquired.

"None of them have," Mattie replied. "I can't go check myself because my Ring has been disabled, and a ship would take months to get to Oa. This is why I haven't taken steps to deal with invading battle fleets myself. We're expecting another fleet of two to three hundred ships and several hundred thousand troops within a month." Amber hooted, and Mattie nodded, "If you can, it would be appreciated." Amber nodded, and phased through the walls as Mattie looked at the other three Lanterns. "I would appreciate your investigation and assisting the return of our people."

"We shall be in touch when we know more," Boodikka replied, and phased with the others through the wall.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, March 25, 2003: 12:15 (GMT)  
Terra, West Midlands, Safehouse # 3:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The computer in the study of the small garden house 'binged', and Liu looked up from his newspaper. "We have email, dear."

"Yes, I heard," Wai replied as she got up. Wai had gone shopping with Mrs. Wouk and gotten some clothing for the family. Jia was sitting in a chair, wearing a casual, feminine outfit of a denim miniskirt with white tights and low cork wedge – style heels, along with a pale blue blouse. She had minimal makeup and a short, neat, but feminine hairstyle. Thunder boomed as rain drummed against the windows; they heard the printer rattle.

"It's a reply from Miss Wayne," Wai announced as she returned. She passed a printout to her husband, and then resumed her seat. "She replied to some of our specific questions, that's what Liu has. Others she will need to get more definite answers; so it will be a while. However, in the body of the email, she answered questions that are more general. That's what I have." She cracked the sheets of paper as Jia put down her knitting, and Wai read. "'I'm glad to hear you're all right, and I hope I can help with Jia. Regarding the drink he was forced to take, we will need to identify it before you make your decision on nullification or continuing with the feminization. I've asked my school's medical staff as well as our Potions Master.' She capitalized that, so it's evidently a title," Wai continued. "'Based on that, we will need as much information on this potion as possible. They suggested having Jia walk through the process he went through. I emphasize again _all_ the details: not only smell, taste, but also consistency and texture. Were there any symptoms before, during or after, such as elevated pulse, sweating, or trembling hands? Were they commercially packaged potions, which in Europe have sealing threads and wax on the stopper? How big were the vials: a few milliliters, or liter-sized flasks? Were they customized for each person's consumption?'"

"Well, this is something we can do," Liu put in. "Just sit back and talk us through it, Jia. We'll ask any questions necessary. Please go on, dear."

"Yes," Wai said, clearing her throat. "She continues, 'There are several persons I know that have completed the transition, to and from male and female. This type of potion give a _complete_,' which she underlines, 'transformation, including menses and all the normal plumbing associated with male or female. A bio-sculpt, on the other hand, is a surface treatment only – a person would look male or female, but could not ejaculate or give birth. Once she returns, I will have my personal physician, Dr. Bella Black stop by to give all of you a wizarding style physical. She's returning from off-planet at the moment, so she'll need a few days to reunite with her fiancé.'" Wai smiled at that, then continued, "'Given the unknown potion Jia was given, we need to identify that as accurately as possible. If Jia can remember any labels, that would also help – we can contact the Lion's Temple in Beijing for their assistance.'" She looked at her child, "Anything there?"

"Possibly," Jia replied. "I think I remember a white label with some characters. What else does she say, mother?"

Wai took a sip of tea before continuing, "Moving on, she says, 'You must remember that our settlements on the moon are still in early stages. Most have been in existence for less than two years. We have an equatorial high speed monorail, which also serves to distribute power and data between the various towns. I can therefore commute from my little private flat in Grimaldi to the Imperial complex in Port Oldridge in an hour or two, going a little more than a quarter of the way around the moon. Most family housing is garden type around a central grassy area with flowerbeds, to lessen the 'cave-dwelling' (Wai finger-quoted) atmosphere. There are also a number of parks and landscaping in the corridors with fountains, streams, waterfalls and small ponds with tilapia and other kinds of fish.'"

"I wondered about that," Liu mentioned. "What about jobs?"

"Um…" Wai said, skimming down the letter. "In a minute. Let me continue," she said. "'Temperature is naturally maintained inside at about twenty degrees Celsius, so you might want a sweater for comfort. Assuming you lived in Port Oldridge; you would simply go to a personal transport platform and take that to the appropriate stop. If you lived in another town, you would take the personal transit to the transit center, transfer to the intercity train, then back to Port Oldridge's transit center. As most crater walls are basalt, several kilometers high and thick, this works out fairly easily, as well as giving us room to expand.'"

"It sounds like our flat in Beijing," Jia said from her chair. "Only without the weather."

"True," her mother said. "Let me continue. 'Regarding the other parts of a community, please remember that our total lunar population is about sixty thousand. There is a lot of work to do; and a lot is automated or remote – controlled. There is not as much gender or age separation as there is on Earth. If a fifteen-year-old is a competent pilot or machine operator, it doesn't matter what their age or sex is; what matters is their maturity and competence.'"

"Which does make a certain kind of sense," Liu put in. "What matters is getting the job done. That opens up many possibilities for you, Jia. Not just the traditional after school female jobs, like waitressing, but also operating machine tools, that kind of thing."

"A remote control isn't going to care if you're a boy or girl," Wai agreed. "To continue, 'There are several restaurants, ranging in quality from McDonalds™ through family-style to more upscale places. While a lot of the food is local, there is still a lot that's imported, primarily beef and cow's milk. The diet is generally vegetarian, or with eggs, poultry or fish. We are getting inquiries from companies like Wal-Mart™ regarding installing a hyper mart, a large 'grocery and everything' superstore. Personally, I'm against it, as they tend to eliminate local shops that can't compete economically, but the decision would properly be that of the local government.'" Wai looked up, "True. It also reflects her personality. She could forbid it, but doesn't, leaving it up to the locals to decide. She's offered her opinion, but also said how I set up my Ministry would be my decision."

"Interesting," Liu said, getting up to refill his tea. He waved his mug, "Anyone else?"

Jia looked in her mug, handing it over, "Yes please, father." She put her knitting down, leaning her arms back in a stretch. "This is interesting, mother, and I'm surprisingly comfortable like this. It feels, well … natural, but I'm still nervous about being a girl in public."

"We will all be somewhat nervous when we move in and start our new lives," her father said from the kitchen. "We'd be the 'new guy' or the 'new girl', so I think that would be normal." He returned Jia's mug to her, glancing at his own printout. "I think Miss Wayne is about your age, Jia. I have a class schedule for the comprehensive school, run by the lunar government. If I go back to school, both you and I will need to take placement tests, schooling is run on the European and British models, with a set of GCSE examinations."

"Wonderful," Jia said with a small smile. "I wonder if I can make the cheerleading team, since I'll be all girl."

"That means YOU get to iron those pleated skirts," her mother replied. "I hate pleats." She took a sip of tea, "Jia, girls and women compete with each other just as intensely as boys and men do, just in a different way. Men compete on dominance, while women, girls will look at you, evaluate you with one glance. They will compare themselves to you. I will behave differently toward my daughter Jia than I have toward my son Jia."

"As will I," Liu added. "You will be my lotus blossom, and I will have the duty to evaluate and frighten off any boys you bring home that do not meet my standards. None of them will be good enough for my precious lotus blossom. That means we shall both criticize your clothing, makeup, and schoolwork, and you will be able to complain to your girlfriends, as they will to you about their parents. Such is the way of the world."

"Ah," Jia said. She sat quietly, thinking. "I remember when new students arrived in school; they were initially outcasts until others arrived after them, who were the new outcasts. I also remember, as boy-Jia, eying the girls' clothing and makeup and comparing it to what I wore on the streets. I remember thinking 'I like that blouse' or I'd look good in that skirt,' and wanting one. I also overheard parts of the girls' critiques, which as a mere slovenly boy, I was not expected to understand." She took a sip of tea. "When other boy's mothers would drag them off shopping for clothing, it would be a battle. With girls, though, there would be a pack of them, and the concern was to not overspend the budget." She held her tea mug to her lips, thinking. She finally nodded, "I think I can do this. I am certain that there will be points that will trip me, but as a lunar newbie, that can be expected. I also think that I should continue as I did in Beijing, with father the primary parent."

Liu nodded. "You will also be entering a western-style democracy, instead of the Party-led culture we had in Beijing. I expect we will have a number of questions asked regarding that culture, and how we 'escaped' (he finger-quoted) to the freedom of the West. We shall have to discuss this, perhaps your mother and I can appear to be estranged, possibly contemplating a divorce to outsiders."

"But trying to make the marriage work for the sake of our daughter," Wai agreed. "I can be the careerist, your father the stay-at-home parent. That is a discussion for another day. What is next?"

He shuffled the printout. "These are specific questions and their answers. For instance, there is a web address for the lunar school system. Did Miss Wayne say anything else?"

"Um…" Wai replied. "'Regarding jobs, there are a number of small businesses that have started, and are expanding locally. For instance, Tallgrass, Ltd. produces locally made furniture and some beautiful clothing from bamboo as well as other locally grown fibers. Since they don't need to factor in a full gee's worth of 'plunk' energy into their chairs, it looks spindly, but works well in the sixth-gee lunar gravity.'"

"That makes sense," Jia commented. "I don't want to be just another flat-chested Asian chick. Maybe I could be a supermodel with double-Ds." She threw back her head and struck a pose.

"And subsist on one leaf of lettuce and ten grams of cottage cheese a day?"

"Well …"

"To continue," her mother smirked, and then resumed reading. "'The lunar calendar has 708 hours in a month, so things are scheduled by hour from the new moon. Therefore, a lunar appointment would be Hour 204.5/708, which would be 12:30 on the eighth day of the lunar month. Clocks also display the equivalent time in London, GMT, if you need to call someone on Earth. Time is synchronized to GMT throughout the Empire.'"

"I wonder why they didn't simply do everything there with the GMT time," Jia asked.

"I would assume different planet, different calendar," Wai replied. "There are twenty nine days and several hours in a lunar month. That also means scheduling shifts would be different: instead of every day at eight in the morning, you would need to jump ahead sixteen hours. Another thing we would get used to. I think we could set the computer to alert us as necessary. Let's see: what else? Security. She says, 'While there has been some minor crime, such as shoplifting, that is handled by the local courts. As a Minister, you and your family would coordinate with the Imperial Guard company on Luna as well as the local constables there. I have asked my bodyguard (and big sister) Crystal to come with Dr. Black to answer those questions. The security people do try very hard to keep out from underfoot; in return all they ask is to be kept informed.' That's reasonable. She concludes, 'Please let me know what else I can do. As I get more answers to your list, I'll forward them to you.'" Wai looked at her husband, "What does she say about the more specific questions?"

He took a sip of his tea, "To start with, the Empire is using European standards as much as possible, so things like power sockets are designed for both the North American 120 volts and the European 240 volt plugs. Regarding clothing sizes … "

Jia suddenly said, "Identification! I can't use my old papers!"

"Well, no," her father said. "Those were for boy-Jia. As we would use public transit, we wouldn't need things like driver's permits. Within a week after moving in, we'd need to get new ID." He checked his list, "The new ID we're going to need has various options we can choose, such as linking it to our bank accounts, medical and insurance information." He glanced at his wife, "You can use it for access, all citizens and residents over age twelve have to have the identification cards. There were privacy concerns, which have been addressed." He tapped his printout, "Another link."

"We'll need to make another list regarding moving. Are there furnished flats?" Wai mused.

Her husband checked his printout, "Yes, in several different styles. There's also an area that has additional security for government ministers …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, March 25, 2003: 14:17 (GMT)  
Luna, Archimedes Crater, Windfall facility:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

After having been kept waiting, Edward Nigma and his 'assistant', Ms. Tonks were shown into the managing director's office, trailed by one of the Imperial Guard.

The director came straight to the point: "I see no purpose to dance around the point, Terran. You have no jurisdiction here, no matter what papers you wave. You will not simply nose about our business, disrupting our operations no matter who you claim to represent. I do not recognize the documents you claim from the Empire, or for that matter the Governor in Riverside. If she wishes to inquire into our business, she can do so herself. Not that it is the business of a female, especially a _collared_ female such as she." He stood, "You will leave now, taking your Imperial Guards with you, and not bother us again. What we do is none of your concern."

"If we are paying you, it is certainly my concern to report to the Empress," Edward replied, not moving an inch.

"We receive our funding from Riverside, that is all you need to know. The Ministry of Commerce has not inquired into our business, and you certainly have no right to know. You will leave. Now." He settled his short navy-blue cape on his shoulders, and stood, opening the door. He turned, surprised as a husky teenage male sauntered in, followed by three of his friends. The teenager ignored the two women, glanced at Edward, then picked him up and threw him against the wall. He took the seat, put his feet on the desk, and smirked. "We showed the Terrans, father. There is one less female to cause problems here. We beat her and dumped her and her little chair off a transit platform." He lit a small, sweet-smelling cigarette, "She had the nerve to threaten us with a wooden stick. Well, we beat her little white-haired face in with it before we violated her with it."

"You beat and murdered an old woman with her cane?" Edward hissed, teeth clenched in rage.

The teenager shrugged. "You can't do anything about it. We have the diplomatic immunity you've so kindly given us. Not the first, either." He stood, walked over to the Imperial Guard standing there, and ground out his cigarette on her uniform. "I'm bored. Let's find something fun to do." He and his friends strolled out, laughing.

"Children," the director said. "What can you do when they have fun? Now get out." He looked at two other Traditionalists, "Conduct this … Terran and the females to the door, and do not readmit them."

"If there is … breakage with him, or the females?"

"He resisted, and we needed to use force to assert our property rights," the director said calmly. "Treat them as slaves who need a reminder of their collars. You need not be gentle."

"I am leaving," Edward said, gathering his papers. "There is no need for violence."

"We are not proposing violence, just a reminder of the legalities," the director said smoothly. "We do not report to you, or the Empire. You have no say whatsoever in our business, and you will leave."

Edward Nigma stood, and walked to the door, binder under his arm.

* * *

"So we're just going to let them do what they want?" Susan, the Imperial Guard asked. She fingered her sidearm, and looked back at the firmly closed door of the facility.

"Indeed not," Edward Nigma replied. "However, as you are an Imperial Guard, and thus law enforcement, I cannot say further."

"We need to find that poor woman," Tonks said. "Even if we can't save her, her body would be evidence toward convicting those bastards. I may not be an Auror here, but …"

"You can be a reliable source," Susan added. "You've tipped me off to a crime, and have a suspect, so I can follow it up. Let me start with the personal transit cars. I'll pull their movements to and from this platform, and see if we can find the right one before Maintenance cleans it. Those little bastards didn't look like the type to walk from another platform."

"Meanwhile, Ms. Tonks and I shall pursue other approaches," Edward said. "As she has observed, she has no jurisdiction here, and she was sent along as my wizarding backup."

Susan looked at them, "I was wondering why a witch was playing secretary to a muggle. This is the first serious crime on the moon, and a lot of attention will be focused on it. As a British Auror and the uncle of the Tsaritsa, you two will also be high profile witnesses."

"This also gives probable cause to force access to their facility for health and safety checks, fire and worker safety, and other violations," Edward said, a small smile on his face. "Given the nature of Traditionalists, I would wager on those violations … "

" … their 'diplomatic status' won't help them." Tonks added with an evil smirk. "No bet."

"I shall be making some calls in your assistance, Officer." Edward finished.

"Calls for a drink. Our hotel pub tonight?"

"I'm off shift at eight tonight, and I think I'll need one," Susan said. "Come to the Blue Light, it's our local cop bar." She rocked on her boot heels, "I've heard about these Traditionalist bastards, but this is the first time I've actually met any. I saw those slaves they're using, and that little bastard…" She rocked on her boot heels, then said, "Eight thirty tonight?"

"We shall see you then," and Edward stepped to the call box for rapid transit. A few seconds later, a small white car appeared, and they got on.

* * *

"Oh, my god …" Susan said as she looked down at the victim's body.

"First homicide?" the detective asked.

"No … I saw plenty in the Big Easy's Ninth Ward," Susan replied as she leaned against a support column. "I just never saw one … treated like she was, and then the perp boasted about it to his father and his buddies. They even seemed to approve …" She took a deep breath, then said, "My two sources for this are a Brit wizarding cop, an Auror, and the Tsaritsa's uncle. He was the guy I was playing bodyguard for when we met the Traditionalist bastards up at 123509."

It was customary to refer to locations by their eight digit transit stop numbers (as there were no streets, only tunnels). The address in question was therefore officially '00123509 Archimedes'. The small cars (also known as 'pods'), came in several capacities (four, eight, twelve, sixteen and twenty four passengers); were a Lunar manufactured product of Copernicus crater, with silent electric motors in each wheel, a spun-basalt fiber body with a control pedestal fore and aft where you keyed in your destination. To use a pod, you paid a fare and then pressed one of the call buttons at the platform to summon the correct sized car for your group. The small cars calculated the optimum route and had a top speed of 160kph (100mph), which was generally only achieved on longer trips through the tunnels to and from each crater's Transit Center (where they were maintained), which were generally located on Luna's equatorial maglev line.

There were also cargo variants, using steel instead of aluminum for more rugged use with forklifts and pallets, having the volume of a twenty-foot cargo container. Delivery services, businesses and the police used the smaller equivalent of a panel truck. The differences were the replacement of seats with cargo space, custom layout, controls and paint job. The pods ran in three meter tunnels, with a hidden top-mounted pantograph for power and electrical return through a lower guide rail.

In this case, while the pod in question didn't show signs of a struggle, they had dusted it for fingerprints. Both the victim and the suspects had gripped the various handrails at some point, and the victim's small electric wheelchair (another Lunar product) had been tossed off the transit platform away from her body. That body had been violated, by having her face beaten in by the curved handle of her wooden cane, which had then been broken into three sections, two of which had been used to violate her genitals, the third being forced down her throat.

The detective checking over the body called up, "Mrs. Maria Dochev, late of Warsaw. Age 89, widowed, worked as a bookkeeper for Dochev Import and Export, probably the family business. She looks to be in good shape for her age."

"It looks like she stopped for some groceries," the detective examining the wheelchair called. "There's fresh fruit and chicken here that's still cold, and a half-eaten banana tossed next to the chair." He asked the photographer, "Finished?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Let me put my stuff away and I'll help you move her." She put her bag on the edge of the concrete platform, then took the folded body bag and laid it out next to Mrs. Dochev, standing and crossing herself, then whispering a prayer. "Least one Catholic can do for another. God bless you, Mrs. Dochev. Ready?" She grabbed the body's ankles, while the detective took her shoulders. "On three?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, March 25, 2003: 18:41 (GMT)  
Melotte, Melotte City:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The planet Melotte was blessed with a G2 star and minimal axial tilt. This meant that what seasons it had were mild, with very little difference between them. It had one main continent, with chains of large islands, and two large mountain ranges with lush, fertile valleys. One of its main exports was a range of wine and other beverages.

The capital of Melotte City was located in the southern region, in the central lowlands. As a coastal city, it was cut with rivers. The central business district; which also included the government center, a smaller exclusive residential district to the east, to the west a larger area which included the spaceport, co-located with the capital city's airport and commercial areas, and middle class suburbs to the center, north of the business district and across the river.

Melotte City boasted a comprehensive rapid transit system, linking to the airport/spaceport and the commercial centers as well as the residential areas. Private passenger vehicles were rare and expensive, being off-world imports. Commercial vehicles were more common, but were restricted to certain hours of the day and night, so as not to disturb the better classes with their noise.

Safehouse #6 was located in one of the middle-class suburbs. While it differed from Terran cities in having a large number of slaves, in this area they were mostly domestics, keeping their owners' houses and property neat and tidy. Sandra had seen them weeding, mowing the lawns, hanging out laundry, and so forth. While they did not approach her, they had made contact with her three girls, 81149, 22411, and 22458. As 81149 was a professional intelligence officer, she ran this stage of the operation, all three girls testing the 'slave fashions' they would be using to block the collars' transceiver.

"I think we're ready to move, mistress." 81149 said at dinner. "Do you have our economic targets chosen?"

"I wish you wouldn't call me that," Sandra complained. "It reminds me too much of when I wore a collar myself." She took a sip of wine, then waved her glass. "MS-PM Exports. They're getting ready for a harvest of their wine grapes, for which they will rent slaves. That will allow the three of you to plant the seeds, pun intended, with the workers while I scout out the Guard and the company facilities. After that, I start sniping and 'hit and fade' attacks on the Greys, while 'Mother Liberty' delivers her diatribes to the local broadcast stations."

"They won't air them, mistress," 22458 said.

"They're government controlled press, of course not," her sister 22411 replied. "However, the news people will spread the information unofficially."

"Which is what we want, a climate of fear among the Greys and the officials," 81149 said. "We are fish in the sea, hidden with the other fish, and we shall slowly drown them while we swim away from their nets. If some of our Brothers and Sisters of Liberty are caught, they are martyrs to the cause." She took another sip of wine, "Where they attack, we disperse. This is attrition; they will be battling smoke. We use a series of five-minute battles, and then we fade into the hills. The Greys are our source of supply, who will try to take and hold territory from us, the guerrillas. We do not have to hold territory until much later, when we can form secure rear areas." She took a sip of wine, and then arose, fetching the bottle and topping off her sisters. "We must create a pervasive sense of fear among the Greys, which will help to destabilize the larger economy. This will embarrass the leadership and make them look foolish and incompetent, which will damage relations with other governments and off-world investors."

"As Mao said, it will be a long war," Sandra put in, eying what was left in the bottle.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 26, 2003: 07:50 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cambridge, MA:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The doorbell rang, and Greg got up to answer it. The family heard him say, "Gawd, you're at work early," then he called, "Brenda! Package, need to sign for it!"

She came to the door, and saw a DHL driver, who offered her an electric clipboard. "Sign on the black rectangle, please," he asked. She yawned, muttered, "Sorry," then looked at the address label on the large box. "I've been expecting this, and it's finally here!"

Her uncle Greg asked, "What is it?"

"Some computer equipment Ruby and I need to continue our training."

* * *

"So what is this?" her dweeby younger brother asked as he helped them unpack it in their room.

"It's a virtual cockpit," his older sister replied. Chris thought that was sufficiently cool (although he'd never admit it), that he'd help without too much whining. As Brenda looked over the instructions, he continued to pull out boxes. "Oh, cool, a computer!" He held up the small rectangular white box, "Can I put it together?"

"Minute," Brenda said, still looking through the instructions. Aunt Sophie asked, "What's all this for?"

"Virtual training," her niece replied, putting down the instructions. "We'll need to get some cables and stuff. This way Ruby and I can sit in lounge chairs and fly different types of missions, to see what we're best at. One may be ground attack, space-to-mud, while another might be anti-air or even cargo runs. Some, I'll be paired with Ruby, others I might be single or paired with someone else, or we might be opponents."

Always the gamer, her brother had only one word: "Cool!"

* * *

'_This __is __boring_,' Chris thought. His sister and her best friend sat back in beach chairs, their heads encased in helmets, their hands in gloves. They operated virtual controls that he couldn't see, flying missions that he couldn't see (or worse, _do_), and said cryptic things like 'Charlie four, bandit at four-five mark nine'. He knew what that meant from other games, but he wanted to do it! The worst part was, he knew they were doing it for _real_!

Sulking, he left them in the dark room, closing the door.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, March 26, 2003: 09:03 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Microsoft Europe:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The vice-president stood as his secretary ushered his nine-o'clock in. He offered his hand, indicating a chair in front of his desk. "Herr Von Haus, welcome to London. Please have a seat." There was a bit of the usual chit-chat, then he came to the point. Leaning back in his chair, he tented his fingers, "Herr Von Haus, I have received a message from top management. They are not happy with our failure to move the Terran Empire and Ms. Wayne over to our software. The best we have been able to do is some tablet computers, and the Empire demanded, and was refunded our license fees – what they referred to as a 'Microsoft Tax'. As our software had never been initialized, the court ordered the refund. Of course, we paid pennies on the Euro to retain a profit, but management was not pleased."

"I know others have tried," Herr Von Haus commented. "However, that is not my territory."

"It is now. You are known as a man that can get reluctant, even hostile government ministers and agencies to sign contracts to place our software. We need you to work on Ms. Wayne, who has publicly stated her preference for Macintosh and Unix. She has said that she prefers software that 'works' (he finger-quoted), and that she has no use for (he again finger-quoted) 'poorly written, expensive software that must be continually patched and restarted'. This is the most hostile comment she has made regarding a subject. She also said that she would not have 'a ship that needed rebooting'." He looked across the desk, "Management was not happy to hear that. Where Ms. Wayne goes, so goes the Empire; and the success of the Empire in operating their ships and colonies on open source software is a threat to our monopolies. Other governments are looking at the Empire and reconsidering our license renewals. We need to have Windows©, Office© and all our software on every desk and every computer on every planet of the Empire. In view of the insult Ms. Wayne has offered, top management has authorized discounted licenses only to category C. However, I would prefer category A, or at most B. I would be truly delighted if you could deliver _retail_ pricing."

He got the message. "That contract is worth billions in licensing fees. I will need to do quite a bit of research."

The vice-president for Microsoft Europe passed over file folders. "This is what Microsoft Research has accumulated on both Ms. Wayne and the Terran Empire. Your goal is to have a contract signed by the end of next month."

"Possible …" Herr Von Haus said. "I do not know if I can do it by 30 April, though. I will also need a cash account, to bribe various Imperial personnel, to allow access and so forth."

"A few hundred thousand against billions in new business and to put that little chit Wayne in her place? She should go back to her dolls, instead of playing in a man's world," the vice president said. "We will adjust your credit card accordingly. There will also be bonuses if you can maneuver someone friendly into the Imperial top management. We need to eliminate this threat as quickly as possible." He stood, signaling the end of the meeting, and offered his hand. "Herr Von Haus, good luck."

* * *

In his hotel room, Von Haus reflected as he waited for his laptops to warm up. His company issued laptop had a full suite of the latest Microsoft™ products. His personal one, on the other hand, was an Apple Powerbook™. '_I __am__ certain __the __company __knows __about __the __Mac_,' he thought. '_However, __I __do __have __Office __on __it. __What __is __more __important __is __the __man __I __have __met __with __is __a __muggle. __Frau __Wayne __is __most __certainly __not. __However, __the __company __allows __me __to __pay __my __bills, __educate __my __children, __and __allows __my __wife __and __family __to __maintain __a __comfortable __lifestyle __in __Hamburg._' The Mac had finished startup and loaded his startup programs, such as his mail while the PC was still 'thinking' about booting. He sighed to himself, '_Frau __Wayne__'__s __points __are __well __taken. __I __would __not __want __to __be __aboard __a __ship __whose __computers __suddenly __froze __or __crashed, __as __has __happened __to __commercial __ships __and __the __US __Navy. __However, __that __is __not __my __responsibility. __My __responsibility __is __to __engineer __the __wholesale __replacement __of __existing __software __with __our __products. __I __am__ certain __that __the __additional __sale __of __millions __of __computers __and __such __from __the __company__'__s __partners __would __also __be__ welcome. __I __am __not __the __poor __bastards __whose __place __is __to __support __those __computers __and __that __software; __just __to __sell __them_.' He sighed, '_Ach,__ Johann, __such __greed __and __selfishness __on __the__ part __of __your __superiors __is __your __lot __in__ life. __Let __me __see __what __I __might __discover __about __the __young __witch, __Frau __Wayne __and __her __Empire_.'

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 29, 2003: 06:59 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Buckingham palace:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Lady Sarah said, as all three women curtseyed. The official photographer took a few more shots and then left, as everyone relaxed.

"Please take a seat," the Queen said as she took hers at the head of the small conference table. Drinks were poured, portfolios were opened, and files readied. "Lady Sarah? IR & S?"

"Yes, ma'am," the redhead replied. "On the white side, star charts continue to be cross-referenced against the Oan data. We now have good, though unconfirmed data on eight to ten sectors to each side of ours, some forty million stars; stellar objects and related planets."

"Unconfirmed?" the Queen asked.

"We haven't visited them ourselves, ma'am. Survey ships are a lower priority than battle-cruisers."

"I see. Please continue."

"Yes, ma'am. On the grey and black sides, we have emplaced intelligence and special forces units on all twenty-five planets of the Republic. We are planning a slave insurrection and guerrilla war against the existing Republican power structure. Once we have the ships, we'll put in naval blockades. We're also gathering intelligence on their neighboring political groups with an eye toward diplomatic relations. Ms. Wayne has additional information regarding that."

The Queen's attention shifted, and Mattie cleared her throat. "Ma'am, we have intelligence on a number of sociopolitical entities. We are also in the process of forming a Foreign Ministry, with my proposed Minister, Madame Wai Tsien. She is the former PRC Ambassador that was shot on TV and defected a few months ago. Since then, MI-6 has extracted her husband and child from Beijing, they're currently living in a safe-house." The Queen nodded, "MI-5 and MI-6 have wrung her dry, and she's an experienced diplomat who was ordered to parrot the PRC line. Her husband Liu is, or was, a university professor of physics, her teenage son Jia is more of a problem."

"Indeed? Teenagers always seem to be."

"Hear, hear," Lady Sarah said, raising her teacup in confirmation.

"A - hem," Ms. Wayne said, clearing her throat. "The difficulty is that Jia, among others was being blackmailed by a Ms. Zong, a pimp and drug dealer. We don't know at the moment if Zong is a witch or was simply taking advantage of the situation. The Lion's Temple and the People's Wizarding Police are looking into her actions, MI-5 hasn't heard back yet. In any case, Ms. Zong was in the habit of blackmailing the sons and daughters of government officials to serve as her streetwalkers and drug distributors. Not just cocaine, heroin and marijuana, but wizarding narcotic potions such as White Blossom, a euphoric." The Queen nodded, and Ms. Wayne continued, "By blackmailing government officials, Zong was protected politically, in the rare case when one of her girls was picked up for prostitution or drug dealing, all Zong had to do was make a phone call. She enhanced that protection by using various addictive potions like White Blossom, on the sons she gave them feminization potions, and with the daughters sterility and strong antibiotic potions. There was also various psychological conditioning, and she had at least two houses for various … activities."

"Activities?" Connie asked, then paled and waved it off. "Oh. Sorry. Forget I asked."

Mattie took a swallow of ice water as the others digested this, then continued. "Assuming Ms. Tsien accepts the offer, and she passes her examination with my Privy Council (she nodded to Lady Sarah), she and her husband and new daughter will be moving to Port Oldridge, on Luna."

"Daughter?" Connie asked.

"Jia has decided to continue as a girl, we're trying to determine what the original potion she was dosed with. Once we know that, we can give her an appropriate potion to finish off the process." She looked at the others, "Unlike bio-sculpt, which would give a surface treatment, this potion would do a complete job, so she would go through menses and be able to give birth. One difference is that you can modify your body, for instance to gain different breast size, or to look like Marilyn Monroe."

"Interesting …" Lady Sarah mused.

"Yes," Ms. Wayne continued. "On the negative side of lunar news, the first murder has occurred. We are fortunate that the suspects, believing they were untouchable due to diplomatic status, bragged about it in front of my Uncle Edward, his Auror escort, Auror Tonks, and one of the Imperial Guards."

"I find it hard to believe they were that foolish," the Queen commented.

"They were the son of the Windfall facility's managing director and his buddies, ma'am. The director, and the staff of that facility are Traditionalists."

"Ah," Connie said. "That explains it. They're arrogant, believing they're the Source's chosen ones, and everyone else, especially females, are lower than pond scum, ma'am. Combined with diplomatic protection, I can see how they'd believe they can get away with murder."

"They have been arrested, I presume?" the Queen asked.

"They are being held for questioning, ma'am. While they objected to this, they apparently believe that they will eventually be freed and that the 'insult' (Mattie finger quoted) of their arrest will be addressed to their satisfaction. In order to get them to talk, they're getting better accommodations, meals and so forth, and also due to political reasons. Their relatives are fairly high up in the Windfall power structure, and their property does belong to the Windfall government. The Imperial Governor, Ms. Sullivan, has been emailed regarding this case, but we haven't heard back from her. However, to the positive side, this has allowed us probable cause to inspect their facility, looking for such things as fire code and health and safety violations." She smirked, "A strict inspection was conducted, and the Windfall Ministry of Commerce has been informed of those violations. In addition, the practice of illegal restraint of labor has been noted, and the appropriate labor unions have been notified."

"Unionized slaves?" Connie gave an evil chuckle. "What's next, nationalization?"

"That is properly the decision of the Windfall government," Mattie replied primly. "I'm certain I have no say in that matter."

"Of course," the Queen commented. "Please keep me up to date on this. Who was the victim?"

Mattie checked her notes, "A Mrs. Maria Dochev, late of Warsaw. Age 89, widowed, worked as a bookkeeper for Dochev Import and Export, the family business. She was in good shape for her age; although she had arthritis, which is one reason she'd moved to Luna. She had stopped to get groceries on the way home. Her body has been released to her family after autopsy, and she'll be shipped back to Warsaw for burial next to her husband."

"Thank you," the Queen replied. "Please let me have their address for a sympathy card and floral arrangement." Checking her notes, Mattie wrote it on an index card, passing it over. The Queen checked her own notes, "I am assuming that we are expecting more guests from the Republic?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lady Sarah replied. "Two hundred fifty to three hundred ships, and half a million Planetary Guards."

"The question we have is to meet them in their assembly point, the system of Melotte, and trash their real estate," Mattie put in. "Or do we rely on our fixed system defenses and let them come to us, and trash our real estate?" She took a sip of ice water, "The problem is fleet strength. Of the original fifty-some ships in the Republican fleet, we've managed to recover thirty or so. However, twelve are large slave ships, which we can rebuild into troop transports, the rest are light warships; frigates and destroyers, with two battle-cruisers as well as the barrage ship _Cannae_. We have a hundred twenty warships of our own, but we also have supply problems, primarily a severe shortage of parasite craft, such as fighters. A carrier isn't any good without fighters, ma'am."

"We are getting surplus military equipment, such as helicopters, from various military bone-yards," Lady Sarah added. "Unfortunately, as some are Russian and some are American, they have incompatible spare parts, ammunition, radios, fuels, and other equipment. We are implementing a plan to modify them to have at least common radios and such for tactical use on the ground. We are evaluating current missiles for both space and on-planet use, and formulating our own specifications. Until those are tested, we are developing adapters, so a Russian missile may be targeted and fired from an American helicopter, and vice-verse." She took a sip of tea, then continued, "This adds to an existing logistics problem. For simplicity, we're using NATO standards where we can. Our design bureau is also looking into modifying those helicopters for anti-gravity, instead of turbine - driven rotors. In that case, we would need some small, robust generators and a way to armour – plate the anti-gravity plates. On the positive side, we can reduce the size and weight considerably. We would not need those heavy engines or the tail boom and rotor."

"And of course the training and time required for all of this," Mattie put in. "While the holographic training is good, I think you learn more by skinning your knuckles with a wrench, and getting your hands dirty."

"Agreed," the Queen said. "After all these years, I can still work on a diesel engine, as that is what I did during the War." She took a sip of tea, and Connie arose and refilled her cup, then the others. "Please continue."

Lady Sarah nodded, "We do have a few carriers for orbital assault landings to seize port facilities. As these are generally located in and around cities, we are planning for light armoured vehicles, reconnaissance drones and urban warfare. These troops will primarily be used to support the local insurgencies and perform any necessary coups upon the planetary leaderships." She took a sip of tea, "One difficulty is having the necessary fleet strength to enforce naval blockades of the various systems. At the moment, the major fleet we have is our Home Fleet, which is ensuring the security of this system. While we can steal a few units here and there from their current deployments, that would not add much to our current strength. Our other fleets will come with time, at which point we can take the fight to the enemy."

The Queen pursed her lips, then took a sip of tea herself. "Personnel for this fleet, and the Imperial Army?"

"While we're still gaining strength from the Paris Atrocity, ma'am, I can see that drying up," Mattie said. "It's not news any more, and it has faded from the public consciousness. We're selling the advantages of Imperial service, and from what my personnel staff says, we could use another attack to drive recruitment. The marketing and advertising people are telling me that it can take up to eighteen months for this type of campaign to take hold, and it needs continual reinforcement."

"I can see that, I recall the propaganda posters we had during the War," the Queen said. "I remember the scrap metal drives and the campaigns to save oils and fats for the war effort."

"Our Ministry of Information is working on that kind of thing, posters, short thirty second TV ads, radio and print ads," Connie put in. She flipped through her case, extracting an ad showing a ragged, bound, collared blonde being carried off over a large man's shoulder, while a happy man was counting bills. Several other weeping, ragged collared slaves were chained to the wall near him. The copy read: '_Will__your__daughter __be __sold __next_? _Join __the __Imperial __Army_!'

"One difficulty in our propaganda is that we don't have a good enemy caricature, like the evil Japanese trooper or Hitler in World War Two. Instead, we're pitching the concept of slavery as a threat to our way of life, and the only real iconic image is that of a collared slave. We're using examples from campaigns against smoking and drunken driving, but we have to demonize the _concept_ of slavery while keeping the rescued slaves from receiving the negative feedback."

"Some of which we're aiming at the rescued slaves, using the 'Rosie the Riveter' style of the female workforce," Connie added. "The men went off to war, the women served on the Home Front," and she extracted another sketch. This was of a dark-haired collared girl, the lights of her collar showing the Imperial colors, flying a work-pod near a half-finished BattleStar. The copy read: '_Building __our __Victory_! _Our __shipyards __need __you_!'

"Yes, I remember those," the Queen said. "I served in the Home Army then." She shook herself, "What can I do to help?"

"It may again come to conscription," Lady Sarah put in. "I think it fairly likely. In that event, we, the Royal Family must be seen to be doing our part, no less than our subjects. If we must ask them to send off their sons and daughters, we must do the same."

Connie cleared her throat, "I have another. We did get their permission to use their images," she added. In the poster, Princess Beatrice was dressed in dirty, well-used combat armor with sergeant's insignia, her face clearly visible through her helmet visor. She gripped a futuristic combat rifle, and was leaning forward into a charge, an expression of grim determination on her face. To her right, Prince Harry followed her at the run, an Imperial gladius in his right hand, a short shield on his left arm. On his face was a three day beard; his armor sported a pair of significant dents, and was also well-used. They charged across a vaguely alien city street, with six-legged horses drawing carts in the background. The copy read simply, '_Follow__ me_!'

"Very nice," and the Queen smiled slightly. "We must consider the most benefit for the most effort, and that would be for the both of you to be hard at work getting the Imperial government off the ground." She settled back, "You are both still fifteen. While that may grant you adulthood in the Empire, it does not here on Earth, and your families still have significant input into your lives. The Empire cannot be a hobby or a part-time job for either of you. I wish to see an adequate plan for continuing your educations that will also pass muster with your parents."

Mattie shrugged, "Ma'am, if it were up to me, I'd rather just stay in school, but after this year's OWLs and GCSE exams, I think my formal schooling is over. I can't speak for Connie, but we got along all right with the tutors in Poland, and I can try to continue with college classes, but my duty to the Empire, as you said, needs to be a priority."

The Queen sighed, "True. I do not like it, and I certainly do not look forward to discussing it with your parents. However, I can see your points. Moving on, Ms. Koslowski. How is the Imperial Assembly?"

"Assembling, ma'am," and there were small smiles at the joke. "Seriously, ma'am, we're about at a third of the various delegations, so we don't have a quorum yet. Some have not had elections, and our own office is forming up with the rest of the Imperial government. The Crown delegates are fifteen percent of the total, we are trying to get as many of those as fast as possible, and so we can pack the various standing committees such as Finance and Armed Forces. We're getting a number of Crown delegates from countries such as Israel and Belize." She took a sip of water, "Ma'am, while they're not marching in lockstep, they are keeping the Empire in mind. That's good, but places like Belize will want a quid-pro-qua, maybe a small Army training command for jungle warfare..."

"With the understanding that each planet's jungle, arctic, or mountain environment is going to have different flora and fauna," Lady Sarah put in. "We all have to adapt. The military services are used to longer lead times, not the 'straight into combat' they have to face. So far, we have won by guile, by adapting and using existing technology wherever we can. It worries me immensely that the new engines in our ships are so unproven."

"I think we can all agree on that," the Queen said, and ticked off some things on her notes. "Ms. Wayne, you had a new research development?"

"Yes, ma'am. Over the weekend, Professor Snape said he had made a rather accidental breakthrough in one of his research projects." She took out two tiny vials and passed them to Lady Sarah and the Queen. "That's Fuel, the galactic power source. There are currently, in the local group of thirty-two galaxies, only five planets that produce it. We would be the sixth." She waited, and then said, "Think OPEC on a trans-galactic scale. We would be the … Kuwait of that group, only with more aggressive neighbors and less defense."

"Indeed," the Queen said. "How much is this?"

"Five grains, thirty five milligrams, and enough to power Canterbury for two days," Mattie replied. "It started as a hundred kilos of aluminum oxide. Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick essentially stumbled on the process, they are trying to refine and consolidate that now. This is laboratory – scale production now, they are talking to others regarding a pilot plant."

The Queen sat back heavily while Lady Sarah held the tiny vial to the window's sunshine. "This will power Canterbury?"

"Tested with Terran and Gal-tech generators, ma'am."

"And there are only five other planets producing it? In thirty-two galaxies?"

"The usual, public method of production allegedly uses a black hole, ma'am. I am sure we will need to find and claim one to keep up the pretense. However, I am more concerned with the military implications. Based on intelligence and previous experience, Admiral Herschel is extremely confident she'll be able to trash, err, defeat the incoming Republican fleet."

"However … we may need to take a fall," Connie said slowly. "To allow that fleet to reach Earth orbit. I can think of a few reasons, among which would provide the immediate threat that would push global conscription, and allow us to increase taxes for the 'wartime emergency'." (She finger-quoted.) "That will build up the Empire's defenses, but I would suggest briefing Admiral Herschel in person, not even over the secure comms. Once we have a continuous, ongoing and desperate 'fight for survival' (she again finger-quoted) to drive recruitment and allow our propaganda to take effect over the next year or two, that will allow us to portray the Empire in a positive light, and the slavers as the evil ones."

"That is incredibly cynical," Mattie said. "It reminds me of those conspiracy theories of Roosevelt and Pearl Harbor."

"It is also effective, and makes good sense politically," the Queen put in. "There might be some refinement, we may need to allow them to land, and then to stage a dramatic rescue mission. It also means some will be killed that wouldn't have." She tented her fingers around her teacup. "That is unfortunate, but it will produce heroic martyrs for us, allowing the presentation of medals to grieving relatives and state funerals. You might be thinking of medals for the military services along the lines of the VC**(3)**."

"Made from the hulls of enemy ships," Lady Sarah suggested. "This is a very cynical discussion, but a politically useful one. Of course, it would be disastrous if the press latched on to it." She leaned forward, "Especially your Aunt, Ms. Lane. Not one whiff, even in casual, family discussions," she warned.

"You are both starting to think like politicians," the Queen said.

* * *

In the limo, Lady Sarah was asking, "… estimates for the fleet strength we'll need for blockades?"

"The naval staff thinks it would be primarily light units," Mattie replied. "After all, it's intercepting freighters, which are not heavily armed. There would be a reaction force of heavier units, with a BattleStar or carrier as command ships. That is why we have been accelerating construction of frigates through destroyers. However, you'll be able to speak to Admiral Herschel about that." She grimaced, 'I'm not happy with this junket …"

"Fact-finding trip," Connie corrected with a grin.

"With a bunch of politicians," Mattie continued with a grimace. "Even if I am becoming one, God help me."

Lady Sarah chuckled. "If you want your budgets to pass, you'll have to suffer along with us," she said. "At least Detroit isn't the only ones producing the small craft. The Koreans and the rest were glad to have the work."

"Especially the French," Connie agreed. "When Paris became a smoking hole in the ground, their economy, and that of Europe as a whole took a nasty hit. That production will certainly help."

"Once it gets off the ground," Mattie agreed. "I'm just thinking that they'll have the same teething problems Detroit is having. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to use old car factories. Cars don't have to be pressurized."

"True, but we can discuss it on the flight," Lady Sarah said as the limo turned into a parking lot. "Check yourselves, we go on stage shortly."

Outside the stretch Rolls Royce limo, the motorcade, with attending motorcycle officers, multiple cars with sirens and flashing lights; filled with security personnel, drew attention as they made their way through the parking lot of Earls Court Exhibition Centre, where the job fair was being held. They pulled up at a side door, where security troops and frowning bodyguards in dark glasses got out. Among these were a number of werewolves, who took off through the crowds, sniffing for anything suspicious. Satisfied for the moment, doors were held open, and screams went through the crowd as the women got out, waving to the crowd before they ducked through the side door.

* * *

Crystal leaned down, whispering something in Mattie's ear. She nodded, then waited for the reply from Lady Sarah to finish before tapping her mike. "I'm sorry, but we only have time for two more questions before we have to catch a flight. The blonde in the light blue blouse on the left, please."

The girl pointed to herself, then rose at Mattie's nod. "Bonjour, Mme tsarine. Mon nom est Yvonne de Lille, de l'excuse Ecole Supérieure de Journalisme de Lille-moi, mon anglais n'est pas bon. Pouvez-vous raconter l'histoire de votre main gauche, s'il vous plaît? (Hello, Ms. Tsaritsa. My name is Yvonne de Lille, of the École supérieure de journalisme de Lille Excuse me, my English is not good. Can you tell the story of your left hand, please?)

Mattie smiled and replied in French, "Pas de problème. C'est pourquoi nous sommes ici, pour vous permettre de pratiquer. Je souhaite juste que les autres vedettes de l'actualité fait la même chose. Je m'excuse pour mon mauvais français. L'histoire de ma main ..." ("Not to worry. That's why we're here, to allow you to practice. I just wish other news-makers did the same thing. I apologize for my poor French. The story of my hand ...")

* * *

"One last question, then we have to catch a flight," Connie said. "You, the older fellow on the right."

The man stood, then asked, "Ms. Wayne, what's your objections to Microsoft™ and Windows©?"

"You look a bit old to be a journalism student," Mattie replied with a small smile. "Do you perhaps work for our friends in Redmond?" She waved that off, "I do have great respect for the Microsoft sales people, they really know how to move product." She shifted her voice down, "Come work for the Empire … we have cookies…"

There was a chuckle at that, and she continued, "I'll tell you, my primary objections are reliability and cost. I have no objections to paying someone for their work, and that includes programmers. However, your products are closed-source, have multiple flaws which are difficult for anyone to find because the source code is closed, and are expensive." She took a swallow of her coffee, "Let's look at two areas that the Empire needs software: in the military and on our colonies. First, in the military, and specifically in the Navy. Our ships use a network of computers, primarily IBM, from smaller mid-range computers in the smallest ships to mainframes and supercomputers on the larger warships. These ships do everything from email to computing missile trajectories and navigation to engine and warhead monitoring. These systems cannot fail, hang or freeze, and they must contend with everything from different date systems, different days, weeks or months; to monitoring the status of antimatter." She took a sip of coffee. "You've all had the experience of your laptops or PC's freezing or hanging for no reason while something unknown happened. We can't have that happen with antimatter warheads or in the middle of navigation through seven-dimensional jump space. The US Navy had that happen when they tried to run Windows© on one of their missile cruisers – the system froze and they had to reboot the computers. We cannot have that, we cannot reboot a starship."

Taking another sip of coffee, she continued, "Second of three reasons, the colonies. Now, a lot of people use a computer for email and surfing the Web, occasionally doing some actual work." There was a chuckle there. "Think about it, you can do that easily by using a terminal, which costs twenty pounds instead of a PC under your desk that costs you £500, and whose cost for hardware is maybe ten quid, and for software like Windows© and Office© is maybe another five to seven quid. The rest of it is pure profit, and while I don't have any objections to making a profit, I do to an obscene profit." She waved that off, "That's the way they run their business. I know I get criticism on how the Empire is run. In any case, we do have a Microsoft™ license, one of their Class E government discount licenses through our logistics shop in Hamburg. We do use the tablet computers on our ships for personnel that are away from the ship, in working parties. However, a colony has a certain budget to work with, like any business, and money they spend on expensive software licenses means they can't spend it on seed to put bread on the table. Using open source software means they can just buy the hardware through Hamburg, so they get bulk rates, and if they need telephone or web server or database software, its freely available."

"And now to the third and last objection, those licenses. Let's look once again at costs for say a small, hundred-person office. They would need a hundred desktops, a hundred copies of Windows, and say, another hundred copies of Office, and a server. Now, at home, you just have your laptop which has those licenses already. In that office, you don't buy retail like you do at a computer store, you buy a site license which covers that office. You would buy a license for Windows, a license for Office, a license for the servers you'll need, and where the additional profit comes in, a seat license. That's to legally connect Server A to Workstation B. That license alone may cost £50, times a hundred is £5000. Add in the other software licenses and you can easily spend a quarter of a million pounds just on those software licenses, and that's for a small business. Using free, open source software, you pay for the hardware, the software is constantly updated. You don't have to buy new licenses every year for software you've already paid for. Now multiply that out for just one colony that has, oh, five or ten thousand people."

"Our software is constantly updated," the man replied.

"Yes, it is. Every Tuesday you send out updates. What about those locations not connected to the Internet, like ships or even something close, like the lunar colonies?" She shook her head, "No, we've gotten along fine with having in-house programmers to write and update our software. If any of you have schoolmates or friends doing computer science or other engineering courses, point them in our direction, please." She checked her watch, then rose, "I'd like to thank all of you for coming, but if we don't leave now, we'll miss our flight." She waved, then walked out through a door with the others.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, March 29, 2003: 12:09 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, GEO docks, _MV __Adana_:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The _Aberdeen_ class of ships were designed as in-system transports, carrying a mixture of light cargo and passengers. They were a no-frills design, with the major distinction being single or double cabins. They shared basic housekeeping and maid service, with buffet style dining. Resembling a fat, pointed cylinder, they had a dozen decks (five for passengers, two for crew, four for cargo, one for ship's services). Like all Terran-designed and built ships, they were modular, with a single class for accommodations. This lack of distinction disturbed some of the more egotistical politicians, but they could hardly complain (publicly) when the Tsaritsa had been assigned the same type of cabin and would wait on queue for meals. They were a small ship; and had already been exported to other systems in the Empire.

* * *

"Are you all right?" Selina asked from the open door of Cabin A1 as Mattie dropped her luggage inside the cabin door, grabbing a small case and running to the small head.

"Yeah," the reply came. "With this body armor, this is the first chance I've had to pee since I left Hogwarts early this morning." There was a sigh of relief as Selina started to unpack her daughter's luggage along with her own.

* * *

In A2, Wai and her husband Liu started to unpack their suitcases as Jia emerged from the small head. "This is the first time I'll have come out as a girl," Jia said, unzipping her suitcase. "I'm scared stiff."

"So am I," her father said. "I'll be nearby, though."

* * *

"Oh, this is a great view," Connie said in A3. She was quartered with Lady Sarah, who was a member of the Privy Council. This evening would be a 'meet and greet' between them and members of the Imperial Assembly. While the full Assembly wasn't on the ship, a number of VIPs were, and the meetings would shape the power structure for the Assembly and the Empire. She could already see the entries in future history books. She depolarized the full size window, "Oh, a space station!"

Sarah hung up a blouse, then walked over to join her cabin-mate. "I believe that's the Hexagon; the military station. Go hang up your clothes before they get wrinkles. If they do, I have a steamer."

* * *

In A4, 'Big Bill' Morton regarded his room mate. "Remember, Headmaster, no magic."

"Strictly muggle, I know," he agreed. "Minerva insisted I purchase some new muggle business suits to wear; she thought they looked well on me. She insisted I leave my wand in my cabin, so I would not be tempted."

"You were unusual enough floating through the boarding tube in your robes," Bill replied. "We have a meeting with Miss Wayne at one. Will you be ready? It did say very casual and comfortable."

"I shall be fine, and I thank you for your concern. Please call me Albus."

"I'm Bill, then," and he stepped aside, gesturing to the shared closet. "Your turn. I hope you don't snore."

"Not according to my wife."

* * *

Crystal wasn't particularly happy, but there wasn't much more she could do. They were traveling with a section of a dozen Imperial Guards, and had set up a checkpoint (a borrowed folding table) at the head of the A deck passageway, opposite the lifts. They would escort the Tsaritsa and members of her staff and Privy Council to and from meetings. They shared a few double cabins and had claimed two meeting rooms on 'A' deck, one for the Tsaritsa and the other as their operations room. She and the other Guards would be meeting with the cabin maids and stewards assigned to A deck to go over security procedures later.

They would be several days on this junket, but it was politically 'necessary' for the politicians in the Imperial Assembly to inspect Titan Station and to consult with Admiral Herschel aboard her command BattleStar _Albion_. The _Adana_ had been chartered for the purpose, and Crystal had already heard complaints from various Assembly members that the accommodations were not up to the standards they believed they deserved. '_God __save __us __from __politicians_,' Crystal thought wryly.

* * *

Connie knocked on the hatch for A1: "It's your Chief of Staff." She heard a call "It's unlocked, come on in!" She entered with Lady Sarah; Mrs. Wayne was standing at the dresser to the right, pouring a Diet Coke into an ice-filled glass. She inspected Connie, "You look good. Anything from the bar?"

"A Diet Dew, please," Connie replied. She was wearing a white golf shirt with a green Lantern Bank logo and a denim skirt. She had added a pair of hoop earrings and pulled her hair up into a French Twist. She accepted her drink, as Lady Sarah had claimed a washcloth from the shelf outside the loo, folding it into a coaster. "Ice water, please, I'm parched." She poured from the pitcher, taking several deep gulps, then refilling the glass. She took her seat, turning to survey the cabin; it was somewhat larger than A3, the one she shared with Ms. Kowalski on the port side of the ship. This cabin had a small curtained bedroom to the left. In the main area of the cabin, there was a conference table/desk to the left, where the bunks were in her cabin, across from the larger closet and dresser. The head was just inside the door.

There was another knock on the door; Connie set the can down and opened it, "Come on in. Anything from the bar? Headmaster, I think you'll like one of these."

"It certainly looks interesting," Albus said as he entered. He accepted the iced glass, "Thank you, Miss Kowalski," and took a folded washcloth as well. He was dressed in a white golf shirt embroidered 'The Honorable Company of Edinburgh' and below that a pair of dark slacks. Taking a sip, he sighed in satisfaction, "This reminds me of my sherbet lemons," and took a seat, producing from somewhere a leather binder and a fountain pen. Bill Morton sat next to him, with a tall glass of Coke, Albus unfolding the napkin so both glasses would fit. Bill opened his own binder, with a Bic pen on top of a list of questions.

There was another knock, and Connie opened it. "Hello, I'm Wai, and this is my husband Liu and my daughter Jia."

"Wai, please come in, I just want to finish this bit," Miss Wayne called from her seat. She was wearing a pale green golf shirt with the logo 'Hogwarts Golf Team' and tight jeans. She looked up, "I got started on this Economics project and I want to hit a stopping point."

"From Callista?" Albus asked, curious. "What is it?"

"Macroeconomics assignment; I'm projecting Imperial economic trends over the next five years. Mr. Griphook got me this killer spreadsheet model, I've been playing with variables. Too bad he couldn't make this trip; he had a family thing, a new baby."

Bill Morton nodded. "Good." He gestured at seats, "Please join us, I'm Bill Morton, part of the Privy Council."

"I am Wai, my husband Liu, and my daughter Jia," she replied, as Liu held the seats for his wife and daughter. "I am Miss Wayne's Foreign Minister – designate."

"We're going to have to meet with all these politicians tonight, aren't we?" Jia asked nervously.

"Either tonight or in front of a formal committee meeting," Connie replied. "This is easier for you; they just want to make sure you're not a raving lunatic. Their focus will be on your mom, not you or your Dad."

"Yes, well, I have this little problem …"

"The prostitution, drug addiction and gender – change difficulty?" Albus asked, and Jia cringed. "Do not be concerned. Above all, keep calm, answer honestly but do not volunteer information. I have been a solicitor for well over a hundred years, my dear, and I shall ensure I will be nearby. As Miss Koslowski said, the focus will be on your mother, you and your father are simply here to let the various Assembly – persons know you do not have horns and a tail."

"Not that there's anything _wrong_ with those," Mattie commented, saving her file and pushing her laptop to the side. Liu looked at her, "There's something different about you. Your hair?"

"Connie and I are both wearing body armor, which includes hairpieces. We've got several different ones, this one is loose hair," she explained.

Connie nodded, "Cindy the elf said that if I were to somehow unbraid my Government Minister wig, it would be about twenty feet long. As it is, it's down to here," and she waggled her free hand mid-waist. "Length denotes rank."

"God help me, Cindy just finished working on mine. I haven't tried it on yet, I think it's going to trail behind on the ground," Mattie commented. "I'm going to need young attendants just to carry my hair."

Others chuckled as Albus commented, "Suitable pageantry for the formal opening of the Assembly. Minerva did ask me to discuss with you, your mother and Mr. Morton yours and Miss Koslowski's schooling."

"I want to talk to you and Minerva about that sometime soon," Selina replied, and Bill nodded at Connie. "It's something we'll need to decide soon. I was happy with your tutors in Warsaw, and the different approach was valuable."

Bill nodded, "I saw your history essays from the German and Soviet sides of the Second World War. All too often, history is written by the winning side's propaganda office. I for one want to know what your thoughts and plans are regarding the Republic and the future of the Empire."

"Okay," Mattie nodded and retrieved a file folder from her luggage. She returned, passing it over with the comment, "That's my only hard copy, you'll need to share." She tented her fingers, "While the details are not to be released, my planning is somewhat fluid through December 2005, especially the next nine months. I think we can successfully transition to a wartime economy."

She continued, "I've tried to flow-chart this with different decision points. For instance, what if Admiral Herschel can't stop the fleet in the outer system? They make orbit and planet-fall; what would be the economic, political and social result? We are looking at a three-to-one disadvantage in hulls, but an advantage in tonnage with our carriers and BattleStars. In addition, we have the advantage in overall military experience, but they have it in terms of operating a space navy and the related tactics. They're thugs and killers, we're professional soldiers." She took a swallow of her drink, "In addition, there's the political aspect. It's going to be several months at least before our marketing takes hold and creates a self-sustaining reaction to generate a 'crisis mentality' (she finger-quoted), like there was during World War Two."

"Crisis mentality?" Bill asked.

"We have discussed this with Her Majesty and the Political Office," Sarah added. "The primary motives are that we have a twenty-five to one disadvantage with planets and personnel. We have to consider conscription for all able-bodied young men and women, approaching it as a communal rite of passage, with various benefits not available to civilians."

"I don't like the idea of conscription," Bill said with a frown.

"Neither do I, but we need the personnel," Miss Wayne said. "Projections are that we won't be able to make our requirements with our current combination of rejuvenating and volunteers. You see, just kicking the Republicans out of our space does not solve the problem. We need to counter-attack and force regime change on those planets to friendly governments to keep them from simply coming back with a larger army and navy."

Wai nodded, "I've been studying the problem. We need to think long term about political, economic and military alliances with other star nations, and to do that we will need to have a much larger Army and Navy. I believe we can deal with a number of those other star nations, but there are others that will require that regime change as well as social changes. Those we can reform as client states, with different arrangements."

"Hold on!" Bill exclaimed. "Regime change? Not on my watch!"

"Mr. Morton," Lady Sarah began. "These are not democracies. These are oligarchies, run for the power and profit of very few, while keeping the vast majority of their populations in slavery. Would you have us leave them like that?"

"Well, no. But … regime change? There has to be another way!"

"We are open to suggestions, Mr. Morton," Lady Sarah said coolly. "For now, our best options look to be Special Forces troops working on guerrilla wars and coups …"

"Coups? Guerrilla war? Not with my consent!"

"As I said, Mr. Morton, we are open to suggestions. As I also said, these are not democracies. These are iron-fisted totalitarian governments that exploit all but a tiny handful. They are thoroughly corrupt and run for the sole profit of the oligarchs. They have also sponsored this war against us. Would you deny us the opportunity to counter-attack?" She took a swallow of her drink, "The best way to prevent future attacks is to change their government, which means some form of regime change."

Bill Morton was silent, as Miss Wayne continued, "Mr. Morton, there are actually three phases to this plan, with local variables for each system." She glanced around the table, "This is not to be told to the Assembly at this time. We are in phase one, in which our intelligence and Special Forces teams perform recon. Locating and identifying targets, routes, and so forth. Identifying and forming the action cells for the guerrilla teams. When the Navy has enough light combatants, they will impose the blockade of each planet, which is phase two."

"A government depends on stability to do business, collect taxes and to attract foreign investors and to keep the ones they have," Selina put in. "There is a long history of insurrections and coups here on Earth, going back to Roman times at least. These planets are classic examples of a coup waiting to happen."

Mattie took a swallow of her drink, "Once the Navy has enough ships for each blockade, they will form it, and the guerrilla war will start. This will form an ever-growing breakaway area on each planet where the slaves and the lower classes, the farmers, the small businesspersons have rights, laws, a court system and a government they trust, and have created and control. The central government will not be able to control this area, no matter how brutal they are or how much press control they have. The central government can spin this as it wants, but word will leak out through the rumor mill, just as it always has and always will. The current government's investors will not allow too much property destruction, as it would be their property destroyed. Similarly, massacres and atrocities on the government's part will simply create martyrs and bad press, and other governments and investors will view the present regime's actions poorly. After all, if they can't handle a simple slave revolt …"

"There will be atrocities and massacres, preferably done by the existing regime," Connie put in. "One of the first things we need to control is the media and broadcasting facilities to get our word out. If those atrocities are done by our side, we have to emphasize to the press that we are governed by the rule of law, that the accused had fair trials, and if they are convicted, a public execution. We compare this with the current regime: where and when are they putting their accused on trial for murder? Was it out for the entire galaxy to see? Was it fair, with prosecution and defense? Ours is, why not theirs?"

Sarah turned from refilling her water glass, "Anyone else need a refill? I've consulted with MI6; this is the easiest, least bloody way to carry out both cultural reform and regime change. We want a planet and society that people can do business with, that will respect contracts and law, and that we can welcome into the Empire." She resumed her seat, "The insurrection does the cultural and societal changes, and helps to destabilize the existing regime while limiting their options. In the past, foreign corporations have quietly held talks with revolutionary forces regarding their installations; they don't want to lose their investments. I see no reason why this wouldn't happen here."

Mattie put in, "After a while, the insurrection is organized into their own districts and their own economy, while the regime may hold only the capital city. At which point, our people help the locals in a coup to exchange the regime for the cleaned-up guerrillas. We recognize the new government, and conclude various agreements with them, forming them into an Imperial client state."

"I can see Lois now, saying you're exploiting the ignorant locals," Selina said with a smile.

"So can I, but as part of that agreement, there is a road map of achievable goals to independence," Mattie replied with a grin. "For instance, our colonies have schools and hospitals on their road maps. Here, I think having a planetary militia and a system defense force under the control of the new government. We can help this out by converting those Special Forces units into trainers, and take some of those troops into the Imperial Army and Navy."

"I don't like the idea of coups and guerrilla war," Bill said.

"Neither do I, but if you've got a better idea, I'm willing to listen," Miss Wayne said.

"So, when we're attacked, we should do nothing?" Selina asked. She shook her head, "I don't see your moral position here. We were attacked, we fought them off, and we have the right of self defense, which includes a counter-attack. There is nothing that says it has to be a naval battle."

"Please remember, William, they plan to sell off our young women as slaves, and torture our young men in order to extract an addictive drug," Albus put in. "I would rather see a peaceful solution, but their own attitude seems to preclude that. If we can procure a peaceful settlement, I will endorse that."

"So would I, but I doubt it will happen," Mattie said. "This way, most of the death and damage is on their planets, with their forces, not ours. Remember, on the current Republican planets, we'll still need to have some troops on the ground after we install a friendly government. We'll need to maintain a naval force in those systems, as well as in our own colony systems." She deliberately turned the page in her meeting planner. "Now, unless there is further input into a viable alternative plan, we should move on. We need to show that we're reasonable, law abiding people that other governments and companies can do business with. There are dozens, hundreds of different types of governments out there, everything from aristocracies to corporate to a single unitary state, like the UK. They all do business, like we do business with communists, monarchies, and democracies. The key point is that they are stable."

"And conscription?"

"That's simple math. "We have to plan for worst case. We can't take and hold a planet with five hundred troops. That's another reason for the insurrection and coup plan, we would ideally deploy only a brigade of sixty-five hundred. However, there's a lot more infrastructure to that brigade than only the shooters; there's transport, medical, and supply as well. We also need to rotate troops in and out, replace vacancies …" She waved her hand, "Our general staff figures on five brigades for every one deployed, both shooters and support."

"This is part of our marketing as well," Connie put in. "The new rite of passage, with the Imperial Cadet Corps in school as part of the PE requirement for girls as well as boys, gets everyone used to the idea of a military life. Marching, formations, small arms practice, then into an accelerated boot camp once they graduate."

"There will be deferments for medical, religious and conscientious objectors that we'll have for civilian or non-combatant postings, although those would primarily go to the collared girls," Mattie added. "They would not get the same benefits as those who served honorably. Once their five year hitch is up, they'll move into a training command and then into the reserves, like the Israeli and Swiss do. We plan to sponsor things like weekly marksmanship competitions and free ammo for those competitions." She smiled, "When I went to Switzerland, I remember seeing people on the streets in uniform with assault rifles slung, and nobody said anything about it. I was told they were coming back from rifle practice, because their scores were something they were proud of, and were noted by their bosses. I don't see why we couldn't do something like that."

"All it takes is the proper marketing," Connie added. "In addition, can you imagine what the slave owners would think when they have to allow their slaves to go to _rifle__ practice_? As part of the system defense, which they _have_ to support?" She had an evil grin.

"Anyone else with comments?" the Tsaritsa asked. "Speak now, because we need to be on the same page when it comes to dealing with the Assembly."

Bill sighed, and checked his list. "What type of client states would there be?"

"Ah, now that's more my cup of tea," Wai replied with a grin. "That would need to be negotiated on an individual basis. It would depend on our ambassador and the local government's stability and comfort level with our basic declaration of rights and responsibilities."

"For instance?" Bill asked, waving his hand.

"As our client state, we'd handle a degree of relations – think of Soviet Eastern Europe. Some states, like Belarus, you never heard about, or from. Others, like East Germany or Poland, you did hear about, but they toed the Soviet line regarding both foreign and military affairs. Others, like Cuba, did things their own way, but they were still under Moscow's control." She smiled cattily, "Should I go through American client states?"

Ms. Wayne cleared her throat, "I think that's sufficient. The basic point is that we would be giving them a constitution." She stood, flipped through her file folders and passed one to Bill. "That's a basic outline of the treaty contract. Things can be added and subtracted to that, as long as it agrees with our basic constitution." Sitting down, "We have a proposed constitution that I hope to persuade most of the Assembly to ratify. We can push it here, away from the press and their staffs at Port Oldridge. That's why the small, no-frills ship."

"I had wondered at that. Rather sneaky of you," Sarah commented.

"Connie's idea. Force them to think for themselves," the Tsaritsa replied. "She's going to have to deal with them, after all. We'll have a written, ratified constitution with a system of laws in place. It's different than the US and the UK. The Empire needs a strong monarch to lead them, with real political power. That's one reason I wanted to meet with all of you before we start Operation Jawbone, to get as much of our Constitution endorsed by the Assembly leadership as possible."

"The points we think they're going to want to modify are those dealing with finance and foreign affairs," Connie started. "For that, we're going to back these people for the permanent committee chairs …"

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Saturday, March 29, 2003: 18:18 (GMT)  
In transit, _MV __Adana_, passenger lounge:  
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"Ee'''lyn!" the Tsaritsa said, making the proper clicking noise with her tongue three times. "How is your brood? Adapting well to our moon?"

"Acceptably," the grasshopper-sized Assembly-person said. The delegate was native to O'long'ty, a desert world with short days, four moons and a miniscule twelfth gee. The planet's two primary exports were delicate glassware and ceramics, and a potent wine based on a fungus they cultivated. Ee'''lyn rode a small hover tray with controls, resting comfortably on a small padded bench, a tiny glass of bluish wine beside it. "We are investigating the market in your ornamental glassware, it looks promising."

"Another might be medical implants to replace failed organs," the Tsaritsa suggested. "There are extensive regulations for that, to protect the patient against materials leaching out of the implant. Some of those materials I know are included in the glassware you produce for different colors and properties, but if you can comply with those regulations, it is a very large market. Even a tiny fraction of that business would be a significant amount of tungsten in the bank."

"This is indeed truth," Ee'''lyn agreed after a moment. "As we are discussing finance, perhaps we should include the financial aspects of this war. Your finance minister is not here?"

"No, an important family event, the birth of a child." Mattie replied. "As we do not breed as rapidly as you do, it is a significant event, not to be missed. He will be available to meet with you and your finance officer upon your return to Luna. May I offer my poor understanding in substitution?"

The grasshopper gave its equivalent of a chuckle. "We do not practice war, or slavery. That is for you hominids. However, we are interested in finance, and we know star ships are expensive. How do you build so rapidly, and for such low cost?"

"The secret (she lowered her voice and looked around, as did Ee'''lyn), is called mass production. For example, this ship was built with a number of standardized parts. We simply assemble them in a particular order, do the internal connections and install such things as furniture and bed linens. Therefore, instead of taking years and years to build a ship, it can be done in a few months."

Ee'''lyn nodded. "I see. Instead of producing one and one and one, you simply build three, all alike."

"Truth," the Tsaritsa agreed. "Let us take the example of a berthing compartment's light fixtures. By standardizing those fixtures, and standardizing the compartment itself, we can simply produce as many compartments as needed. We then pull the required number of those compartment modules from stock, and plug those into framework modules, which are also standardized. The light manufacturer saves money by producing thousands or millions of those lights, which are installed in those modules, which are also produced in large quantities."

She took a sip of water, "Therefore what one planet might spend on a shuttle, we can spend on a trade ship. There are initial difficulties, a wire assembly that is correct on the computer may be one or two centimeters short in your hands, but those errors can be corrected in the specification. That does take time to resolve, but not a great deal. It also costs a good deal less, because we can build more of those trade ships quickly, and have them making money. A trade ship makes money for us by moving product, not by sitting in port, loading and unloading. That is why we make such extensive use of computers and containers. It's moving as much product as quickly and efficiently as possible. Saving five minutes here, a minute there adds up." She swirled the water in her glass, "That is where we are with the small craft for our fleet. We are building them using old factories that once built ground cars. However, ground cars do not need pressurization, and the small craft do."

"An initial difficulty," Ee'''lyn agreed. "Why not build the factories new?"

"It is less expensive to rework and modernize the old buildings than to build the new ones. Much cheaper to simply fix what's wrong than to build entirely new." She took a swallow of water, "It also employs the local tradesmen who know the local laws and can always use the work."

"Truth. Truth indeed," Ee'''lyn agreed again. "How do you plan to finance this expensive war?"

"Through a series of war bonds," the Tsaritsa said. "We market them heavily, make them affordable to the small investor, even children. We will also, reluctantly, need to raise taxes for a short time. This is where I hope you can help me, by your place on the Finance Committee …"

"I see …" Ee'''lyn said slowly. "I do appreciate your suggestions for increasing our business, but I feel that we could do even better with our own trade ships …"

'_Here __it __comes_ …' Mattie thought. "This is possible. Who would crew the ship?"

"Ships. We would, of course."

"Those crews would need training in using and maintaining the equipment …" Ee'''lyn nodded, and Mattie suggested, "Why not start with one ship, designed for your species, with an option for another? That gives the benefits of experience in the design."

"Truth. An option on four more ships."

"Option on two more, to be extended if desired to a total of three."

"Two, option extended to a total of five. I shall do my utmost to advance your cause in the Assembly, and in the Finance Committee." The Assembly-person cocked its head, "You cannot have all hominids in charge of the critical committees."

"Truth," the Tsaritsa said with a small laugh. "One, two more optioned for a possible total of five ships, as you said. Please forward me your requirements, I shall pass them on to our builders. They shall conference with your people."

"Acceptable," Ee'''lyn agreed, and manipulated the controls of its hover, while Mattie went to refresh her drink.

* * *

"We regretted not being able to host your daughter on her world tour," Princess Takamado said. "Have you decided on her education?"

"She and I would prefer to stay at Hogwarts," Selina replied to the older woman. "However, that may not be possible. We did get good results with her Polish and East European tutors, though. That may be the way to go. We're also considering a degree from the Lunar branch of Imperial University, although there really are no courses in starting and running an interstellar empire."

"True, very true. Gaining a degree in Interstellar Relations, one of the first, would be something. We note she is spending a significant amount of time with Queen Elizabeth."

"Yes, she certainly has taken her under her wing, hasn't she?"

"She has. Pity my own children are still too young. Still, we have the trial balloon floated to educate the sons and daughters of foreign leaders here." The princess cocked her head, looking up at Selina. "I chair the Education committee, and sit on the Foreign Affairs committee. With the recent murder of that poor Polish grandmother and the reported behavior of her killers, I wonder about the safety of our community."

"That is a valid concern, and I think something that would need to be addressed on an individual basis. To be frank, they are as much hostages as our diplomatic staff. Only the Ambassador is protected by the Interstellar Commercial Code. I think we'd have to give them a very stern orientation lecture, and then work with each of them as individuals. We'll deal with the rotten apples that way."

"True. I would like to meet the Foreign Minister – designate and her family. I understand there is a problem with the boy?"

"With the daughter. Yes, she was being dosed with a form of gender-changing potion, the details we don't know yet. She was then being pimped out on the streets of Beijing until being rescued by MI6. Since then, the child has decided to continue feminization, with the goal of being just another teenage high school girl. Cheerleaders, after school job, that kind of thing."

"Poor thing," the Princess sympathized. "We'll want to meet them, privately and casually, before any formal hearings start. That would include the child. If she's acceptable, we can pass her over and concentrate on the parents. What about the husband?"

"University professor of physics. I understand the husband is thinking about going back to school to update his own credentials." She turned, "They're close, would you like to meet them now?"

"Certainly." She turned with Selina, who introduced them. "Princess Takamado, I would like to introduce Madame Wai Tsien, her husband Liu, and their daughter Jia. The Princess chairs the Education committee, and sits on the Foreign Affairs committee. Please excuse me."

"Of course," and Selina left. The Princess looked Jia up and down, then smiled, "Dear, I'm not going to eat you. Relax, put your shoulders back, and lift your chin. That's better. Now, I understand you've been through a horrible experience, but we're here to help. Take a deep breath … That's it. You're about the same age as my daughter Noriko, who's back on Luna with her sisters."

"We … I was told at the briefing that you'd check to see if I had fangs, or horns," Jia offered shyly.

"And so," the Princess looked Jia over carefully. "No, I don't see any." Jia smiled, and the Princess smiled in return. "So, you're planning on moving to Luna. It has a very nice small – town atmosphere, and I think you'll like the high school. How are you at football?"

"I … I haven't played, just an occasional street game. I was actually thinking about the cheerleaders."

"An American invention, but they're popular, and it's good exercise." She shifted her attention to Liu, "Professor, I chair the Education committee, and sit on Foreign Affairs. I was thinking that our new Imperial University might offer high school students like your daughter advanced classes …"

* * *

"I must offer my sympathies on the death of your mother, Frau Koslowski." The small man offered. "A terrible thing to see. How are you getting on?"

"I'm … there," she replied. "Thank you, Mr. Choi. It's still raw, I've been throwing myself into my work." Connie took a shuddering breath. "It still … I get by with a little help from my friends. Thank you," she said again. She gestured at the sideboard, where they waited in line to refresh their drinks. "May I?"

"Thank you, I have it," he replied. He looked over the selection, "I notice some off-world choices, which pleases me. Still, I wonder about new markets, and our survey ships. New worlds means new markets, and what we are all concerned with, jobs for our fellow citizens."

"Very true. The survey ships take the same basic hull structure as our battle-cruisers. It is unfortunate that we need more of them at the moment than survey ships." She regarded the small man, chair of the Commerce committee. "Assuming that the mix of ships from the previous invasion fleet holds with this new one, a substantial proportion will be slave ships. Cargo ships that we can retrofit into troop ships and small transports, and the majority of the balance will be lighter warships such as frigates. Those are primarily used for convoy escort and piracy suppression."

"Something we would also use them for."

"After a refit in our yards," she agreed. "This depends on several variables, but I think we can shift some of the newer battle-cruiser jobs in the yards into survey ships, and then assign them to our various bases." Taking a swallow of water, "That also means ramping up the science courses such as geology and meteorology in our colleges to man those ships."

"Yes … that would be welcome. I shall be speaking with the Princess regarding schools, and the Imperial University." He took a sip of his own tea, "You mentioned our bases. The nodal framework, I understand, and it makes a great deal of sense to deal with regional matters there. Still, I was wondering …"

* * *

"So you are the Tsaritsa's school master, and a member of her Privy Council." Albus turned to regard the rather thin, balding man. "Almost correct, Senator. I retired as Headmaster a few years ago, and now do a bit of legal work. I cannot discuss her schoolwork, or Miss Koslowski's, of course."

"Privacy laws, of course. I would not want my grand-children's school matters in the press, either. Still, I am concerned about what is published about her, and how much is truth, and how much is manufactured," the older man said. "What can you tell me about her? Her general character, for instance, in a few words."

"In a few words? Iron control. The school's motto, in Latin, is: _Draco__ dormiens __nunquam__ titillandus_."

"My Latin isn't what it should be," he admitted.

Albus tisked, "Latin should be a part of everyone's education. It translates to: '_Never__ tickle __a __sleeping __dragon_', to which I would add Hogwarts has added a second, unofficial motto: '_Aliquam __tempus __cum __Wayne_'."

"Obviously something regarding Ms. Wayne," he guessed.

Smiling, Albus corrected him, "It means in colloquial Latin: '_Don__'__t __fuck __with __Wayne_'." Albus regarded the man. "She keeps her word, and expects others to do the same. Senator, you will need to work to earn and keep her trust, and ours. You do not want to earn a place on her enemies list."

"Which is already longer than I would wish," a quiet voice said. "Headmaster. Senator."

"Miss Wayne," Albus replied with a nod, and excused himself. The Tsaritsa watched him go, and then raised an eyebrow at the Senator, waiting for him to speak first. He was aware of this tactic, although he was somewhat surprised she was. The only ways out from this game of nerves were to speak or be interrupted. Whoever spoke first lost. After what seemed like an hour, he finally cleared his throat, "You speak Latin?"

"_Facio_." (I do.)

"Languages were not one of my academic strong points, I admit." He cleared his throat again, they had ante'd up in this card game, the Headmaster having withdrawn, sitting out this hand while the Tsaritsa was showing good cards. The bid was to him … He tossed in a mid-level card: "A lot of my constituents are concerned about jobs."

"Worldwide," she agreed, and raised: "The Empire is hiring, we are looking for good people."

He saw her raise, and raised himself, throwing in a higher card. "That doesn't help some people."

She took the hand, "We're offering educational and health benefits as well as training and travel. A rising tide lifts all boats, Senator. I'm not going to hold a gun to someone's head. They have to take the first step."

He raised his glass to her in toast, "My lady Tsaritsa."

That evening, alone in her cabin, Mattie looked out at the stars from the warmth of her robe. "Damn you, Arthur," she said softly. "I need you. I need you to hold me. This is so difficult by myself." She continued to look out at the passing stars until she fell asleep in her chair.

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Sunday, March 30, 2003: 10:28 (GMT +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Good morning everyone," Sergeant Clark said to the training company. "Light day today, just this class, then you're released to free time. Pack up, because tomorrow's graduation, you've then got a few days leave until next Sunday, 6 April when you receive your first platoons. If you want a pass to travel home, let me know and I'll contact the Transport office for you. You'll be expected back Saturday."

Checking his watch, he came to attention behind the podium and barked, "Attention!" Boots thundered on the concrete as the company came to attention, and the First Sergeant called the roll. "Abrams!"

"Present!"

"Adams!" …

* * *

Sergeant Clark inspected his training company, and as he expected, did not find fault. "At ease, everyone. In anticipation of universal Imperial service, we will undoubtedly get some trainees that will decide to challenge your authority. You can wait for them to screw up, or you can shut them down, and any of their followers, by a simple demonstration in the barracks. This will also relieve any bullying or terrorizing being inflicted on the former slave girls." He flicked his glance to two collared girls in the company, both former military themselves before being collared. "This will likely come from the larger males, especially if you're small and female."

"Step back everyone. Li, you're the DI, and Galenko, you're the bully." They both nodded, Yuri handing off his hat and pace stick, then he slouched forward. "Li, I don't like you. I don't like the way you act, the way you talk, and how you're running us all over the place. I think you need reminding of your place, girl. I'm going to bend you over and make you squeal for me."

Li slowly turned, and looked him up and down, taking his measure. "Is that so, Galenko?"

"Yeah, that's so, Li." He reached forward to poke her, then again. Her hands blurred, and he was suddenly down on his knees, bent to the side as she held his right hand in a two – fingered grip with her left hand. Calmly, but coldly, she told him "I was waiting for you to make a move, Galenko. By poking me, and challenging my authority not only with your speech, but also because you're wearing that non-regulation ear stud, you're subject to a Section Nine, speech and actions prejudicial to command, the Empire being in a state of war. Upon conviction ten members of this platoon would be chosen for a firing squad." She waited while that thought settled, then said, "However, I don't want to deal with the paperwork. This is your one and only warning. Morton, remove that stud, and hold his ear for me." Elena stepped forward, removing an imaginary stud and passing it to the small Chinese woman, then held his ear. Li made a mark with a pen, saying, "You've cut your ear shaving, Galenko. Report to medical for treatment."

"Yes, Sergeant Li. Immediately."

"Good. Do it before you bleed all over your uniform. Dismissed." She released his hand and stepped back, and Elena helped him up. Yuri shook his hand out, using a mild Russian '_mat_' curse. "Did you have to hold me that tight? It still hurts."

"Why cut his ear?" Elena asked.

"To mark him as a troublemaker, and so he'll see the scar every time he shaves and will remember how he got it," Sergeant Li replied.

"Better than a Section Nine and telling off a firing squad," First Sergeant Clark said. "That would destroy any sort of morale you've built up. Of course, you're going to learn everyone in your platoon, and you'll be assisted by your E-5s. You'll know the best ways to handle your troublemakers and your problem children. Second problem, the small trainee and the large, looming DI. Li, since you're such a good actress, you're the trainee. McCain, you're the large and looming DI. Places, please."

_To: Mom  
CC: Julie (school), Bill (school)  
From: Elena Morton  
Date: 30 March 2003 _

_Subject: Leave ! _

_Hi, everyone! _

_Just to let you know I'm graduating tomorrow from DI training, and will be getting some leave. I'll need to report back here to Camp Katherine by Saturday 5 April. Sunday the 6th I'll be getting my first platoon. _

_I'll know my schedule after I get my paperwork from the camp's transport office. I plan to rent a car that I'll pick up at Port Columbus Airport. Anyway, I'll write when I get to LEO station. _

_Elena_

_To: Greg and Sophie (Boston)  
CC: McCain, Brenda  
From: Walt McCain  
Date: 30 March, 2003  
Subject: Leave _

_Hello! _

_Just to let you know I'm graduating from DI training, and will be getting some leave. I report back to Camp Katherine Saturday 5 April. Sunday the 6th I'll be getting my first platoon. _

_I'll know my schedule after I get my paperwork from the camp's transport office. I plan to rent a car that I'll pick up at Logan; I'll email from LEO station._

_Walt _

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 31, 2003: 07:03 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, LEO station, international concourse:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Elena Morton and Walt McCain looked around the concourse. As the orbital shuttle from Camp Katherine had approached, they had seen more construction going on around LEO station. She pointed, "A couple of seats. I'll grab them if you want to get us coffee."

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed, passing her his small duffel bag. She hurried over, dumping their bags in one of the seats, then smoothing the skirt of her grey uniform as she sat, adjusting her (new) campaign hat. She turned as a small child said "He'ro."

"Hello yourself," she replied, then smiled at the mother. "I'm Sergeant Morton, and this is?"

"She's a handful, that's what she is," the rather frazzled mother said. "I'm Sara Fischer. Michelle, how old are you today?" Michelle thought deeply about this, then said, "I four."

"Actually two, she's confused about numbers," Sara admitted.

"Like my son Chris was at that age," Walt said, handing over a ceramic McDonalds™ coffee cup. He crouched, "Hello, Michelle. I'm Walt McCain." He changed his coffee to his left, and offered his hand to little Michelle. She took one of his large fingers as he smiled.

"I didn't know they had coffee in those cups," Sara admitted. "Can I impose on you to watch her while I grab a cup? I could use a minute of peace."

"We'll be here, our flights don't leave for an hour or so," Walt said as he extracted his finger from Michelle's grip. "Go, I'll save your seat from poachers."

"Bless you," Sara replied, and grabbed her purse.

* * *

When she returned, "Where's Michelle?" Sara asked, slightly alarmed.

"Walt took her to change her diaper," Elena replied. "He's done it before, I haven't. See, her diaper bag's missing, and his coffee's here." She gestured, "The latrines are that way, I'll watch your stuff."

"Thanks," Sara replied, taking a gulp of coffee and setting the cup in the armrest's hole.

* * *

"Walt? Michelle?"

"Come on in, Sara, we're almost done," and Sara hesitantly peeked into the men's room. Walt nodded to her, "Come in, we've got a nice fresh young lady for you." He tickled the girl, and she giggled. "Sorry about not waiting, but this was rather time - sensitive. I have two kids, and Elena doesn't have any." He took the old diaper and used wipes, stuffing them in the disposal, which flared with light. He fixed little Michelle's loose sock, then handed the girl back to her mother, and started to repack the diaper bag as Sara looked over her daughter. She gave her a hug, then hugged Walt, "Sorry for jumping to a conclusion, but when it's your only kid …"

"Don't worry about it. You're a parent, I would have thought the same thing. Let's get back before someone tries to steal our seats."

* * *

"Ah, there you are," Elena said when they reappeared. "I thought you'd run off to join the circus," she joked. She sat in the middle of the three seats, her duffle bag in Sara's seat on the end. She lifted it out, "I asked a McDonald's guy about these cups. Apparently, it is cheaper to collect and sterilize the ceramic cups than to deal with all the waste paper and plastic. They get charged by the kilo for waste."

"Wonder why that is?"

"We're at the top of a gravity well, Sara," Elena commented. "I've done orbital drops and …"

"Wait, orbital drops? What are those?"

Walt started chuckling, "Tell her about the crocodile."

Elena grinned, "You know what paratroops are? Jumping out of perfectly good airplanes? Anyway, I do that, only from _orbit_. Skydiving from orbit. Takes about thirty seconds to hit dirt. Anyway, my last one …"

"Wait a minute. You skydive … from orbit? From up here?"

"Yep. The idea is to get troops on the target faster than the enemy can react. It is not perfect, though. My last time my drop harness took damage, and I lost all power, and ended up in a river. A crocodile thought I looked tasty."

Laughing, Walt explained, "What she's not saying is the damage was caused by a bird strike hitting a breaker that shut off power to her harness. She dropped in the river and killed the croc with a knife to the head. General Shimisa, the base CO, thought that was a sufficiently unusual entrance to his base that he paid …"

"With his own money!"

"With his own money," Walt agreed. "He had the croc stuffed and donated it to the NCO club, complete with dagger. It's behind the bar, and if you can ring the dagger, you get a free drink."

"The rings are just some costume jewelry bracelets, but it's a fun thing to do, an interesting new bar game," Elena said. "The croc's about sixteen feet long, and the guy did a beautiful job stuffing him. Mouth open, everything. It cost the General maybe a thousand or so, because that is a big croc."

"What I don't understand is how you could fight the croc in the first place," Sara asked, looking the two over. "Wait a minute. You have a red stripe on your tights, and he doesn't."

"I've been in longer, but Elena's a combat vet," Walt said gently. "My previous service was in Germany, with the US Army, waiting for the Russians to come over the border."

"I've 'seen the elephant', to use an older phrase," Elena said calmly, still relaxed in her seat.

"But … but you seem so nice …"

Elena looked offended. "I thought I was nice!"

"But …"

"Sara, what do you think an army is designed to do?" Walt asked gently. "We are to close with and destroy the enemy through fire, shock and maneuver. We teach our recruits to classify an enemy as a threat or a non-threat. They are to render threats into non-threats. If they have the sense to surrender, we bind them and move on. If not …" he let the sentence hang.

"I've helped to take six enemy ships, Sara," Elena said gently. "I'm a combat vet. That is one reason why Walt and I are Drill Instructors (she touched her hat). We convert civilians into warriors."

"But … the Republicans … can't we negotiate with them?"

Walt was aware of several other people listening in, and he replied, "We've tried, Sara, but they want to enslave the girls and young women, and torture the men folk to produce an addictive drug to sell."

"Girls your age, and younger," Elena said. "The age of my sister Julie, who is fifteen." She glanced around, meeting the eyes of the listening people, "The age of that girl, and her, and her. They will wind up with collars on their throat, an Enhancement board in their brains, kneeling and forced to say 'Yes, master.' That's what we're up against." She shifted in her seat, asking one parent, "Do you want that of your daughter?"

"Hell, no!" he said, clutching his daughter in a hug.

"What I said," Walt replied. "I signed up just after the Paris Atrocity. Eight million people dead in a few minutes, and my daughter insisted on joining with me. She's going into flight school after her home leave. Myself, I plan on visiting a few recruiting offices in Boston, let them see a real, live DI." He grinned, white teeth in his brown face. "See? No fangs."

"There's a bloke in the base dental office that will implant them for a few extra dollars," Elena joked. "Richards took him up on that."

"Richards also paid for it out of her own pocket, and got a strip torn off," Walt commented. "Sue Richards is this blonde that's maybe five-four and a hundred twenty soaking wet. Looks like she should be wearing a staple in the navel instead of combat armor."

"I don't know if I should be offended by that or not," Elena said with a grin. "She's a centerfold - worthy babe all right, but she chose to join like everyone else. Of course, I saw Yuri with a 'Girls of the Russian Army' calendar, too. Surprising how they were all muscular and had steel teeth."

"Only three of them had steel teeth, tovarisch," a familiar voice said, and Elena jumped up, hugging a rugged young man. "Yuri!"

"I came for tea (he raised his own McDonalds cup), and heard my name being defamed. I must of course defend the honor of Russian women. Not all of the girls in question pulled plows. For that, most villages have oxen." There were chuckles, and Walt said, "Now he's being polite, and not using 'mat'. Russian obscenities." Yuri obligingly ripped out a string of vulgar Russian.

One of the more observant fathers said "You wear a blood stripe too."

"Da. Afghanistan and Chechnya. Not fun, but good comrades. Absent friends," he toasted, and Walt and Elena joined him, as did two older men. "You have served, comrades?"

"I did, Somalia, with the Marines," one replied. The other said "Grenada. Airborne. I'll talk about this with my wife when I get back to Detroit." He grimaced, "She works for Ford™, and they're not likely to let her go, but I'm not in the shape I was when I jumped out of those perfectly good aircraft."

"Everyone is run through a med-tank to get you to baseline, fix things like eyesight, cholesterol and diabetes, after that it's just loving those hills," Elena replied. "My little brother Bill may run forty-five kilometer marathons every other day while he's in school, but not me. I do my daily ten klicks, sixteen every other day. Gives me time to think."

"What school runs marathons?" one mother asked.

"He goes to Hogwarts in Scotland, there's maybe a dozen people in the running club. They're planning on coming over next month to run in the Marine Corps Marathon in DC."

'Yeah, I'll be there," the Marine added. "Got my motel room booked." (A/N: There are no retired US Marines, only inactive service.)

The PA came on "Boarding for Delta flight 644 to Detroit, 644 to Detroit."

"I'm off," the Airborne fellow said, standing and collecting his carry – on. He shook hands, "Perhaps I'll see you. Good luck."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 31, 2003: 02:38 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Port Columbus International Airport:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

***bring, bring*** ***bring, bring***

"I'll get it!" *yawn* "Hello?" *yawn*

"Teela, this is your big sister Elena. I'm at the airport, about to get my rental."

"Oh … do you know what time it is?"

"Three in the afternoon by my watch."

"Maybe in Australia. Not here, it's … twenty to three in the morning. On a Monday morning." *yawn*

"Sorry. I don't have a house key, I'll ring the bell."

"'Kay. 'Night," she said sleepily. **click**

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 31, 2003: 05:52 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Grandview Heights, Morton home:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Bill Morton stopped as he entered the kitchen. "Elena. You're here! When did you get in?"

"About three thirty this morning. Teela didn't say?" She stacked some of the newspapers she had brought, and stood into his hug.

"You made the coffee?" Maggie said to her husband, and then said "Elena!"

"No, I made it," her daughter said, hugging her mom in turn. Her mother held her at arm's length, inspecting her. Elena blushed, then said, "Everything's still there, and works, mom."

"So it seems," Maggie said. "You look good."

"I've always had a thing for women in uniform," her dad joked, holding her at arms length in his turn. Her grey uniform was neat and tidy, on her right shoulder was the Imperial roundel (a black circle with the lower fifth of green, then light blue stripes, in the center was a representation of the lunar face). On her left shoulder were two embroidered badges, the top read 'Sniper' in black on white, the second read 'Drop' in black on light blue. On her left shoulder, she wore the aiguillette of an officer's aide through her shoulder strap, which wore the silver bars of a sergeant. Her grey campaign hat had an Imperial chevron on the front, with crossed silver cords on the brim. On her left breast was an assortment of 'fruit salad', while her right breast simply had her nameplate: MORTON.

"I know you wrote you were coming, but I didn't expect you this early," Maggie commented. "Especially coming halfway around the world from Australia. What are your plans?"

"I thought I'd go to a couple of the local recruiting offices, and then meet for lunch," Elena said. "I'm due back at Camp Katherine Saturday, so I don't have that much time." She turned as her sister Teela entered, "You forgot to unlock the door; I had to use the spare key."

"That was you? That wasn't a weird dream?" she asked as she poured her coffee. She slurped it, sighed, and asked, "Want to come by the offices? I'll show you how we put together a training holo."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, March 31, 2003: 05:52 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cambridge, MA:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

There was a brisk, no-nonsense knock at the door, and Greg took a swallow of coffee, and then got up to answer it. There was a muffled conversation, then he re-entered the kitchen, "Look who's here, everyone!"

"Dad!" Brenda and Chris shouted, and then they ran for hugs. (Chris stealing his dad's new hat.) Handshakes and hugs were given (including Ruby), then they settled down to breakfast.

* * *

"So how is everyone doing?" Walt asked as he worked the griddle with Greg. "Bren, I know you and Ruby are doing preliminary pilot training, how's that?"

"Ruby is actually better at ship-to-ship than I am," his daughter confessed.

"That is because you are evolved from arboreal species, I from grassland predators. Therefore the stalk and kill is more natural to me, although I wish we had better stealth equipment." She smiled, showing steel fangs, "Knew I the coordinates, I would suggest you approach our government with offers. I thank you for the assistance in overcoming my conditioning," and she touched the collar she still wore.

"The fundamentalists won't like you saying that," Sophie commented, then explained, "They believe in what's called 'Intelligent Design', in which God, or the Source, designed and created all forms of life on the planet in the space of six days. On the seventh, he, note the gender, rested."

"That is absurd," Ruby said, shaking her head. "There is too much scientific evidence…"

"Religions are not logical," Greg said, flipping pancakes. "Look at the Source. Even assuming that souls get recycled into new beings, why have different levels based solely on gender? Female lower than male? Makes no sense."

"I would not speak such aloud, some of the more reverent believers would kill you for heresy," Ruby said.

"Precisely why we don't advertise it," Sophie said. "Go, get your showers, school awaits." There were the expected groans, and Walt retrieved his hat.

(1): Unit of fire: The amount of shells an artillery battery or tank unit will go through in a busy day. These are not underestimated by Supply.

(2): ORBATT: Order of Battle: the composition of an enemy force.

(3): VC: Victoria Cross: The UK's highest award for valor under fire. Similar to the US Medal of Honor.


	15. 1 15 April 2003

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter XV: 1 ~ 15 April 2003  
Tuesday, April 1, 2003: 08:00 (UTC)  
Hour 436.00/708.00  
Luna, Copernicus Test and Evaluation Center:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Good morning, everyone; please find your seats, and welcome to Luna and Copernicus. This is the first in the Imperial Request for Quotation meetings. I am Douglas Hammersmith of the Systems Bureau." He waited while people settled, then continued. "These are known as the 'blank sheet of paper' requests, in which we lay out the specifications and you then come up with designs …"

Samantha 'Sam' Malone, the Boeing representative tuned this out as she looked around the room. She had arrived late (damned heels), and had missed the chance to work the room. She sat next to Arkady from Mikoyan (MiG), another sales rep and a very smooth operator. Most of the major players in the defense industry were here, not only were defense contracts themselves lucrative, but these would be licensed for outsourced production, and exported. She noticed John from Lockheed and a few officers from state-run military production…

"… part of those requirements are to make vehicles as easy to fuel and service locally as possible. We are therefore looking for either electric propulsion or usage of biodiesel to generate that electricity, which should be available in the various local systems. While we do have the refineries in and around Titan, we would prefer not to ship fuels interstellar. If so, it would be in container-sized tanks, as opposed to supertankers." Hammersmith continued.

"Good point," Arkady said quietly in perfect English. "Logistic choke point and all that. We have been investigating biodiesel for our aircraft."

"As Boeing has as well," Sam agreed. "Still, a small generator and lightweight batteries has to be a lot smaller and lighter than a heavy engine and transmission."

"And for an attack helicopter with antigrav plates, you eliminate the rotors and the tail boom," Arkady nodded. "The remaining questions are armoring the plates and performance. You could simplify logistics by shipping complete or partial knock-down kits."

Hammersmith cleared his throat, "Regarding local support and maintenance, a number of these planets keep higher technology closely held or imported from off world, restricting the local population to animal power, slave power, or earlier technologies such as steam engines for railroad locomotives; roughly 1850's tech at most. We are therefore looking for field-replaceable components that would be shipped back for depot maintenance. As we do not have the personnel to maintain standing armies, we will need to support both regime and cultural change, so squad and company-level support equipment that will be field-deployed and serviced should have designs that can be repaired by the village blacksmith or machinist. This is things like electrical generators and water purification. We are also aware of thriving black markets on all the Republican planets. This will help to kick-start industrial development, but remember, think the 1850's blacksmith, not nano circuit computer chips."

"Too much of Russia is still like that," Arkady commented.

"Excuse me," someone called. "I don't understand that last."

Someone else said, "I've heard the local technology gets to 'good enough' and stops; so the local village might have a sixteenth or seventeenth century tech level. Iron plows and horses pulling them."

"That's my understanding as well," Mr. Hammersmith replied. "May I continue?" He cleared his throat, "Therefore, off the shelf components are preferable. We are also looking at the strong probability of urban warfare, and we suggest a vehicle mix more along the lines of squad vehicles like Jeeps, Kubelwagens, or Strykers with a few main battle tanks such as the Abrams or Leopard II. In addition, a lighter 'technical' or 'gun truck' style vehicle mounting something like a heavy machine gun would be useful for checkpoints, patrols and light anti-air against anti-gravity powered air cars." He took a sip of water, then concluded, "We are aware that there is a great deal of existing knowledge of these systems and that there are national biases. As any designs will be contracted for production world - wide, it is inevitable that the technology will 'leak' into the various national technical knowledge bases. However, that's a price we need to pay, with the knowledge that a winning design would be produced in factories in the US and the UK; Germany, Japan, and Korea as well as places like Israel, Russia and Eastern Europe. Therefore, any technology that your firms regard as proprietary should not be submitted. As part of that submittal, while your firms would retain patent protection, you would also release to the Empire a license to subcontract manufacturing. This will allow us to implement larger economies of scale, as well as apply any upgrades to hardware or software."

He opened a file folder. "Now, if you would please open your first folder, we will start with the basics, infantry uniforms and equipment, including soft-skinned vacuum gear, personal armor and weapons. We will then move to general support requirements for a military camp, such as air, power, messing, water and sanitation. We require both on-planet and in-vacuum designs – it may be necessary for our forces to fight on, and for, an airless moon. Therefore artillery and vehicles should be designed and operable for the lunar surface. This is one reason why we are here – we have a large test range right outside."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 1, 2003: 08:09 (UTC)  
Phobos approach, _MV Adana_, passenger lounge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The forward windows of the lounge showed the ship's approach to Phobos. As people worked their way through the breakfast buffet line, the ship seemed to creep toward Stickney, a nine-kilometer crater on Phobos' northern end. The central opening into the four-kilometer wide tunnel going through the moon's twenty-seven kilometer length were floodlit, as were sections of that tunnel. That gave spot lit areas, occluded by passing ships.

Phobos was not solid like other moons, but low density and porous; somewhat like a brick made of sponge. For that reason among others, the installations inside Phobos left at least two kilometers worth of rock between them and the outside surface. Many of those internal spaces were large, and in zero gee, and housed supply and maintenance depots, shipyard repair and maintenance slips, housing, bars, fast food joints and everything else a small city with a nearby military base required.

"We're not staying, just loading some cargo for the fleet, and some fresh Martian veggies," Connie said. The domed farms of Mars took advantage of the higher partial pressure of CO2, and produced enough vegetables, eggs, chicken, fish and other produce to export. Phobos was also a supply point for ships like the _Adana_ and the various stations; the lower delta-v making trips to and from GEO much less expensive than shipping them up from Earth (2.9 vs. 13.8 m/s2). While anti-gravity helped, Newton's laws still had to be followed. The primary foodstuffs exported from Earth were fruit (because the Martian trees were not mature yet), wines and coffee (same reason); cow's milk and beef.

"I understood we could leave the ship for a while," Jia asked as she fixed her tea.

"We can, I've heard of the Spiral Mall here," Connie replied, moving toward the drink section of the buffet in her turn. "I hope we can convince our favorite Tsaritsa to leave the politicians behind and exercise her credit card in your favor, girl. You need to shop."

"I'm glad to hear I'm your favorite, Connie," Mattie said, taking an appreciative sip of her coffee. "How many other contenders are there?"

"Ah, I coulda been a _contendah_..." Connie replied in a thick Noo Joisey accent. She switched back to her normal Manhattan accent. "Seriously, girl, you need retail therapy, and our friend Jia needs a wardrobe expansion. She can't keep borrowing clothes, not that I mind, and what she has is so … British. She needs …"

"So … British? How is that a bad way, Ms. Koslowski?" Lady Sarah asked as they sat down to eat.

"It ain't Noo Yawk is what it is," Connie replied, switching to a Brooklyn accent. "Noo Yawk is da fashion capital o' th' Empire is what it is. 'Dis girl here needs some style ta offset tha Mao suits she gots ta wear." She tisked, "Poor t'ing. She needs some'ting light 'n' airy ta go with her petite frame."

"I will agree with that," Lady Sarah commented. "This could be considered a … inspection tour. I have also heard of this Spiral Mall." She leaned forward toward Jia, "If you are to be a normal teenage girl, you must develop this shopping instinct."

"I think I can assist my daughter, thank you very much," Wai said. She regarded the three teenagers, "Unfortunately, I do not have a credit card to loan her. Miss Wayne, if I can impose on you, I will write you a check later."

"Certainly," Mattie replied. "We can stop by the Gringotts Bank branch to set up her accounts before we hit the Mall, if that's all right."

"That sounds like a plan," Connie replied. "Now, Jia, the Spiral Mall is in this one space that's shaped like, duh, a spiral. Each shop is a cone shape along the spiral, and while there are big department stores for anchor stores, there are a lot of smaller shops as well."

"Bennett's is one of those anchor stores," Lady Sarah commented. "The world's oldest department store chain and proudly British."

"Yeah, but it ain't Macy's," Connie said. She turned as a ship's officer stood before the bow windows, tapping on a glass with a knife. "Your attention please," the young, bubbly blonde-haired woman said. "I am Ann Richards, Purser. There are a few things we need to go over before we dock, and I hope we have better cooperation than we had yesterday for lifeboat drill." She smiled, seeming to vibrate with excitement as she wagged a finger, "Yesterday, we had a few Nervous Nellies that didn't show up for the initial lifeboat drill call, which is required by the Solar Guard. Shame, shame, shame! Now the Phobos Customs Service insists on our passing on this information, and I promise it won't be dull!"

"Someone get a tranquilizer gun," Connie commented. Ms. Richards heard her and frowned. "I hear an unhappy remark, so we have a volunteer! Come on up!"

"G'wan, Connie," Mattie said, slapping her back. Connie grumbled, but pushed her chair back and went up next to Ms. Richards. She stood next to the white uniformed officer, and leaned over to whisper something to her. Ms. Richards nodded, and then spoke up. "We have Ms. Koslowski who has generously volunteered. Now, on leaving the ship, there is a token that you'll need to wear to allow your return access." She held up a red plastic band, "There is a chip in here that will allow access to the passenger docks, and to our dock, Number 805. This is placed on your bare wrist, like so …" and she quickly wrapped it around Connie's right wrist. "As Phobos is also a military base, access to certain areas is just a wee tiny bit stricter than it would be otherwise. We also have a small Bluetooth transceiver (she held it up) to fit in your Datapadds and Wrist Comps." She clipped it in Connie's. "Please don't remove it until you've returned to the ship." She smiled brightly, "Let's all give Ms. Koslowski a big hand for being so brave to volunteer!" There was a spattering of applause, and Connie slunk back to her seat.

"Now then, transport in Phobos – we have available for you the tourist guide to Phobos (she held up a glossy magazine) which has details on all the shops and exciting events available. Unfortunately, the _Adana_ will depart at 15:00, which only leaves a few hours to shop. The guide has Personal Transit stop numbers, although I did hear discussion about the Spiral Mall. That is stop 31081924, not too far from our dock. You will need to be back at the dock by 14:30, as the Captain will not wait for you. Then you'd have to float home!" Ms. Richards smiled. "Now, who hasn't used a Transit car before?" Several hands went up, "Oh, it's _easy_! Just like on Luna, there are two separate platforms, Arrival and Departure. You would normally pay a fare, but that's covered as part of your passenger ticket – that's one reason for the red plastic band." (She waved one.) "Residents have their ID badges coded to debit their accounts. Anyway, you will simply push through the turnstiles on Departure, which will beep and flash a green light. If it doesn't, try again – it is a very reliable system. You key for a Transit car, which _are_ pressure – tight, but are _not_ spacecraft. You key in the destination and push a button for the number of people going there. The car arrives, you board, and you're off!" She smiled, "You arrive at the Arrival platform and go about your business. When you are finished shopping, you will go to the Departure platform to catch a Transit car back to the West passenger docks, 31102700. Jot that number down – 3110, then 2700. The main platform is in the usual third gravity, but the passage between there and our slip, Dock 805, is in zero gee, so you will grab a rope to 800, then another to 805. See? Easy! Any questions? Then if you'd please pass these guides down the table …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 1, 2003: 12:55 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Ohio, Columbus, Imperial Recruiting Station:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"… so this idiot tells me to wait, he will get around to collaring and disciplining me as soon as he's spaced this one slave," Elena said.

"He never saw the others in the lock gallery?" Sgt. 'Zee' Zastra asked. "What an idiot."

"If he did, he never let on," Elena continued. She drew on the thin cigar, aware of the civilian listening in, and then let the smoke out. "There's my heavy weapons detail, my own wing, this is her first mission, and she's a bred slave. Silver nerves herself up, then tells the ass, 'Surrender or die.' He ignores her, so she repeats herself. He then turns and says, "I will discipline you later, slave." Well, that's not surrendering in my book, or hers, so she tries to shoot him and the rounds bounce off the light armor he's wearing."

"He's wearing body armor on board ship, with only a bunch of naked slave girls?"

"_Bound_ naked slaves, like they'd be a threat to him. The ricochets are more of a hazard to the girls, so they drop on Silver's command, and she takes her sword and opens him up, then starts to gag. We get her helmet off, and she pukes on the deck."

"First one," Sgt. 'Zee' agreed. "Happened to me in Pusan. North Korean took a burst through his head; I puked over my machine gun."

"Excuse me, but you're too young to have been in Korea, and you're a girl," the civilian said. "I call BS."

"Son, every damn one of us has seen combat. Patternich there was on the Seelow Heights for three days facing down two and a half million Russian soldiers…"

"Soviet, not Russian," Patternich corrected. "One hundred ten thousand of das _Heer_ und das _Volksturm_ against three Soviet fronts. We held them for three days; after that, we fought like rats in the sewers and the U-_bahn_, making the bastards pay for every millimeter. Hand to hand, knives in our fists, we fought." She stood upright, "Ja, I am a girl now. Before, I was an old man with a bad leg and my right arm did not work. I was fed watery gruel in the old _volks_ home. A recruiter came by and said that I could be put right, I would have a new healthy body, but it would be a girl's body. The chance to be young, to live again, to fight for not only _mein volk_ but my planet?" She drew on her own small cigar, "_Mein herr_, I asked where do I sign."

"It's a new war, son," Sgt. 'Zee' said. "I was in the Marines, I missed out on the last bit of fighting in the Second War, but I was part of the Occupation forces in Japan. North Korea invaded, and we were shipped over to try to stop them. We got pushed back to the Pusan Perimeter, and we held. By f***ing God, we held." Elena pulled a cigar out, and Zee held out an old Zippo lighter. On the front were the Eagle, Globe and Anchor of the USMC.

"But … a girl?"

"Wearing a skirt doesn't mean I've lost my marbles, son," 'Zee' replied, handing the fresh cigar over. "I'm still a combat vet; it only means now I sit down to pee. Small price to pay to be fully functional again. I'm not going to BS you, this is going to be a long war, and scuttlebutt has conscription coming eventually. We have to, we're outnumbered."

"I'm not a recruiter, I'm a DI," Elena said. "I get you after they do. I can tell you that we would love to be able to have every single slave girl go into the Army, but most of them are so conditioned, they have so little self – confidence that they are afraid to pick up a kitchen knife because it might be misinterpreted. We are using those that volunteer in the yards, and below decks, where they don't have to handle weapons. Where we're putting the Terrans is in those combat formations, because most of them don't have a problem picking up a rifle and defending themselves."

"But … I don't know how …"

"My job to make you over into a soldier, a professional warrior," Elena said. "I'll teach you how to handle that rifle and the knives, and short sword. We make it simple. There are threats, and there are non-threats. You make the first into the second. If the enemy surrenders, good. You search him, bind him and move on. If he lacks the common sense to surrender in the face of an armed enemy, well, that's his problem. You kill him and move on."

"Kill?"

"We're not going to talk him into surrendering, son," 'Zee' put in. "He's got one chance. He turns it down, he pays the price. It is not murder; he is an enemy combatant in a war zone. Absolutely no difference than any other war in history."

Sgt. Patternich added, "This will be a nasty, ugly, brutal war. Look at the Paris Atrocity. Eight million killed in a few minutes."

"I helped to take the _Cannae_," Elena said, tapping one of the six small stars on the left breast of her uniform. "On approach, we could see the ship tilted to port as she was firing. We boarded through the starboard airlock; we could feel the deck vibrating with the ship's firing. We went forward to the bridge while others went aft and port." She gestured, "You've never had a cigar?"

"Err, no. Cigarettes, but no cigars."

Sgt. 'Zee' grunted. "This is a Cuban, son. Known for being smooth and mild."

"Isn't this illegal?"

"Do we look like the FBI?" 'Zee' replied.

"I picked these up outside Camp Katherine a few days ago. That's where you'll be doing Basic," Elena said. "It's about a hundred twenty miles or so south of Darwin, which is that scoop out of Australia's northern coast. That is our new training camp, six hundred fifty square kilometers, with an option on another two fifty. It's the largest military base on the planet."

"Um … how big is that in square miles?"

"It's about the same size as the city of Toronto. It has to be that big; we have ranges for heavy artillery. Those have a range of up to seventy kilometers."

"Ach," Patternich said.

"On the ground, we're looking at close in, urban fighting. We have to take the war to the enemy, which means taking his cities."

Sergeant 'Zee' asked, "Son, you got any relatives that would give you grief at home? Wife, kids?"

"No just me and a furnished apartment I can't afford. I am job hunting, and not having much luck. I got out of OSU with my degree, and …" he shrugged. He looked at the three of them, "What's involved in my joining up?"

"First, I have to say you've got three days to change your mind. After that, it is a contract, son. You get choices of where and when, which by the contract we have to fill to the best of our ability. Needs of the Army come first, though." Sgt. 'Zee' took a drag on her cigar, "We get paperwork going and while I'm tracking things down, you get measured. Laser field, all you do is go into a cubicle, strip down, put on some safety goggles, and dance for a few minutes. We get the full range of motion that way. You dress and come out, we finish off the paperwork and you go home to pack."

"What do I bring?"

"I've got a list inside, but it's a day or two's clothing, because you might spend a day or two in a motel. From there, you go through a med tank. That fixes things like cholesterol, diabetes, eyesight, does your various implants, and gives you a base level of fitness. At that point, it is just computer settings to change you over to a girl and get you a bonus. We can pay off college and anything like credit cards. Part of the contract."

Elena added, "While you're in the tank, it sends your updated measurements to Supply, which pulls together your uniforms and other gear. Your civvie gear is shipped home, and you wake up in recovery, and then go to Induction. Everything is NATO – standard and as automated as possible, but there are still the occasional snafus." She held out a booted foot, "My boot size is 237/132/103. That's the size in millimeters, length, arch, and width. That is part of the measurements, and Induction is where errors are fixed. Make certain you mention any unusual sizes on your paperwork. We are trying to automate and standardize things as much as possible, but we're not making any Barbie clones." She drew on her cigar, "If you decide to go as a girl, don't be a fool and get huge tits. They're heavy and you'll have back problems. By the way, the barracks are new – build, so you might be going through a GI party to get them shipshape. Sweeping, dusting, scraping paint off glass, that kind of thing. Something we've all done. Training companies are co-ed, though you'll be too damned tired for any grab-ass." She grinned, "I guarantee that."

"And then?"

"The tank only gives you a base level of fitness," Elena continued. "It removes the spare tire, but doesn't qualify you for the Olympics. We build up to warrior fitness, you will be doing regular PT, runs, sparring, that kind of thing, along with bookwork. Rules and regulations, uniform care and fitness, practice with the rifle, pistol, and short sword, that type of thing."

"I've been meaning to ask, what's with the sword?"

"Originally used as a backup weapon, but we found the Republican body armor is tougher than our armor-piercing ammo. However, the sword goes right through it, and we're barbarians, after all." She grinned evilly, "Psychological operations. You march prisoners past a decapitated body, someone they knew, and it makes them ready to talk. It's why I think we ought to take scalps to hang on our shields, but that's just me."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 1, 2003: 22:57 (UTC)  
Hour 449.57/708.00  
Luna, Copernicus, Holiday Inn:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

'Sam' Malone kicked off her heels as she closed and locked the door to her room. She groaned once in relief, then tossed her bag on her bed, leaned down to scoop up her discarded footwear, and put them in her 'shoe' travel bag. Taking off her suit jacket, she hung that up, as well as her skirt. She booted her company laptop while mixing herself a drink.

"Ah, this is what I need," she said as she pulled the drapes aside to look out at the crater. There was some activity, but most was safely below ground. She shivered, lunar hotel rooms were generally kept at a cool 20° Celsius (68°F), and her silk blouse wasn't that warm. She moved a chair to sit, putting her pantyhose – clad feet on the bed, and picked up the room's cordless phone. Doing some time calculations, she called her boss. "Hey, Sam, it's Sam," she joked when he picked up.

"Sam who?" he continued the joke after a second.

"Your replacement," she finished the joke. "I'll send you a zip file of the Imperial specifications once my dinosaur of a laptop finishes booting, but I need a quick and dirty answer to questions."

"Okay, shoot."

"First, how much of this business do we want? Our core competency is aircraft, but there are also specifications for uniforms, weapons like vacuum-proofed artillery, tanks and armored fighting vehicles, yada, yada … "

"My initial impulse is to say 'all of it', but that would mean the company buying other companies," he said after a minute. "That's properly a decision of senior management. I'd say grab all the information you can while I kick this up the ladder. Next question?"

"Working coalitions with other companies?"

"Again a formal decision by senior management and the legal department. Sound some people out, see if there's interest. Why?"

"I saw Heinz Metternich from Volkswagen talking to clothing people from Taiwan, and heard they'd licensed Terran production of GalTech skinsuits. I may be jumping at shadows, but it's a possibility."

"And Volkswagen seem to be doing all right with their landing craft production. Not their core competency, either."

"Unless you stretch 'vehicles' to include those landing craft," she mentioned. "They at least got them into limited production in a hurry. Better than Detroit is doing, anyway."

"True," he agreed. "What else?"

"When you send this up the ladder, make sure to mention the license terms the Empire is asking: no proprietary tech, and a license to outsource production. That means we may be sending copies of our tech to places like Moscow," she warned. "We're looking at developing an export market to other planets, so there will be some vendor lock-in, but make sure the suits know both sides of the coin."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, April 3, 2003: 17:17 (UTC)  
Terran system, Titan orbit, _ITNS Albion_:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Ensign Zhao cleared her throat and announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Vice Admiral Mackenzie Herschel." The tall woman in the white uniform stepped through the hatch, smiled, and started making the rounds of the room.

* * *

"I have the definite feeling you would much rather be somewhere else," Mattie said softly to the Admiral.

"Are you reading my mind, milady?" the tall Admiral asked quietly.

"No, but Ms. Koslowski and I will need a few minutes alone with you later," the Tsaritsa replied. "For now, let's mingle."

* * *

"This is Flag Deck," Admiral Herschel said as the younger women stepped through the armored hatch. They paused to look around, Ms. Koslowski moving to look at the large holo tank that held Flag Plot. Carefully holding her hands behind her, she smiled, "I want to make sure I don't touch anything."

"Very wise," Mackenzie replied, then gestured, "Flag Briefing room."

* * *

"You want me to _what_?"

Connie winced. This was not going well. "We are suggesting that for purposes of driving recruitment, it might be necessary for you to take a fall. To allow …"

"I am familiar with the term," Admiral Herschel said coldly. "Is this an order?"

"It is a _possibility_," the Tsaritsa replied. "I am no happier than you are, Admiral. However, there are several problems that this would help to alleviate. In order to form the proper public mindset, that of an urgent, worldwide crisis, which will help drive recruitment for the Army and Navy, drive Freedom Bond sales for shipbuilding as well as emergency taxes. The threat has to be both immediate and personal. Unfortunately, the marketing campaign is forecast to take as much as eighteen months and to require continuous reinforcing through various advertising media. The Paris Atrocity has become old news, we need a fresh, immediate threat the man-in-the-street can relate to. We need the Republican threat on the six-o'clock news and discussed around the company water cooler."

"Blowing the Republican fleet into dust bunnies in Neptune's orbit will generate a '_Whew! Glad that's over with_,' reaction on the common citizen's part, who will then turn to the comics," Connie said. "Yes, it's dishonest and cynical. To be honest, I don't like it either, but in order to provide for the defense of this system and our other systems, we not only have to have a much larger Army and Navy, we have to carry the fight to the enemy. We then have to help the under classes and the slaves start, fight and win a guerrilla war on each of the Republic's planets; we also have to engineer system blockades and coups to overthrow the existing power structure on those planets." She took a swallow of her ice water; "We can't do that if the Page Three girls are uppermost in the common bloke's mind."

"We are not asking you to sacrifice your honor, or your fleet's honor on the altar of political expediency," the Tsaritsa said. "However, should it come to the point of a suicide charge or a final stand, we expect you to remember that he who lives, lives to fight another day, and let the planetary based defenses have a shot at them."

"Which they're ready and waiting for," Connie added. Admiral Herschel was still unhappy, but said, "Have the enemy force appreciations changed?"

"They've gotten in a few more ships, and about another twenty thousand troops," Connie replied. "We don't know what they're waiting for, unless it's some big shot to arrive."

"Well, that does give us more time to prepare," Admiral Herschel admitted. "What's the latest with my small craft?"

"We have production starting at various plants all over the world, but all of them are having various teething problems like Detroit," Connie replied. "The biggest problem is that auto plants are not really oriented toward pressure - tight designs, so we have to re-examine sealing and so forth. While the production expansion really helps the local jobs situation, we're forecasting the middle of June for full production. What we can get now goes to you."

"Good," and the Admiral sighed. "I was thinking earlier that we didn't have that nice, long interwar period between World War One and Two to sort these things out. We've all had a bit of a scramble."

"True," the Tsaritsa agreed. "I would have had time to get my own life in order, do proper planning for my future instead of being on a constant emergency footing." She sighed in turn, and then asked, "What else can we do for you, Admiral?"

"Training is as well as can be expected, as long as the actual hardware matches the computer programs. That is one of my Operations officer's greater worries. Logistics are not as pressing, although the handling of antimatter warheads for my missiles gives me the occasional worry as well. I am especially concerned with the acceleration and staging of those missiles. Having a warhead go off or a powder fire in the magazines has sunk ships before."

"All we can do is have multiple force fields and blow - out panels, like they do for artillery and tank shells," the Tsaritsa replied. "The alternative would be some form of nuclear weapon, and we have enough political problems on Luna with nuclear fuel reprocessing for power generation."

"How so, it seems fairly straightforward," the Admiral asked.

"Technically, no, it's not a problem; due to the growth we've had, we're building another breeder reactor for the purpose. The difficulty is various pressure groups and politicians are absolutist 'no nukes' types who think we can use solar power and batteries for everything. They don't seem to have a problem with coal – fired power plants, though. There are also environmentalists who are worried about the lunar environment, and those who don't want the Empire specifically to have anything to do with nukes, as they think we might attack _them_." She sighed, "Basic math and physics seem to be something they can't understand."

"They're politicians," Connie said. "Math and physics would threaten their power base."

"Which is why I for one am glad they are your problem," Admiral Herschel replied.

Connie grunted, "I'm hearing comments from certain Assembly members about how you 'allowed' (she finger – quoted) the enemy to gain orbit, and if you're going to do the same this time. Those are mostly people from the Mediterranean region; we have been in quiet talks with those people, and you have our support. I think it's just something to keep their names in the paper."

The Tsaritsa nodded. "Remember, being an unelected leader, they can point at me for blame. That is my problem, not yours, unless they try to call you to testify before some committee. That is why we wanted you to meet some of them. This gives them a chance for a bit of free travel, an 'inspection tour' of the outer system, to see with their own eyes other planets. This also allows us to pack the various committees with people that are sympathetic to us. Therefore, as long as it doesn't go pear shaped too obviously, you should be safe."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, April 4, 2003: 07:55 (relative)  
Aeeloh, Glavni Grad, Palace briefing room:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"The status of my fleet? My troops?" the King demanded in rage. "Are you finally ready to crush the upstart barbarians, or do we need to delay _again_ due to your incompetence?"

"My King, we are prepared, four fifths of the personnel and the fleet are at Melotte. We await only the activation of the final reserves and the completion of the BattleStar _Ba'an the Bold_."

"You informed me he was complete!" the King thundered at the Admiral. "You lied to me!" He spun to a guard, "Take him to the torturer; see what else he has lied about!"

"No, my King, I …" the elderly Admiral wheezed as he was dragged from the room. The King watched this, a thin smile on his face, then said, "The true status of my BattleStar?"

The Army General said carefully. "I am informed that the ship is physically complete, but untested. He also requires the final touches, such as bed – fittings, dining utensils, food and such."

"Good. You will personally see to that, as my Navy is incompetent. You will command the ship and the fleet from _Ba'an the Bold_. I expect to see the last fifth complete within a day, you will depart for Melotte then. I have not yet decided if I shall accompany the fleet, you shall wait upon my decision." The King spun, stalking out, his elaborate hairdo trailing behind. Outside the chamber, his personal slaves hurried to catch up to him. The General sighed, then turned to shout at his subordinates, "You heard! Send the orders out!"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, April 4, 2003: 08:48 (UTC)  
Terra, London, IR&S building:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Something on your mind?" Ginny asked as she refilled her tea. Susan Bones started, then sighed, "I just think there should be another way to fight this war, that we could be … I don't know …"

"Charging across the field of battle, wands blazing?" Ginny asked with a small smile. "Susan, we're both pure-blood witches. _I_ don't know of any spell good past twenty meters, do you?" Susan shook her head, blowing on her tea mug. Ginny continued, "Well, this is a muggle war, and has to be fought with muggle weapons that can go thousands or millions of kilometers. A wand just doesn't seem to compare."

"It's just … I feel so … useless …"

"I know, but we're doing a vital, important job. Getting good, accurate intelligence on the enemy is always important. It allows our analysis blokes to figure out the enemy's strengths and weaknesses, so we can fight smart." She took a sip of tea, "You know Nymphy Tonks, the Auror Remus is engaged to?" Susan nodded, "She's clumsy as a drunken elephant. She got through Auror training by using her strengths as a metamorphamagus to disguise herself. I wouldn't ask her to dance ballet, but to track someone in a dark alleyway? No better choice." Ginny took another sip of tea, "Besides, we'll be expanding, we'll have different regional offices and this is good training for that. How are your crews?"

"Sent off."

"Good. Why don't you spend some time with the analysis blokes, helping them to figure out the puzzles that come in?"

"You're as devious as a Slytherin," Susan replied with a small smile.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Alastair the Sorting Hat wanted to put me there," Ginny replied.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, April 4, 2003: 10:04 (UTC +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Elena came to attention, "Sergeant Elena Morton, reporting back from leave, ma'am!"

Lieutenant Fujiyama returned her salute, "Welcome back, Sergeant. Have fun?"

"Yes, ma'am, I even brought some presents. They're reporting in for Basic on Sunday."

"Excellent. Go down the hall and see First Sergeant Clark. He's got your training platoon and various bits of paperwork and other things for you. Dismissed, Sergeant."

"Ah, Morton. I have a present for you," and Sgt. Clark gestured to a small pile under a cloth. "That was transferred down from the _Algiers_ for you." He smiled as Elena pulled the cloth off. "Draco! What are you doing here?"

"He apparently got into places he shouldn't aboard ship, and you know the old saying about cats and curiosity," John Clark said with a grin. "_You_ get to inform him about wild dingoes in the Outback and other hazards. You've got Company 'D' along with Sergeants Chung and Wang, your E5's." He passed over a box of file folders and other paperwork and several dataplaqs, along with a set of keys. "There's a white ute, number 831 parked outside that's assigned to Company D. You've been studying the base map?" Elena nodded, "Good. It wouldn't look right for the three of you to be lost in front of the company. Go on over to Barracks D and meet with them, see what needs to be done. You're dismissed." As Elena activated the small antigrav lift and opened the door, Sgt. Clark waved, "McCain! Come on in! You have Company E, you just missed Galenko ..."

The 'ute' (utility) resembled a long bed pickup truck with an open top, windshield and a roll bar behind the front (and only) seats. In the bed were fittings for seats, cargo tie-downs, and weapon mounts, for grenade launchers and machine guns, although none of these were currently mounted. It had some body work done, but was still well used equipment from the Australian Army, as shown by the odometer, with more than half a million kilometers on it. Still, it was better than having to _walk_ several klicks to the barracks. Elena studied the latch, then folded down the windshield and put Draco's cat carrier on it. She opened the pressure hatch on it, then said, "You went where you shouldn't on the ship? Do that down here, and you'll be eaten, Draco. I want your word that you'll stay with me, or with Sergeants Chung and Wang, or in the barracks building. I want to keep you safe, Draco; otherwise Mrs. Norris won't see you again. Do I have your promise?"

Draco sulked, then gave a sullen yawl. Elena grinned, "I'll take that as a 'yes'. Come out of there and ride up front with me." She released the inner grill, then put the carrier in the bed as Draco came out, sitting on the passenger seat. She pulled a net over the cargo in the back, then started the engine.

* * *

"Here we are, Draco, our new home: Barracks D." Elena said as she pulled into the marked space under a white canopy. "Let's see who's home." The barracks buildings were laid out in a series of 'U' shaped spaces, three of which each fronted a small, common drill field; so Barracks A, B, and C, shared a field, while D, E, F shared another, G, H and J a third, and so forth. There was no Company I or O, to avoid confusion with the numbers '1' and '0'. All of the eight smaller spaces fronted on a single, much larger space that would allow all twenty four companies to parade together.

The barracks building itself was a classic design in white-painted concrete block, with two floors and a green metal roof. Most of the ground floor was an open bay, with bunks and steel wardrobes against the walls. The door she had entered was to the right side, with an open space in front of the company office, to the left of stairs to the upper floor, with a watch desk, phone and computer terminal in front. On the opposite side of the bay were the latrines and showers. She dropped Draco to the floor, where he immediately started to explore, and she called out, "Hello? Anyone here? I'm Sergeant Morton."

There were feet on the stairs, "Come in, Sarge!" a young woman wearing fatigues said. "I'm Brenda Wang, one of your E5's. You just got in?"

"Yeah, Elena Morton, from Columbus. Where's Sergeant Chung?"

"Ohio or Georgia?" she asked with a grin. "Kwang hitched a ride over to the BX, he forgot to pack something. He's from Taiwan, I'm from 'Frisco. Glad to see another Yank." She pulled out the watch desk chair for Elena, taking the other.

Elena grinned. "Ohio, and exploring is our new company cat, Draco. I've given him the rules, he's supposed to stay with one of us, or in the barracks building." She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, "Draco, come meet Sergeant Wang." A head poked out from under a bunk, and he regarded the two young women. Brenda whistled, patting her leg, and he trotted over, standing to inspect her, then jumped into her lap. He rolled over as she started to rub his belly, Brenda said, "I'm originally California National Guard, I took a promo and the tank to get rid of some lung cancer, and might as well take a bonus and change to a girl while I'm at it. You had a chance to look over our people?"

"Not yet, I've got a bunch of stuff in the company ute out front," as Brenda ruffled Draco's chest, who batted at her hand with his paws. "How's the barracks look?"

"Pretty good, actually, although we'll need to have a GI party for make-work. We've got individual quarters upstairs, along with a nice big training room. Down you go, Draco," and she dumped him on the floor. "Let's get the stuff in, then we can get lunch and go over my notes about our people."

* * *

"May I join you?" Elena looked up from her salad to see a very large young man whose name tape read 'Chung, K'. She gestured at an open space, "You must be Kwang. I'm Elena Morton."

"Glad to meet you," he replied, shaking hands. He had a rolled-up plastic bag sticking out of his pocket, and shifted it to the table. "I forgot toothpaste when I left home," he admitted. "Not my usual brand, but we could all make that statement."

"Very true," Brenda said. "We're just going over my notes on our people. We also have a new company cat, named Draco."

"He's a part-wizarding cat, my brother and sister go to Hogwarts, in Scotland," Elena put in. "He's supposed to be very good at finding dishonest people, so I hope he'll help us find our troublemakers."

"Who I'm sure will not like him," Kwang put in. "I'm also allergic to certain breeds of cat. I might need to visit the infirmary for that." He started on his salad, then said, "The doc wants me to lower my cholesterol."

"I was a four pack a day smoker," Brenda admitted. "I think I'm going to be the one to look after our rejuvs, as I am one. From a fifty year old guy with a beer gut to a twenty-something girl. About a third of our people are rejuvs."

"At least you didn't get humongous tits, like a G cup," Elena said.

"My sister got implants to get up to an E, she's an 'exotic dancer' (he finger-quoted with one hand) in Tokyo," Kwang said after swallowing a bite of salad. "She complains about backaches all the time. Ever get the feeling things are changing too fast? A couple of years ago …" he shook his head. "Where do I know the name Hogwarts from?"

"Wizarding school in Scotland," Elena replied. "Big old castle on a loch. The gene didn't catch me, but it did a couple of my brothers and sisters. I stopped by to visit them, and got Draco from the Headmistress."

"Wasn't it," Kwang said. "Something else … something about the Empress …" he pulled out his DataPadd and started a quick search.

"Let me save you the effort, she's my sister-in-law," Elena said. "I've been to her place, she's been to my house. Don't let that get around, please."

"And you have 'Political Influence' stamped all over your file in big, red letters," Brenda said with a smile. "How is she, really?"

"On stage? Larger than life. Otherwise, she's just like you and I, she's a jock, a runner, and brought tools to school, which she used to fix the plumbing in the girl's gym with them. Oh, the stories I could tell … but I won't. Sorry." Elena smiled, then took a drink.

"So much for our getting a pay raise," Kwang said with a deep sigh. "Back to work. O'Reilly and McKinnon look to be our troublemakers, they were both ordered into the Army by a judge."

"Dunno," Brenda said. "McKinnon's a rejuv, and the conviction was for a third driving under the influence. Going through that rejuv can take the wind out of your sails, and it looks like she'll be sober now. I'll keep an eye on her, I'm more concerned with O'Reilly."

"Who is a drunken Irishman who likes to get into fights," Kwang said. "I've got five that says we'll need to bail him out after his first leave."

Brenda Wang said, "I'll put five on McKinnon as well. Once she gets into a bar, I don't know if she can resist."

"I'll be positive, and cover those two, and put five each on two persons to be named later," Elena said, tapping her glass to the others. On her own DataPadd, she scrolled to the list, "Abromski? What about him?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, April 5, 2003: 10:42 (relative)  
Aeeloh orbit, _Ba'an the Bold_, flag bridge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Is this ship finally ready?" the General demanded.

"I would prefer …" the Chief Engineer started to say. "Will it move and fight?" he was interrupted.

"Yes, milord, but …"

"Good enough," the General said. "You may complete repairs on the journey. Dismissed!" he told the hesitant man. "Contact the Palace. We await the Royal Pleasure in boarding."

"Yes, my master," the slave at the communications station replied. She waited, then said, "My master, the King," and switched the front viewscreen on.

"My King, _Ba'an the Bold_ awaits the pleasure of your boarding," the General stated. "He is ready to move and fight at your command."

"Good. You will wait; I have other matters at the moment." The King disconnected, and the General sighed, "Very well, we shall wait."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, April 6, 2003: 20:58 (UTC +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Anyone know what this is about?" Sgt. Chung asked as he and Brenda clustered behind a seated Elena in the company office.

"You know what I know," Elena replied. "Shh ... here we go." On the computer's screen, General Shimisa appeared, walking to a podium. "Good evening. There is a problem regarding your incoming trainees and the med tanks. Apparently a global over-ride was emplaced, reformatting all those persons within the tanks to a uniform female body, regardless of input programming. That body is extremely fit and healthy, but has a height of 175 centimeters, a weight of 60 kilos, and a bust of 91 E, 46 waist, and hips of 84 centimeters. Facial features are feminine but otherwise unchanged, as is skin colour. Hair is straight black, and is somewhat below shoulder length. The decision was made to keep these trainees unconscious while supply reworks the uniforms to match the new specifications." He took a sip of water, "While the investigation continues into the cause of this problem, the question arises of putting the trainees back through the med tanks. The Japanese manufacturer has been contacted and will be sending a team of engineers. Until the equipment can be re-certified, no one will be using the tanks. Our four Gal-Tech tanks are reserved for emergency use only. The training schedule is being reworked; when the trainees are delivered to your companies, allow them to wake up normally." He took another sip of water, "As roughly one third of the trainees are rejuvs, forty percent are female at birth, and the others are male at birth, we plan to have an orientation for those to their new bodies. Have a frank and open discussion, and enlist the assistance of those who were born female in assisting the other trainees. When we know more about the situation, we shall inform you. Good evening," and he tapped his papers together and left the podium.

"Well, this should be interesting," Kwang said. "We've got a regiment of Barbie dolls."

"We have a company of a hundred twenty five of them," Elena replied. "The general didn't say, but I hope they've got normal feet. The dolls I had as a kid had pointed feet. Can you imagine roadwork in heels?"

"Gawd, I hope not," Brenda said. "I think we're going to have to watch out for suicide attempts from the former guys, worst case assuming that they can't be switched back."

"True," Kwang said. "I'm also going to be the only guy in a company of women. That should prove interesting." There was a 'ping' and the email icon started to flash. Elena leaned forward, clicking on it, and a message popped up. "Okay, the delivery schedule. We're supposed to receive them and just lay them out on their assigned bunks. Once they can walk, I think a GI party to clean the barracks will help take their minds off the problem." There was another 'ping', and another email was opened. "Company C invites us all to their barracks to discuss this problem at 21:30."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, April 7, 2003: 04:04 (UTC +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Heather groaned, putting her arm over her forehead. "Where am I?" she asked.

"Barracks D of the Imperial Army's basic training," a young woman's voice replied. "Can you sit up?"

"Think so…" Heather replied, as she sat up, left arm bracing her, and looked around. She was in a white, well lit room with open rectangular windows near the ceiling. Ceiling fans spun down the length of the room, to her left was a partition, behind which she heard a toilet flush. She looked down, and sucked in her breath. "Whoa …"

"I used different words, but yeah, same idea," the young woman to her right said. "Yeah, I've got tits now. I'm Sergeant Brenda Wang, one of your DI's. You feeling all right, Hause?"

"Bit dizzy, and I really need to pee."

"Need help walking?"

Heather shook her head, "Think I've got it. Thanks anyway." She put her bare feet on the cool tile, and rose to her feet, taking a few steps as Sgt. Wang moved to help another trainee.

* * *

"ATTENTION!" Elena called, and Heather watched as the company tried to come to the proper formation. "I'm Sergeant Morton, along with Sergeant Wang and Sergeant Chung; we are your Drill Instructors. I am aware that some of you did not plan to become a female, yet you are. There was a snafu with the med tanks, when I know more, I will inform you. Until then, rehashing the problem won't do any good." She strolled down the length of the company bay. "I want those of you who were born female to take a step forward." Sergeant Morton watched, then continued, "If you don't feel comfortable asking myself or Sergeant Wang about a female issue, ask one of these people. Please step back. Are there any questions so far?"

Heather turned as one of the other trainees raised her hand, "Um, Sarge, what about the … um, monthly thing?"

"Ah. The period, the visit from Auntie Flo, the curse, there are other phrases. For those of you born male, the med tank gives a surface treatment, so no, you won't suffer through it, nor will you become pregnant. For those of you born female like myself, you will be spending some time in vacuum and zero gee training at Phobos, so that will turn off your own cycle." There was a small cheer, and Sgt. Morton smiled slightly. "Now then, as you may have noticed, most of you are topless, we are going to start from the toes and go over each item of clothing. Sergeant Wang?"

"Thank you, Sergeant Morton. Each Sunday you will receive a paper package of your laundry. Open your footlockers. (She opened hers in the middle of the company bay.) You will find a package of fifteen pairs of socks (she held it up), each of which has your name and a bar code printed on the sole. The name and bar-code is for the laundry's benefit; all of your clothing has it. Open the package, and toss the paper on your bunk. A trash can will come around later. Orient the socks so they alternate, the ribbed ankle is next to the foot of the next pair. (She demonstrated, as Kwang and Elena walked around.) Place the socks on the left side of the top drawer in your wardrobe, forming a column from front to back. As you receive your laundry, you will place them in the back, and draw from the front, ensuring equal wear."

Heather raised her hand, "Sarge, what about replacements?"

"Good question, Hause. You can go to a particular web page and put in a request. It is automatically CC'd to us so you're not marked off in Inspection, and you're billed for anything over normal wear and tear. Everyone got your socks sorted out? Good. Next up is your panties. Again, a paper package, these are folded lengthwise and then rolled …"

* * *

"Bloody hell," O'Reilly said as she fought with the sport bra.

Heather said. "Lean forward … here, let me help." She pulled it into place and smiled, offering her hand. "Heather Hause."

"Originally Seamus O'Reilly, now it looks like I'm Sandra," the other girl said. "I was nae supposed tae get changed, but here I am. If the boys in Dublin could see me now…" She sighed, "Thanks tae ye, lassie."

"No problem," Heather replied. "We're all in this together. I wanted the change, but not like this," and she waved at her body. "I wonder what happened?"

"We'll find out when we do," Sgt. Wang said. "We're not holding anything back, we don't have a revised training schedule yet either." She moved on, standing in the center of the bay and surveying the company, which wore white sport bras, panties, and socks. "The next step is the t-shirt and pants. Once again, fifteen white t-shirts in a paper package, extract one and place the rest in the second drawer from the top." She walked around, adding "In cooler areas, or when ordered by the CO, you'll wear clothing over the t-shirt. General Shimisa has relaxed uniform regulations for you for the next week." She looked around, "Fatigue pants. Folded in half lengthwise, then folded in thirds along the seams. Put four on the top of the drawers in your wardrobe under the uniform over-dress, and pull one pair on. The web belt goes on left-to-right, center of the buckle is along your center-line, under your belly button."

"Belly button, McKinnon," Sergeant Chung said, waving his pace stick in the appropriate area. She blushed, and O'Reilly smirked, "All these naked women must get you hard, Sarge."

"Come here, O'Reilly," he replied mildly, crooking his finger. He pointed to a spot in the middle of the company bay, "Drop and give me thirty."

"Sarge?"

"That's Sergeant Chung to you, Trainee," Elena said. "For backtalk, we're going to kick it up to forty. Now drop and start." She swatted O'Reilly's sock feet with her pace stick. "On your toes, arms parallel with your shoulders, hands flat on the deck. Push up so your arms are straight, hold it for a two-count, then all the way down. I want to see dirt on your cute little freckled nose, O'Reilly. NOW!" She watched, "That's one, O'Reilly. Thirty nine to go. That's two. Thirty eight to go …"

"Arms straight, O'Reilly, as stiff as you said my wang is. Start over. One …"

"You #### $$$$$ #### &&&&& ####!"

"Is that the best you can do? Come now, O'Reilly, this is the Army. You can curse better than that," Sergeant Wang said mildly. "Sarge, we're going to have to add proper cursing to the curriculum."

"For her first attempt, though, it wasn't half bad," Elena judged. "I do have to say that my parents were married, and I was properly baptized, O'Reilly. I know people to call, should we invoke a demon to instruct them?"

"You're … bloody … joking!" O'Reilly gasped.

"Not at all, O'Reilly. When you sit Fire Watch, I'm sure you'll look me up on Google. Make sure you type Elena, not Ellen, Morton. I spent the holidays with my sister-in-law, Empress Martha at her home in Gotham. It was shortly after the attack on my brother Arthur in New York." She rocked back and forth on her boot heels. "When I was in Gotham, I sat in on a few poker games. Don't play with our Empress, you'll be lucky to lose your shirt. She plays cards with angels, demons, and the undead." She rocked a bit more, "Still, if Sergeant Chung agrees, we can take a few off."

"If the trainees learn proper cursing, I'll agree to move it back to the original thirty," he said reluctantly. "That leaves you fifteen to go, O'Reilly. The rest of you, back to work. O'Reilly will make us late for breakfast."

"Combat boots," Sergeant Wang called. "Blouse the bottom of your pants into the top, speed lace them and then wrap the ends around the top before tying them off. Tightly, now. That will prevent insects and scorpions from crawling in at night…"

* * *

Elena looked up from the computer in the company office when someone cleared their throat. "Jenkins and … Newhart, isn't it?" The two trainees nodded, and she smiled, "The proper way to introduce yourself is to tickle the pine, then announce yourself: 'Trainee so-and-so to see you.'"

"Er, 'tickle the pine,' ma'am?"

"First, it means knock on the door, or door frame, secondly, I'm no ma'am. That's an officer, and I work for a living," she corrected. She sat back, "What can I do for you?"

"Um, Sarge, we're missing some things."

Elena smiled, "I've been expecting this. You're missing your wands? Both of you went to Salem in Boston; my brothers and sisters are at Hogwarts, and our company cat, Draco, wherever he is, is part kneazle." She shook her head, "Your wands are in the company safe, you'll get them back when you graduate. Several reasons for that; first, it's the General's order. Second, this is a muggle army and a muggle war, being fought with muggle weapons. Third, you'll be off planet and your magic won't work outside a natural gravity field. Fourth, witches and wizards are supposed to stay covert. Fifth, it makes you lazy and irritates your company mates. Wave your wand, your bunk's made and your shoes are shined." She shook her head, "Sorry, you've got to do it the muggle way."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 8, 2003: 08:37 (UTC)  
Titan orbit, _ITNS Albion_, flag bridge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Admiral Herschel looked over at her flag lieutenant, Ensign Zhao, as she said, "Ma'am, the _MV Adana_ has cleared Titan orbit."

"Thank God," the Admiral replied softly. "Politicians are not a pleasant experience."

"I would rather have the ship's dentist work on me, ma'am."

Mackenzie chuckled, "In that we are agreed. Thanks for the laugh."

"Any time, ma'am."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 8, 2003: 09:01 (UTC)  
In transit, _MV Adana_, passenger lounge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

" … said this would be valuable," Connie told Jia as they moved through the breakfast buffet. "You got to do some shopping, your mom looks like she's got a lock on her new job, and your dad might pick up the provost job at IU."

"And I got to see Jupiter and Saturn with my own eyes," Jia agreed, taking a glass of orange juice. She gulped it down, then refilled it. "I've been looking over the properties for lease in Port Oldridge; there's some three and four bedroom ones I like."

"Four bedroom?"

"Home offices, one each for Mom and Dad," Jia explained. "Maybe five bedroom and have a guest room. There's plenty of space available."

"What about in Moonraker Bay, the high security area?"

"That's one of the places I've been looking at, others are Apollo Landings and Sputnik," Jia continued, transferring her dishes from her tray. She accepted Connie's tray, putting them on a stand. "I'm actually looking forward to moving to Luna, although I would like to do some traveling. I've never seen the US, although we studied it in school." She regarded Connie, "I understand the obscenely rich capitalist running dog imperialist overlords live in Queens?"

Connie choked on her water, "Not hardly!"

"The exploitation of the African slave workers in the sweatshops and factories is in Bronx and Harlem?" Jia asked with a straight face.

Connie didn't get the joke; "Girl, I need to show you New York City." She turned, "Mattie, can I bring this mistaken product of the communist propaganda system with me when we go to New York?"

"If her parents say it's okay," Mattie said. "We're already going with the Putin daughters, remember our trip to Moscow?"

"Mom? Dad?"

"If the security is good, and where would you stay?"

"I have a small apartment in Manhattan," Selina put in. "I would like you to visit us in Gotham City. Mattie, you're still going uptown to see Ms. Prince's class?"

"Count on it," her daughter agreed.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, April 11, 2003: 13:04 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Bronx, PS 873, Social Studies:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Settle down, please," the tall, statuesque teacher called. She quickly went through the class roll, then said "Ms. Wayne will be here next week." There was a ripple of interest and comment, which she let die down. "Accompanying her will be Ms. Koslowski, her Chief of Staff and a New Yorker herself; Jia, the daughter of her Foreign Minister and Maria and Katja, the daughters of Russian President Vladimir Putin. There will be military level security, including the Imperial Guard, the Russian FSO, the FBI and Secret Service. Those security people have no sense of humor, so if you don't want a trip to the Tombs, leave various items at home." She looked around the classroom, eyeing various people. She repeated, "Leave it at home."

Clearing her throat, she continued, "Now then. I've emailed Ms. Wayne your various plans for social systems. I must confess that I found some of them … thought provoking. I was surprised when Mr. Christopher produced what I consider a viable sports – themed social system." The young man in question preened a bit, while Ms. Prince smiled and continued. "Ms. Day had a good, solid plan regarding an export based economy, while Mr. Link's plan …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 15, 2003: 10:48 (relative)  
Melotte, Abor, commercial area:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Mr. Smith, I presume?"

"Ms. Monkey, I presume? Please have a seat, and tell me the capital of France."

"It was Paris," she replied, taking her seat. "I am Sandra."

"John. I have a few useful bananas for you." He blew a smoke ring from his cigar, "I must ask, where did the phrase 'Paper Monkey' come from?"

"An assassin's guild," she replied calmly, and he coughed. "Are we ready to start harvesting those bananas?"

"Soon. The cargo ships haven't made port yet. You'll know when they do. Where should I deliver my cargo of fruit?"

She slid a piece of paper to him. "A drop point. Leave a light on upstairs. He is yours?" and nodded toward the large figure of BA, cradling a BAR as he stood guard several meters away. "I like to engage from long distances."

"Your uncle Barrett sent you a fifty-cal present," John replied. "Your cousins Willie and Pete also contributed to your presents."

"That's so sweet. I've left a note in my stocking for Santa." She stood and left. John watched her disappear into the crowds, then dropped some tungsten on the table and nodded to BA.


	16. 16 30 April 2003

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter XVI: 16 ~ 30 April 2003  
Wednesday, April 16, 2003: 10:00 (UTC)  
Fourthday, 27 Quintus, 163, 10:47 (WFT +2)  
Windfall, High Town, Security Ministry:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Dr. George Brenner, Windfall's Minister of Commerce took a sip of tea and wished (again) for coffee. He turned to his host Yuri, the Security Minister, as the Governor and her Chief of Staff, Ms. Evans (nee' Dursley), finished their own private conversation. The light blue border on the screen indicated a secure connection between High Town and Riverside, where the Governor's office was located.

"You've developed a source within the Traditionalists, Dr. Brenner?" Ms. Evans asked. "Who is it?"

Yuri leaned forward, "Please do not answer that, Doctor. We need to limit the 'need-to-know' on this. It is sufficient that I know the identity."

"Very well," the Governor said. "What can you tell us about him? I doubt it's a female."

"True," George said with a small grunt. He considered for a moment, "He is where he is due to clan and political influence, the Traditionalists is where his power base is. However, having met him several times; my own opinion is that he would be much happier with the conservatives of the Farm Party. I doubt a party change would happen. Like I said, his power base is the conservative side of the Traditionalists." Both women on the screen shuddered. "He's using us as much as we're using him, the nature of politics. In this case it's to eliminate his political rivals and collect some of their supporters into his tent."

Yuri held up a manila envelope. "He has provided us with information that, if verified, will place several of those rivals on a court guillotine."

"And he wants in return?"

"Various favors, some to be named later," Yuri replied. "Some of which are aligned with our own goals. For instance, the wives and daughters of G'cas are currently running the manufacturing facilities we own back home in Archimedes Crater. He and his sons are in detention while several murders and fatal 'accidents' are investigated. As G'cas is still officially in charge, no replacement is being sent. However, a speaker-at-law is being sent from Windfall to Terra for their criminal defense, with instructions to drag things out as much as possible."

"This aligns with us … how?" Ms. Evans asked.

"G'cas and his sons are conservative Traditionalists – they were mismanaging the slaves and the facilities we had provided, because we Terrans didn't know how things were 'properly done'," Yuri finger-quoted as he explained. "With G'cas and his sons behind bars, but still officially in charge, that places their wives and daughters in _de facto_ control. The longer this state endures, the longer time we have for design and production of the Jump Drive engines, replicators and other equipment with mass production. In addition, the slaves are much better treated, G'cas is neutralized, and our finances are much improved."

"So … they're our puppets?" Ms. Evans asked.

Yuri shrugged. "In a way. We do have control through the Crown Corporation, so I suppose you could say that."

"Yet we still have slaves. I would prefer to free them, especially those new 70 series girls," the Governor said.

"As would I," Yuri replied. "However, we must work with our source on what is politically possible. At the moment, we can arrange for a good amount of _de facto_ if not _de jure_ freedom, but they will still wear lit collars and slave clothing. Their treatment is vastly improved. This benefits the Empire as that equipment will be available, and our balance of payments with Terra is also improved." He smiled, "We do not need to ship as much tea to pay for expensive things like mainframe computers."

"All of which is good," Dr. Brenner said. "It also puts us in a better light with the Empire there on Luna. The Empress' uncle, Mr. Nigma was invited back for an inspection after G'cas had him thrown out. He has made some valuable suggestions, and while some of them are not politically feasible, most of them are being implemented. We should see production of the engines start by the end of the month, God willing."

"Good," the Governor said from her conference room. "Yuri, I understand we're serving as one of the Empire's training sites for undercover agents covered as slave girls. What's the status of that?"

"We have them in several areas of High Town and Riverside," the former KGB agent replied. "This is to acclimate them to being treated as slave girls. They are assisted by …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, April 16, 2003: 10:13 (relative)  
Melotte, Abor, commercial area:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Sandra Woosan inspected the cargo she had received from the smuggler, and used her pry-bar to open the first case. "Well, Santa was very good to this little girl," she said to herself. She examined the case of AK-47 rifles, considering how best to use them. "I think that I'll be looking into modifying old Sergey's design. I also need to see what the Greys have in their armories, and to finish my target list." She took one out from the wooden crate, examining the rifle, and smiled to herself.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, April 17, 2003: 11:26 (UTC)  
Terran System, _HIMSS Hexagon_ space station:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

General von Hesse considered the plans for the blockade of the Taasbah binary system's four heavily industrialized planets. As the Republic's 'heavy industry' system, it was vital to their economy; the difficulty was the four planets and three asteroid belts, in addition to major transshipment points on the outer planet's moons. Simply _destroying_ all that would be comparatively easy, but the Empire needed to capture it as nearly intact as possible.

'_One of the difficulties is all the in-system traffic_,' she thought. '_It would be far too easy to convert one of those freighters into a kamikaze. Unfortunately, a multi-megaton nuclear device would be easy to conceal_.' The only prevention would have higher risk for the crews of the corvettes and frigates tasked with customs inspection – if a bomb were detected, it was possible for the smuggler's crew to detonate it, thus taking out the Terran ship. She tapped her pencil on the desk, looking out the port and not seeing it. '_Possibly Terran passage crews_?' she wondered. '_I shall need to consult with a naval officer. If we leave the crew-slaves in place, unfortunate, but necessary to operate the ship, that should allow for a thorough inspection. However, it also means confining the free crew somewhere; perhaps aboard the corvette while the freighter progresses through the blockade_.'

She set that aside, considering the personnel requirements. The Taasbah Alpha system had four moons orbiting its outermost planet, and significant facilities on that icy ball of rock, as well as orbiting warehouse and customs stations. In order to keep disruption of business to a minimum, they would need to leave existing personnel in place as much as possible, while considering the security implementations of the inner-system blockades while the on-planet intelligence and Special Forces personnel engineered the guerilla wars and eventual coups, leading to regime and social change.

'_I shall need political direction on aspects of this. However, if a cargo is simply passing through, or being brokered, I think we shall need to leave it be_,' she thought. '_Even if the cargo includes slaves, repugnant as the thought is. We shall still need to do business, even under the new management, and that would damage the reputation of the Taasbah system. We can introduce tariffs and such later, after our grip is secure. Just one of those orbital warehouses is well over two hundred kilometers long, if we are to police every one of those, as well as maintaining ground-based forces; we shall need a number of brigades. If we are to restrict the transient slave trade, I can foresee at least tripling those figures, as well as a significant drop in business. We are not, now, the galaxy's policeman. However, that will be a politically difficult concern of Ms. Wayne's_.'

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, April 18, 2003: 00:52 (relative)  
Melotte, Abor, Planetary Guard armory:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

'_That was too easy_,' Sandra thought as she stole down the corridor. '_A bit of tungsten and a quick f**k in the back room and the desk sergeant let me in. Too easy_.' She pressed back against the corridor wall as two Greys walked by, talking about a sports match. Taking a small mirror, she watched them talk to the Grey on watch, then wander off. Smiling to herself, she checked her nose filters, and then stole quietly up to the watch standing Grey, who was yawning in boredom, and cracked a small capsule. He yawned, and then put his head down on the desk. '_I've got an hour, and he won't remember anything_,' she considered, plucking his key ring from his belt.

* * *

'_So nice that private ownership of weapons is illegal_,' she thought to herself. '_It makes a nice black market_.' She took photos with a small digital camera, then stole a small carbine and a handgun with ammo from back shelves, along with some documentation, then carefully relocked the doors. Hanging the key ring back on the still-sleeping guard's belt, she quietly left.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, April 18, 2003: 13:04 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Bronx, PS 873, Social Studies:  
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"Settle down, please," the tall, statuesque teacher called. She quickly went through the class roll, and then said, "I'd like to introduce Ms. Wayne." There was a ripple of interest as the Tsaritsa broke off her conversation with an older woman, and then took a few steps, smiled and leaned on the lectern. "Hello. I'm Mattie Wayne."

* * *

Tia Day watched as the young, black haired woman spoke, handing out a couple of real, honest-to-god magic wands for people to wave. She teased Ms. Prince into doing so, and was surprised when she produced sparks from it. She watched out of the corner of her eye as they went around the room, while the Tsaritsa paced around the room. "People, you have a mistaken view of wealth," she said. "Yes, I'm a billionaire. That does not mean I have stacks of bills around the room, nor do I have a vault of gold coins with a diving board like Scrooge McDuck." Tia giggled, and the Tsaritsa smiled back, "Ah, someone finally gets the joke!" She flipped Tia a coin, "That's a Wizarding sickle – you're not a werewolf, are you?" Tia shook her head, "It's made of silver; weres have a strong allergic reaction to silver." She strolled over to her bag and coat, which were draped over Ms. Price's desk. She checked her wallet, "Anyway, I've got … thirteen dollars US, fifty one Euros, and some mixed change. I can buy lunch at McDonalds."

She put her bag away, "People are people; I don't care if your job is the Queen of England or Superman. We all get up the same, we all curse the alarm clock, we all brush our teeth and take a shower in the morning. Ladies, you've all gone out shopping with your BFF's, right? How many of your dads asked if you needed money?" There were giggles and nods. "Happened to me in Moscow. I took the chance to do the tourist thing with a couple of local girls, we hit GUM – a big shopping center just outside the Kremlin walls. I picked up a great winter coat and hat there." She leaned against the desk, "Maria and Katja are a little bit older than you guys, but not much. Maria is trying to figure out what college she's going to, or to take a gap year and wander around the world. Katja is in her junior year of high school, what makes things tough for them is a bit like me – their dad is Vladimir Putin …" and Tia gasped. "Ah, someone recognizes the name. Who is he?"

Tia cleared her throat, "He's … he's the President of Russia!"

"And he's also Maria and Katja's dad. He worries about his family, and Maria's grades for her school's foreign language requirement, doesn't get enough exercise, so he throws tennis balls for the family dog … sound familiar?" Ms. Wayne smiled, "The Russians are the ones that hung the 'Tsaritsa' title on me," and one of the guards chuckled and said something in Russian. She replied, and then said, "Russian is my foreign language requirement, Maria's is English. We helped each other out while we were studying in Warsaw. Both beautiful cities, by the way. If there is one bennie to my job, it's being able to travel. Everyone had a chance with a wand?"

The passing of wands was restarted, and one guy asked, "What don't you like about your job?"

"Excellent question!" Another sickle was thrown, and she replied, "I don't want to dump on the security guys, they do a great job, but I don't have as much day-to-day freedom as you do. Let me put it this way. You want to go out with your girlfriend tonight, maybe catch a movie and a pizza afterward. You set it up, let the parents know, and go. Maybe hit an ATM for some cash, hey, it's Friday night. Not a big thing to arrange, right?" Heads nodded. "I, on the other hand, need to let the security guys know a couple days in advance so they can plan and check out the route, secure the buildings, do background checks on the staff …" She shook her head, "Believe me, it winds up being easier all around to rent a movie and thaw a frozen pizza at home. You all did most of your Christmas shopping yourselves? What I wound up doing is having Crystal (she gestured) do a lot of mine. I still got out to do some, but it wasn't as much fun shopping. It lacked … (she waved her hand) … well, spontaneity."

She chuckled, "So, who's Mr. Christopher?" He hesitantly raised his hand, and the Tsaritsa smiled. "Excellent work, although I did have a few questions. First of all, how would your system of government bookies work?" She spoke without referring to notes, apparently from memory. Tom answered, hesitantly at first, then more confidently. The Tsaritsa asked several questions, and then Tom asked, "Miss Wayne, what difference does this make? You were born with the silver spoon, but this is the Bronx, and we ain't getting out of here."

Surprisingly, the Tsaritsa rolled Ms. Prince's wheelie chair over, sitting in it, not three feet away. "Yes, I was born with a silver spoon, and people stole the silverware at parties. I can't control where and when I was born any more than you." She leaned forward, "Put yourself in my shoes. I could have been a lazy, spoiled bitch, or I could take advantage of my situation and work to improve things. I like to think I'm doing the right thing, I'm paying my debt forward, helping out as many people as I can." She shifted, "You tell me," and she waved her hand. "You're now the Emperor. What would you do?"

The class was silent, until one fellow barked a laugh, "Mine, all mine. All the bitches, all the money, all the power – mine, all mine!"

"I see," Ms. Wayne said, and strolled over to him, sitting in his lap and nuzzling his neck. "Total power, eh? I'm just a schoolgirl?"

He wrapped his arm around her (she waved off her bodyguards), and stage-whispered in his ear, "What's to keep me from cutting your throat tonight?"

He squawked, standing abruptly, and she took a step back to lean against the desk, fixing her skirt. She raised an eyebrow, "You haven't answered my question." She took a few steps, pacing a bit. "The problem with an absolute dictatorship is that you need to keep at least three sectors of the economy sweet." She held up three fingers, then pointed. "Name one."

"The army."

"The military, actually, but that's one. Another?"

"Um, the security services."

"The secret police, that's two. The third?" The class was silent, thinking. "Come on, people! Politics can be a bloody game. I'll give you a hint – you probably took it in this morning." Still more blank looks, and then she said, "Last chance. Okay, it's the media. You've got to control the government radio station, and the TV and newspapers, but definitely the radio station. A mistake I made when I engineered my first coup." She turned, "You're the head of the Army. How much is your buddy paying you?"

"Um … five hundred?"

"He's cheating you blind. I come to you and say, 'I want you to do X, Y, and Z, and for that, I'm willing to pay you five thousand. What do you reply?"

"Sold!"

Ms. Wayne winced. "You're willing to sell out your buddy for five grand?" She turned, "Ms. Prince, please, please, _please_ teach these people how to haggle." She cracked her knuckles, "Remember, General, you've also got to pay off various other people, like the commanders of your various brigades, and any Air Force and Marine commanders. Let's try this again. I've offered five thousand, what do you reply?"

The student stroked his chin, thinking. "A million."

"Don't overprice yourself; I can always find a captain or major to replace you." She turned, "Yes, a question?"

"Why do you want this?"

"Excellent question! Let me assure you that it's not for any charitable reason, it's for the money. Let's go with a example. The ruling dictator of Ghana was running the country, the primary export was timber. Most of that money was going into his pocket, seventy percent. He took another five percent or so to keep power, and kept the population in line with the secret police. Then … (she paused) they found oil." She shot her cuffs, waving an imaginary document. "I have a survey here that tells me there's a large oil field off the coast. I've been hired by an oil company to get the exploration and development contract." She fiddled with her suit jacket, "I have a budget of five hundred thousand dollars to do this. I want to keep as much of this as possible. Of course, the locals don't know all this. I counter-offer the General fifteen thousand, knowing I can go to forty. He doesn't know this, and we settle for seventeen five in US dollars, cash. I make similar deals with the head of the Secret Police and arrange for techs to disable the various media. Yes, question?"

"I don't understand the media bit."

"Simple, it's to inform the public of the change of ownership. Most people have at least one radio, and in a tightly controlled society like we're discussing, it's the government station they listen to for news and music. Yes, question?"

"Why dollars?"

"Dollars and Euros are reserve currencies, they're what other currencies are set against. You can deposit them in any bank in the world. Before the European Union, the other two were the British Pound Sterling and the German Deutschmark. Question?"

"Won't the people rise up and … um…"

"Probably not. Look at it this way. In the country we're discussing, the vast majority are way below the poverty line, do you really care who's in the capital city? No. You care about making enough to put bread on the table, and clothes on your family's backs. Some of the higher ranks in the capital might be able to organize a counter-coup, but that's why you have the Army and the Secret Police on your side. They go in to work, and see tanks in the streets and they forget about any counter-coup. The common man-in-the-street? He doesn't care. What's his motivation? To fight for a government that's ground him into the dirt? Why should he? Forty-eight to seventy-two hours, it's all over, and the new President, who is the grieving widow …"

"Wait a minute! I'm … dead?"

"Of course. You're a loose end that may cause problems for the new regime. The coup grabs you as well as anyone else who might pose a threat, stuffs you on a couple helicopters, takes a flight over the ocean and gives flying lessons. The …"

"What the … flying lessons?"

"Term comes from Vietnam. They'd fly along at fifteen or twenty thousand feet with some prisoners who weren't talking and throw one out. If he learned how to fly before he hit the ground …" she shrugged. "Like I said, politics can be bloody. Getting back to the Grieving Widow, she makes some public announcements, everything is wonderful, yada, yada. She knows the score, and quietly signs a contract with my oil company. I've spent a hundred to a hundred fifty or so, the rest of the money goes in my account in the Caymans."

"Not Switzerland?"

"Nope. Too many government regulations; I'm not going to go into the black market or money laundering." She glanced at Ms. Prince, who was standing, horrified, while the class was leaning forward, totally engaged. "Who's Ms. Day?"

"I am."

"Great! Let's go over yours …"

* * *

"So, who hasn't had a chance with a wand?" Tia raised her hand, and Ms. Wayne extracted one from somewhere, handing it over. "Give it a wave, please." She did, and got some colored sparks, immediately drawing several people's attention. "Once again, please." She did so, and one of the 'practice' wands was handed to her. Getting nervous, she waved it, and another wand.

"She shouldn't have gotten sparks from that one," a pink-haired young woman said. "That's a blood-matched wand."

"But she did," a fellow in an FBI windbreaker said. "Miss, please try mine."

"Um, what's going on?" Tia asked nervously, waving his wand and getting sparks.

The friendly FBI fellow crouched next to her, "Miss, my wand and Ms. Tonks' are blood-matched. They should be dead in your hands, no better than kindling. The others, the color of the sparks is an indicator of power level. Blue sparks are rare, most people get either red or an occasional gold spark. You're getting a lot of blue sparks." He shook his head, then conjured up a clipboard, "Will everyone that got sparks jot down your name and email address?" He passed it around, then gave her a business card. "Thought about college? I can arrange a scholarship to Loyola. It's where I went."

"Cambridge, in London," Tonks passed over her card as her hair changed to blue. "Girl, you need training."

"Moscow's Institute of Magic," the Russian said in his turn. "We will arrange tutors in Russian."

"Our start-up Imperial University on Luna," Ms. Wayne said, passing over her card in turn. She raised her voice, "Anyone that got sparks, come see me – the same offer goes." She crumpled up a sheet of paper, "Let's do a basic levitation spell."

Tia looked at the FBI fellow nervously, who nodded encouragingly, taking her hand in his. "You can do this. The wand movement is this, remember, swish and flick. The incantation is _Wingardium Leviosa_." The class watched as Tia licked her lips, practicing the movement, then saying "Wingardium Leviosa!"

"Bloody hell … " Tonks whispered. "She's using a blood-matched wand that's not hers, and she did _Leviosa_ with it. Bloody hell …" She moved over to the FBI bloke, "You're going to arrange protection for her?"

"All of them, count on it," he replied. "Everyone that got sparks, I'd like to arrange a meeting with you and your families within a couple days regarding your schooling. In the meantime, I'll arrange for the NYPD to be nearby in case." The half dozen students nodded as the bell rang.

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Friday, April 18, 2003: 21:35 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Gotham, Batcave:  
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Stepping out of the JLA transporter in the Batcave, Batgirl smiled at the small house elf wearing a French Maid outfit, "Tilly, I got it from her!"

"Tilly is pleased, Mistress Bat-Lady! Did Mistress Bat-Lady have trouble getting blood from Crazy Amazon-Lady?" The small house-elf curtseyed as she received the blood sample, and walked behind her mistress toward the lab, her mistress' stiletto boots clicking on the cave's floor.

"No. I had to twist her arm a bit, reminding her of our fixing problems she's had, but we now have fifteen cc's of Amazon blood. She was allegedly parented by gods – well, we'll see after we do a genetic analysis against our other samples from Lois and me, and the one we have from Clark."

Tilly climbed up on a stool, and started to prepare a few drops of blood for the analyzer. "And then, Mistress Bat-Lady?"

"And then, Tilly, we find out where the magical genes, among others, come from. I would like to get blood samples from you and Skippy as well."

"Tilly does not mind, Mistress Bat-Lady. Tilly will get a sample from Skippy tonight, while Mistress Bat-Lady is doing her patrol." Tilly started the experiment, then hopped down, going to the supplies. "If Mistress Bat-Lady will draw her samples from Tilly?"

Batgirl changed her gloves for sterile nitrile gloves, and took the blood sample. As Tilly held her arm up, she asked, "Mistress Bat-Lady, Tilly and the other elveses think Mistress Bat-Lady is too nice to Crazy Amazon-Lady, but we's have idea for cloning her to rescue Crazy Master Arthur of poison. Perhaps Mistress Bat-Lady can read Crazy Master Arthur's brain into clone of Crazy Amazon-Lady's body?" She accepted her Mistress wrapping her donation site as her Mistress commented, "Interesting idea, Tilly. Interesting … I'll have to discuss it with Bella."

* * *

Batgirl walked toward the costume vault, trailed by Tilly; where she sat on a bench, changing her heeled boots for her normal flat-heeled boots; adjusting her costume and clipping her cape in place. After Batman's death, she had modified her costume into a head-and-eyes-covering fusion of his armor with the tight, form-fitting original Batgirl costume, in darker grays and blacks. She retained the yellow oval with the black bat emblem on her chest, and the utility belt on her slim waist. However, she had replaced Barbara's yellow high-heeled boots in favor of more feminine black versions of Batman's. She slid the armored cowl into place over the bodysuit's headpiece, adjusting it and doing a quick systems check. She checked her makeup in a mirror as she pulled on her armored gauntlets over her gloves; commenting, "I'll meet Huntress at the docks. She's got a line on a drug shipment of Marone's." She did a quick stretch and twist to settle everything, and then walked toward the turntable where the new and improved Batmobile waited. Sleeker and ground hugging, it still clocked over 300 and was custom-built by McLaren. Next to her car, Skippy waited at attention, dressed in his miniature butler's uniform. He bowed, and stated, "All is ready, Mistress Bat-Lady. We's be waiting for you. Remember youse has the Marathon tomorrow morning in Capital DC."

"Early night and a single patrol, then. Thank you, Skippy, and you also, Tilly." The two elves bowed and curtseyed, disappearing with a pop as Batgirl buckled in and started the engine.

* * *

Debbie Fastow squealed as she looked out the window of her BFF's car: "Ohmigawd, ohmigawd, is that what I think it is? Over there, the black car is that …"

Katherine 'Kat' Tennant glanced, then grinned, "Yep, that's the Batmobile, and over there is the Bat-Signal. That's on top of Police Headquarters. Let's see if we can get closer to her." Her old Dodge didn't have the horses to keep up with Batgirl's supercharged car. Debbie rolled down her window, screaming, "We love you, Batgirl!" The red-haired woman driving it waved, then ducked through a tiny opening in traffic and headed for an off-ramp.

"You don't see a member of the JLA in New York, so Deb; I will officially welcome you to Gotham City. Hopefully that's the _only_ bat-encounter you'll have."

* * *

"I don't think you understood me, scum," Huntress said, holding a mook up against a filthy brick wall by his neck. "This isn't all of the shipment. I want all of it." After Batman's death (a still unsolved crime), it had taken the Bat-Clan a while to regain the same aura of terror that he had generated. Even now, out-of-towners had to be briefed in (if they were lucky) not to piss off the Bats, especially the women. Others just learned the hard way, like this unlucky stumble-bum.

"You think I'm gonna rat to a pair of lipstick-wearing bitches? You gotta be kiddin' me," he said, then screamed in pain.

"There are over two hundred bones in the human body," Batgirl said calmly as she watched. "That's one."

"You don' unnerstand, bitch. Marone will kill me if I squeal," and he screamed again.

"That's your right index finger," Huntress said calmly. "You'll never pull a trigger again," she said, holding up the bloody digit, and then tucking it in his shirt pocket. She patted the pocket, "Left hand?" she asked, holding his left hand against the wall with her knife at the wrist. "If you talk quick, I'll spray sealant on the wound, so you won't bleed to death while waiting for Gotham's finest."

"But …" he felt his hand flipped over, a line of fire along his wrist and blood running down his forearm. He struggled uselessly against the nerve block, Huntress commenting, "I'm in a good mood; I just slit the tendons and blood vessels. A hospital can repair them. Of course, it depends on if you _get_ to that hospital, or die in this filthy alleyway. All depends on what you say."

"Ohgawd, oh my gawd, okay, I'll talk! Just call me an ambulance. They're expecting five hundred kilos of meth, packed in coffee cans at Pier 28, you crazy bitch…" He glanced at Batgirl in her dark formfitting uniform, standing and watching. "You change your outfit? It ain't what I heard earlier."

Huntress tweaked his nerve block, and he screamed again. "Don't worry about her. Keep talking. What else besides the meth?"

* * *

"Thanks for giving me a lift," Huntress said as she rode in the Batmobile. She looked sideways at Batgirl, "You're so different than Batman was. He barely tolerated me."

Batgirl's mouth twitched. "Yes, I'm a bit different, and I didn't agree with all of Batman's policies. However, I'm in the driver's seat now," and she signaled as she changed lanes. The Interstate was still the fastest way to get to different parts of her city. She waved at the locals in other cars, who waved and gave her a thumbs up as their capes flapped in the wind. She signaled for an off-ramp, downshifting to stop at the light. Huntress turned to her right, smiling at a couple of girls in a beat-up old Dodge who were out partying. Batgirl leaned forward, as camera flashes went off, then waved as the light turned, shifting up as she pulled away from the light.

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Saturday, April 19, 2003: 07:55 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Washington, DC, marathon start:  
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"Runners take your places," the loudspeaker called, and Ms. Wayne excused herself from the Russian reporter, saying in Russian, ("Good luck to your runners!") with a smile. The camera's red light went out, and she made her way through the milling crowd, her bib number (1048) pinned to her loose green tank top. To one side, her mother was doing some stretches, while 'Little Bill' Morton was touching toes, bouncing up and down. Around them, various security people were doing the same thing, while overhead helicopters clattered – mostly news choppers, but some attack helicopters for security. This was a special race – several VIPs were in the race, not only the Empress, but the President of the United States, as well as several ambassadors.

"Beautiful day for a race," her mother said. She turned, "Bill, where's your sister Julie? I thought she was entered."

"Thursday morning potions accident," he replied. "She didn't want to run with her skin green and warty. She should be fine by tomorrow, but …" he shrugged, then turned. "Hello, Mr. President."

"Pete Ross, this is Bill Morton, Jr."

"Hello, Mr. Morton, Miss Wayne, Mrs. Wayne." Pete replied, shaking hands, his own bib having the number '1'. He inhaled deeply, "Oh, what a wonderful day to be outside."

"And out of the office," Selina put in.

Pete laughed, "That too, that too. Senator, good to see you today! May I introduce Ms. Wayne?"

"Mary, please, Good to finally meet you, Your Imperial Majesty." She turned, "Good to see you again, Mrs. Wayne."

"If you're Mary, than I'm Mattie." She tapped her head in thought, "I'm sorry, I'm not placing you in the Senate. I guess there are limits to memory charms."

"Louisiana, dear. Baton Rouge, we have …"

"Runners, please find your marks."

"Well, here we go, good luck to everyone," Mary said, moving to an open area and shaking her arms and legs out. The starting gun fired, and they were off.

* * *

An attack chopper roared overhead, chasing a small white news chopper that had wandered into the 'no fly zone' placed over the race. Conversation paused for a moment, then Mary asked, "Loyola has a college of magic? I didn't know that."

"There's another in Boston, I think," Miss Wayne replied. "I'm glad to see these kids getting a good chance, and that one girl was amazing. I hope she goes with my Imperial University, but in either case, she seems like the type to take full advantage, and get good grades out of it."

"While I would hope for a British school," Remus put in, "I would also characterize her as a studious girl." He took a swallow of water from his bottle, then glanced sideways at Mattie. "Unlike Miss Wayne here," and grinned.

"Oi, you try handling my schedule!" she replied. "We definitely need to increase the Wizarding population, though."

"What's happening with those slave girls?" Remus asked. Mary cocked her head, "Slave girls?"

"It turns out a line of bred slaves has a much stronger percentage of the Wizarding gene than we do," Mattie explained. "They're twelve to fifteen percent, we're roughly one in a thousand. Therefore, we've been quietly buying up those girls, testing them, and we'll be starting the first batch of them in Hogwarts this next term. It does help that they're relatively inexpensive, disposable slaves – think lab rats in context. Ten or so years old."

"That's … outrageous!" Mary sputtered. "Ten years old and disposable!"

"We're taking the balance of those girls, without the gene, and integrating them into our colony planets, having our colonists adopt them into their families. Unfortunately, the first batch one of our undercover slave ships bought got transferred into a politically less-than-friendly possession. Their political philosophy is that females are subhuman, animals, and slaves are female. Legally, on that planet, slaves are animals," she added with a grimace. "You can kill one without anything other than a minor financial difficulty, like I said, killing a lab rat. We're trying to rectify that problem, but it's slow going."

"What's the problem?"

"The Traditionalist's political philosophy is way past 'barefoot and pregnant'," Mattie started. "It's not unusual in the wider galaxy, and as I understand it …"

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Saturday, April 19, 2003: 10:47 (relative)  
Aeeloh orbit, _Ba'an the Bold_, flag bridge:  
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"My master, the King desires to speak to you," the comm slave said. The General put down his tea, then said, "Connect him, you stupid slave! Immediately!"

"Yes, my master," and touched a few buttons. The King's chamber below showed on the main screen, showing an empty chair. After a few minutes, he appeared. "General? You're still waiting for me? Good. Go crush those upstart barbarians. I want the head of their leader; bring me his head in a box." He waved his hand and the connection was cut.

"Well, we finally have our orders," the General commented. "Break orbit and assume the formation, we head to Melotte and then to crush the barbarians."

"Yes, my master," the slave said, and started to work her comm board.

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Sunday, April 20, 2003: 07:31 (UTC +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine:  
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The company entered their barracks after their run back from the mess hall and breakfast. Sgt. Morton called, "Shower but don't dress – underwear only, ladies!" and Heather nodded in acknowledgement as she started to untie her boots.

"Still sounds strange to be called a lady," O'Reilly commented as she folded her fatigue trousers after searching the pockets. She glanced at Heather, "You may have wanted it, but I didn't, girl."

"Ah, but think of all the free drinks you can get now," Heather replied. "Also, we don't have to put up with the period every month."

"Or pregnancy, that's true, lassie. I just wish I looked like a good Irish colleen, instead of a larger clone of a doll." Sandra sat on her bunk, taking a brush to her boots as they waited for the last of the company to emerge from the showers. "Sarge, any news about our condition?"

"Nothing official, but I did hear scuttlebutt that it's a default test pattern," Sgt. Wang replied as she was passing out mail. "The General will be issuing a press release when we do know more. For now, the engineers and techs are still looking at the problem. Hold off on the mail, Hause, we're about to start," she said as Elena emerged from her quarters upstairs, wearing the duty uniform. The last few of the company ran to their bunks, towels wrapped around their hair and torso.

"Ladies, today we just have a few things to cover," Elena started, holding up a small, flat box. "Each of you should have one of these, and it's something you'll need to be wearing when we start vac suit training. This is to get you used to wearing it." She pulled a dagger from a boot, slitting the tape, and held up a tangle of rubber tubes. "This is what you'll be peeing through, and it connects to the plug that goes in your butt." There was a nervous titter, and she continued, "I'm wearing mine now, and it's something that you'll get used to, like wearing a tampon. If you have any problems, one of the medical staff will be by in a couple of hours to adjust things."

"Where's Sergeant Chung?" someone asked.

"All of the men in the regiment are getting the male version of this installed," Sgt. Wang replied. "The medical types have a habit of understating, shall we say, the level of pain a procedure might involve? For instance, if you're being beaten to death, they might call it 'minor, sporadic discomfort'." The company chuckled. "The men are under anesthesia for this procedure. Fortunately, we don't need to do this – a bit of lube and things slide right into place for us – one of the advantages of having female plumbing." She held up her set of rubber tubes, "The first thing for all of you is to strip off your panties, if you're wearing them. You can go barefoot or wear socks, your choice. Once that is done, find the tube with a white, fuzzy end and gently disconnect it from the others. This will go in your uterus."

"Um, Sarge, we don't have one," Heather said.

"Actually, we all do. The girls that were born female have ones that actually work, but for us rejuvs, the ovaries and tubes and such aren't there. So, put one leg up, lean over and plug it into place."

"Those of us born female, help out the others," Elena called as she walked about. "This is the most difficult part, and the rubber tube should hang out two or three centimeters." She waited, "Next is the connection for the bladder..."

* * *

"Pelvis up, girl," the nurse said, her fingers poking as Heather's feet were spread, supporting her on the end of her bunk. She felt a warm line down her lower lips as they were pressed together, then the nurse helped her pull a pair of high-cut panties into place, working around the black connector for the butt plug. They were fairly tight fitting, and a bit stiff, the nurse commenting, "There's a layer of lead foil there to protect your ovaries. Works for the guys, too."

Out of curiosity, Heather asked, "What do you mean?"

The nurse smiled and replied, "The guys' 'family jewels' (she finger quoted) are tucked up inside their abdomen," and she smiled. "After we drained them, of course. Then everything is tucked neatly away – they even have a little bush like this one," and she ran a finger along the small black bit of false hair on the panties. The nurse pulled and rubbed along the lines of the waist and leg seams. She used a small hand scanner to update the information on Heather's implant and read the bar-code tattoo on her left hip, then tapped her upraised knee. "You're done, go take a hot shower, hot as you can stand it," and she moved to O'Reilly's left. "Pelvis up, girl!"

* * *

Squirting a bit of shampoo into her palm, Heather worked it into her hair as she stood, letting the hot water massage her back. Letting it work, she took some body soap from the second wall-mounted bottle, rubbing it into her chest and legs. "Do my back?" Kiera Winton asked as she turned.

"If you'll return the favor," Heather replied, working the soap into the girl's skin. She went further down, and Kiera jumped. "Sorry, I'm still not used to having that down there, or these," and she lifted her breasts. "Don't stop, though, it feels good."

"What would feel bloody wonderful would be a hot tub," Sandra O'Reilly commented, taking a palm-ful of shampoo herself. "I'm still enough of a bloke to think of hot colleens in a bubbling bath…"

"Even if we are some of those hot babes," Heather commented, rinsing out her hair and adding conditioner.

"I'm just not looking forward to classes on makeup," Kiera commented, and someone called in, "Hause, you've ten minutes before your fire-watch shift!"

"Oh, crap! Gotta go, guys!" and she rinsed off and ran out.

"Mmm …" Kiera said. "Damn we're good looking babes…"

* * *

Braking to a stop, her hands catching herself on the desk, Heather said, "Reporting for duty, ma'am. I mean Sergeant."

"You've still got fifteen seconds, Hause. Fix your overdress, your hair is wet and your bra strap is twisted." Elena replied, looking at the clock and tapping the trainee's shoulder with her pace stick.

"Yes, ma'am, I mean Sergeant Morton. I was in the shower, and it took forever to get the leggings…"

"Wasting time, trainee. Go log in." She accepted a towel that someone brought her, tossing it to Heather. "Wrap your hair girl, you don't want a water mark down your back." Elena cleared her throat, "Everyone out of the shower? Good. Last bit of business today – mail call!" There was a cheer, and she let it go for a minute, then said, "Before I distribute the mail, you'll notice a postcard with it," and she held hers up. "You will notice your return address; mine is:"

_Morton, E  
Company D, 11th Brigade  
Camp Katherine  
KATHERINE NT 0851 _

"Make sure your return address is correct," Elena continued. "On the back, there are several lines, you will check the 'I am fine' and 'I have received your letter/parcel of:' and fill in the date. You will not write anything else besides the address of your relatives. If you do, your postcard will be shredded." She took a few steps, "General Shimisa will issue a press release and hold a press conference when we know something. Until then, he wants the information about this … little problem held. As he is a general, and our commanding officer, I will obey his orders, and pass them on to you." She paced a bit, "Now, you may be thinking, 'I can go on the Internet when I sit fire-watch and send mail that way'." Shaking her head, she said, "First, that will violate the General's order, and second, the mail sites are blocked by the IT guys. So just do what we're ordered to do, and let the General handle the press. Are we square with that? Good." She picked out the first letter from the plastic mail tote, "By the way, I've got some fudge my mom sent, which is almost guaranteed to add a couple of kilos. If your relatives sent munchies, share the love with your buddies less fortunate. Abrams!"

"Yo!"

"Adams!"

"Here, Sarge!" A girl came running up, catching the box Elena tossed her. "I can smell cookies in there," she commented. "Allen!"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, April 21, 2003: 07:03 (UTC)  
Terran orbit, _HIMSS Hexagon_:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Thank you for coming to this conference," Lady Sarah said as she tapped on a water glass. "This is a roundtable to discuss the various Republican planets and to bring forth any difficulties we might have that someone else might be able to solve." She used the podium's remote to bring down the room lights a bit, then started the large holo. "There are currently four Republican systems that are critical to us: they are in orange, and one, Aeeloh, is ringed in green. That is the Republic's capital system, and its capital planet." She took a sip of water, "The display is oriented with galactic ecliptic as the horizontal on this display. Planetary orbits are displayed with a blue trace, asteroid belts are green hazes, and occupied planets and those with infrastructure are blue dotted circles." She took a minute to let them study the display. The planets had small white lines that indicated their spin axis. Aeeloh, the fourth planet from the star, had a number of blue dots in orbit. Sarah changed the display to focus on it. "Aeeloh is moderately industrialized and has the Republic's primary naval shipyard. As you can see, their yard is build as a small central core with several arms, each of which supports a build slip at the end. Due to the slow build rate, and their focus on lighter ships for piracy suppression, we at IR & S believe they have been primarily reactivating their reserve fleet. This is in a parking orbit around the second planet, the first planet is what is known as a 'hot jupiter', a gas giant that is orbiting very close to their star. As they do not want to burn imported Fuel for station-keeping for these ships, they are using solar arrays for this purpose. These ships are powered down except for their computer cores, and kept in vacuum storage conditions."

"How do you know this?" an officer asked.

"We have a very well placed source in their naval administration, one that has both a chronic gambling problem and quite a bit of debt run up to Black Hole, the interstellar version of the Mafia," she replied. "This has been verified by other means, so we regard it as reliable." She changed the display, zooming in on a separate build slip. "This is the largest warship we know of in the Republican fleet, a BattleStar class ship, _Ba'an the Bold_. This ship has taken over a century to build, and is a massive boondoggle for graft and corruption as well as an obsolete white elephant. The technical information we have on it is in your dataplaqs. Despite it being a new ship, our opinion is that if it flies at all, it will be only because it is held together with baling wire and chewing gum." There was a chuckle, and with a smile, Sarah added, "The system warp limit is only a fifth-AU outside Aeeloh's orbit, Aeeloh also has their arms industries and what was their largest planetary garrison. In addition, the five most powerful oligarchs live here."

She nodded and sat down, and Generalmajor Heinrike von Hesse stood to take the podium. "Thank you, Lady Sarah. Along with Commodore Morrison of my planning staff, we have put forth the following plans for Operation Soba White. For details, please consult your dataplaqs. Soba White One assumes …"

* * *

After the discussion on the binary system of Charis, Wai tapped her glass. "It's nearly lunchtime," she said. "If no one objects, I propose we take an hour or two and digest this information as well as a sandwich." There were some chuckles, and she continued, "With the exceptions of Melotte, where the current Republican forces are assembling, and their heavy industry system of Taasbah, the other planets are simply going to be isolated and taken when we get around to digesting the others."

"Correct, Frau Tsien," Heinrike confirmed. "They are secondary targets. Our primary interest in Melotte is that it is a staging area. I would vastly prefer to fight on their ground, destroying their property than have them destroy ours." Heads nodded, and the Generalmajor continued, "However, I do not know if our personnel or our naval strength will be adequate for that. I also have a secondary concern regarding captured personnel."

"What about putting them to work for us?" Wai asked.

Commodore Morrison took that one, "Frau Tsien, we are already offering the captured slaves that option. Some, primarily the captured girls, are managing to break their conditioning, or weaken it sufficiently to join the Army. Others, such as the bred slaves, are either out-migrating to our colony worlds or taking civilian jobs in the yards, or in non-combatant roles on board ship. In all those cases, we're glad to have them. However, the Republican Naval personnel are a different matter." She shot her cuffs, "I would not, with a few exceptions, call them anywhere near sufficiently trained. They signed up for a pretty uniform with a nice paycheck and primarily did paperwork; not what I would call a naval officer. The slaves are the ones that got dirty, and that effective experience is what we want."

"You said a few exceptions."

"Yes. Some jobs were not trusted to slaves, such as pilots, helmsmen, navigators and such. Those are more likely to be used, if they're agreeable. We will not force them, however, there are two drawbacks there: their attitude regarding women and slaves, and trustworthiness. We can evaluate them on a case-by-case basis, let them earn our trust. The others, the slavers and Planetary Guard are simple thugs. We are looking at a prison colony for them."

"Go on, please."

Generalmajor von Hesse took over. "Frau Tsien, this has been called the 'Barbie' option. To prevent difficulties, they would be bio-sculpted to a uniform design, then collared. This seems to be poetic justice for the slavers, do to them what they wanted to do to us. In favor of it, we have captured several large slave ships that are designed to do this, with a transport capability of around fifty thousand slaves each. We will not be selling them as slaves, as the Empire does not deal in slaves. We are simply using the tech to monitor and control them, as we don't trust them."

"And once word of this got around among the captured personnel, that we were doing this, bio-sculpt and collaring them, and then shipping them out, something that is a fairly common practice, they would assume we were enslaving them, and take anything offered them." Wai smiled slightly.

"The Empire does not deal in slaves," von Hesse repeated. "We cannot control the mistaken conclusions of captured personnel."

She cleared her throat, "We have captured various navigational databases. The system of Foley is the one we are considering. The planet is tidally locked in orbit of an M-type red dwarf. We are actually looking at the planet's moon, which is terrestrial, with liquid water and a single large continent with grasslands, forests and a large bay on the northern coast. An island in the center of that bay is about a quarter the size of Tasmania. It is a colony which was taken by pirates, and was already somewhat developed as a star port." She took a swallow of water, then tapped her stylus on her PADD, "As I said, we will have light military forces there to watch after our colony and interests. My information is that we would not be the only ones doing so, which would make Foley more along the lines of a very informal free port for trade. We can easily use it for that purpose, as well as for R & R and intelligence." She grinned, "There are some things that are more … useful to acquire under the table, or on the black market. That functionality and the large native cattle as meat exports will serve to support the colony economically, although a tourist trade is a possibility."

"Tourist trade?"

"Frau Tsien, there are tourists that want to visit active war zones," Heinrike said with a shrug. "If they are foolish enough to do so, as long as they do not endanger their ship or its personnel, they may do what they wish. I will not risk military assets to rescue them if they make foolish decisions." She tapped her stylus again, "Now, shall we adjourn for lunch?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 22, 2003: 08:55 (relative)  
In transit, _Ba'an the Bold_, flag bridge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The ship continued to shudder, and there was an almost subsonic whine that set teeth on edge. The General massaged his pounding head, and then turned to the comm slave. "Call the engineer, get him up here!"

"My master, the internal comm system is not functional," she reminded him. "Does my master wish to send a message with a slave?"

"Yes … no. He said we need to reduce speed in his daily report, but our King wants this barbarian system taken by the end of this month. We cannot do that if the ship comes apart on us. Helm, reduce speed by a quarter-light."

"Yes, my master," the slave shackled at the helm replied. "Reducing speed by one-quarter light." The vibration eased, although the whine remained, and if anything got worse.

"Wonderful," the General muttered.

* * *

"My master the General is not pleased," the slave 15943 said as she knelt, properly aligning herself; thighs; belly and shoulders forming a single plane. She secured her ankles, adjusting the neck ring so it would support her as she knelt in sleep that night. In the next neck ring, slave 12003 shifted, "Please tighten this slave's neck ring, so this slave may sleep," she asked. 15943 did so, 12003 smiled at her. "Gratitude from this slave. This slave wishes to hear what is happening on this slave's ship."

15943 smiled, arranging her hair to come over her left shoulder and between her breasts. It was already warm in the cell, as the hundreds of slaves on her shift were released from their posts. She rechecked everything, masters were always watching, and finally cuffed herself. "This slave is communication slave on the Flag Bridge, where my master the General commands my masters' fleet. My master was forced to reduce speed again, and the vibration and a screeching noise are most unpleasant."

"The vibrations are from two things," an engineering slave said as she knelt across from them in her own neck ring. "Firstly, my masters installed engines rated for a heavy cruiser instead of larger ones."

"No doubt because my masters could charge for properly rated engines, and my masters could simply pocket the difference," a slave commented. She rolled her eyes, "This slave has been Enhanced now for years, yet this slave still finds irritation in the forced speech patterns this slave is forced to use."

"This slave agrees," the engineering slave agreed. "This slave is Engineering First Slave. The engines in my masters' ship are thus over-stressed. This slave's sister slaves have also been denied proper tools and materials for this slave's sister slaves to carry out proper maintenance. This slave believes this slave's masters have sold those tools and materials to pocket the tungsten."

"No doubt a universal practice," a slave commented. "This slave knows that this slave's masters have sold confidential information to pirates regarding cargo ships and schedules."

"Communication codes as well," 15943 said. "This slave has heard other ships on government communication channels when this slave was owned by other ships. To continue, what else causes the vibration and the whine?"

"My masters did not properly mount the engines, nor did my masters properly ground the arrays for the faster-than-light antenna grids," the engineering slave replied. "As long as the engines are pushed, my masters' slaves will endure the vibration and noise, and the constant worry of the engines self-destruction." She shook her head in her neck ring, "This slave estimates a proper maximum speed as this slave's ship is currently used would be no more than one and three-quarter lights."

"And my master the General wishes to use a speed of nine lights, and only reluctantly reduced it this day a quarter-light. My master is pressed for speed by my master's orders from my master's King." She twisted her head, "This slave inquires, is there a suitable course of action? If this slave were to suddenly become zarroji and be free?"

"This slave? Zarroji? Free?" The slaves laughed. "This slave expresses gratitude for the humor. An immediate solution, requiring only a few weeks in a shipyard, would be for this slave's ship of my masters to have his engines properly mounted, balanced and serviced. A proper solution would be for properly sized engines to be fitted to my master's ship." She tossed her head in her neck ring, "However, this slave is slave and is a properly secured slave in my masters' ship, and thus cannot be repairing my masters' ship."

"Pity…" another slave said dryly, and there was more laughter. "Expect to go hungry soon. The delay in my masters' ships in leaving orbit caused my masters to issue and consume the reserve food supply. The remainder is sufficient for the ten day voyage to Melotte, but not longer than that. If my masters' ships are delayed in in their arrival, the food of my masters' slaves will be given to the lowest-ranked masters; and my masters' slaves will receive nothing."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 22, 2003: 09:59 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 2nd year mathematics:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Mattie looked up from her textbook, "Hey, Bill. Could you and Julie meet me tonight? Say around eight at the Astronomy tower?" She looked at Ami, "Sorry, family business."

"Sure, I'll let her know," he replied, making a note to himself as the bell rang.

* * *

"Thanks for coming," Mattie said as the two approached, and cast a privacy charm. "I've already briefed in Tomas, but we wanted you to know that Wayne Biotech is working on a way to asexually reproduce human eggs."

"Okay, that means exactly what?" Bill asked.

"You know the whole sperm-and-egg reproduction bit, right?" Bill nodded. "What they're doing is, as I understand it, 'salting' the egg with parts of other DNA. I don't really understand the tech; the closest I come is dissecting critters for potions ingredients." The other two nodded, "Apparently, we can't simply force an egg to divide, because any zygote from that will be deformed. There have to be parts of the DNA with other DNA, which is usually contributed by the father. However, it looks like this can be simply patched in, instead of the sperm-and-egg process."

"So … if I understand this right, you could have the DNA from another female patched in to the first woman's egg," Julie said, and Mattie nodded. "Sounds interesting, but how does that apply to us?"

"Arthur," Mattie replied. "If his current body can't be repaired, we're looking into reading his mind into a fetus, and planting that in an artificial womb, which is another bit of developing Wayne Biotech."

"Dad would go spare," Julie breathed. "He'd call it murder of the fetus. For that matter, so would Arthur."

"This is contingency planning," Mattie replied. "As I understand it, the fetus first starts to think about week twenty, although it's kept unconscious by the development and birth process until it draws its first breath." She shook her head as she leaned back against the stone battlement, her right leg up, tenting her school skirt with her booted foot against the stone. "I'm not good with the ethics and morals myself. I would like to get the opinion of a churchman or two. I know you guys are Methodist, while I'm Catholic. Think that would help your dad?"

"Maybe," Bill said. "Hey, that means that Arthur would be a girl!"

"Yep. He, or rather she, would also need to grow up all over again, but he'd be alive."

"What would be her name?" Julie mused. "Andrea? Angela? I don't know, but she'd be a modern virgin birth. The religious types would go nuts." She took a deep breath, "When you go see the Catholic priest, let me know, and I'll check in with the Methodists. London, I assume."

"Or Gotham with Father Tim. I'm sure he can refer you to someone," Mattie replied. "Anyway, I wanted to give you two advance notice. You remember what happened when they cloned a sheep; imagine what the reaction would be to this!"

"Oh, yeah," Bill agreed. "Pitchforks and mobs with torches. What's the status on developing an antidote?"

"They've finished analyzing the few drops that were left in the injector, and cross-referencing Arthur's blood sample. I don't know what Superman's computer results are, though. Now we need to see if there's a counter-agent that works fast enough to keep him alive." She yawned, "Sorry."

The two Mortons nodded. "It doesn't do any good if he's already dead," Julie agreed.

"If you're going to poison your enemies, you don't need a cure," Bill said. "Aside from the virgin birth, what about something else, some other bit of tech?"

"Ah, we go back to Wayne Biotech," Mattie said. "What would your dad, or Arthur for that matter, think about some sort of prosthesis? Assuming we can control pain and restore function and such."

"Like an artificial arm or leg? I think they would be good with that – wait a minute, like a whole-body prosthetic. What brought that up?" Bill asked.

"There's a disease called cerebral palsy that destroys motor control," Mattie replied. "I don't know the specifics, but the victims are in a wheelchair, and they can't write, or do anything, including bowel control." The two Mortons winced, and Julie slowly said, "If Arthur had control … he couldn't be, like, reprogrammed or something … I think Dad and he would be agreeable. Maybe."

"Maybe," Bill agreed. "If he was in control, he wasn't some sort of Borg or mindless slave, or an organic computer. This is all hypothetical, though."

"Yeah, assuming we can't come up with an antidote for him," Julie said. "It's all a possibility, and I agree, I want to have some ethical and moral advice."

"Me too," Bill said. "Sign me up for that trip to the Archbishop."

"Okay," and Mattie dropped the privacy spell. She turned, "Hello, Ami, Tomas." Bill wrapped his arm around Ami's waist, and said, "I want to tell her."

"So do I, but it's not my decision," Mattie replied. "Check with your parents." She stretched, leaning back against the stone battlement, and recast the privacy charm around all of them. "Ami, I had a proposal for you and Bill, and maybe the Driver twins. The elves have gone somewhat crazy with the formal head-of-state wig I need to wear for the opening of the Assembly. The thing spreads out behind me into a wire-reinforced woven mat that is up to three meters wide and about twenty-five meters long. The elves are adding a foot for every planet in the Empire, and even with featherweight charms, it is heavy, so I will need people to carry the bloody thing. I would like to cover you guys as my Crown Pages. That lets you stay close to me, you'll attend my formal investment as Empress, I do a speech, we open the Assembly, and I'll have some friendly wands at my back if I need them."

"What do we get out of it?" Ami asked. "Pay, benefits, that kind of thing?"

"You'd officially be working under Connie Koslowski as my Chief of Staff. You would get a stipend, which is a cash payment, not a salary, as we are providing for room, board, uniforms and so forth. After Hogwarts is out for the summer, it would be a regular job."

"Assuming we'd want to keep it," Ami said. "I assume we wouldn't be the only ones working as a Page."

"No, although you'd be younger than most of them. There's the Crown Pages, which I hope would be mostly witches and wizards, working for me, and the Assembly Pages, which the MA's**(1)** can propose. In addition, we have a dozen house elves that we've imported to Luna."

"Imported?"

Mattie flipped her hand, "We have to ship them in stasis tubes. They are a magical species, so they die very rapidly outside of a planetary magical gravity field. They take care of the Crown areas, in contract with their Big Pappy. Anyway, the Page program is for high school juniors, fifth-years. We have a dorm, cafeteria, and so forth." The Tsaritsa turned, "Ami, what this does is giving you a set of contacts not only with other pages, but with Assembly and Crown personnel. Yes, nominally, you would be fetching coffee, running slide projectors and delivering documents, but this also allows you to build up your network and let us, through you, keep an ear to the ground. That's why it's under Connie."

She looked at Bill, then back at Ami. "Right now, this is just for my investment ceremony, a bit more than a week. I know its short notice, but other things had to happen first, like getting a quorum in the Assembly. Two passenger ships docked last night, so we finally have that. If your parents agree, we would go up Friday afternoon, after classes, and we would bunk in the 'Crown Apartments' (she finger-quoted) in Port Oldridge. Saturday the 26th I have to get an exam, mental and physical, and while I'm doing that, you're fit for your uniforms, given an orientation so you know where things are, and then you have your first walk-through. Ami, if you want to bring Susan along, that's fine. You may know that Susan is working for IR & S's analysis section , which we're planning on moving to Luna, so it's possible you two could help her find a flat."

Ami nodded. "I know that Professor Dumbledore is working to set up the Imperial University," Ami slowly said, nodding. "I want to see this thing and what we'll be wearing." She looked at Bill, "Any questions?"

"After this investment ceremony," he prompted.

"Assuming you and your parents agree, we all do a rehearsal Sunday; the results of my physical are released to the press, and we do a meet'n'greet cocktail party with the MA's that night. You would be circulating with drink trays and doing some networking with other Pages while I do the same with the MA's. Again, you are setting up backdoor channels of your own. On Monday, I'm scheduled for interviews and lunch meetings, and then we do another rehearsal. Tuesday you are off and I do more politicking, Wednesday is a full dress rehearsal, the ceremony is Thursday the first. I then give my inaugural speech to the Assembly. After that we have another meet'n'greet reception and cocktail party. Friday is my first actual day as Tsaritsa, so it's a working day for all of us. Saturday the third we have off, we get packed up for the flight back on Sunday, and I start my last month at Hogwarts, so we're looking at nine days total."

Professor Sinestra appeared to prepare for her class, tapping on the privacy spell (which pinged inside), and Mattie dropped it. "Sound out the Driver twins, and anyone else in your year that might be interested in a summer job," she concluded.

"Okay," Bill said. "Let's find an empty classroom and see this thing."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, April 23, 2003: 06:29 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty lounge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Moving to new business, Miss Wayne, you said you had two items?" Minerva asked.

"Yes," she replied. "First, we finally have a quorum in the Imperial Assembly, so I'm going to need to fly up to Port Oldridge this coming Friday the 25th after classes. I'm taking along my brother Tomas, and Bill Morton, Ami Bones and the Driver twins who will be my Crown Pages, I believe you got the relevant emails?" Minerva nodded. "I did. I would like Albus to accompany you."

"I have no problem with that, he can join Mrs. Driver and my mom as an escort. I'm also offering them a summer job as my Crown Pages, they'll be working under Connie Koslowski. We would be back Sunday, May fourth. That leads me to my next item, I won't be returning next September." There were expressions of surprise, and she continued, "I'm going to sit my OWLs and GCSE exams here, but after that, the Empire has to be my full-time job. I'll take classes from tutors and the Imperial University, which my mother and I discussed with Professor Dumbledore on the trip to Saturn. Ideally, I'd like him to take on the job of IU's president, but that's not my decision."

"I will discuss it with him," Minerva said. "What about Miss Koslowski's education?"

"I believe, but I don't have anything firm yet, that's she's going to be attending morning classes at Port Oldridge High, and working for me in the afternoons. Either that or night school courses with me at IU." Miss Wayne sighed, "I hate to tell you all this, because I really do like this school, but my duty to the Empire has to take precedence." She took a swallow from her oversize coffee mug, "At least you can watch it all Thursday the first, when I'm sworn in and give my investiture speech to the Assembly at noon."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, April 23, 2003: 08:55 (UTC)  
Terran system, free-floating docks 500-509:  
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The array of assembly and repair docks floated in space. Ten of them, arranged as two layers of five wedge-shaped docks around a central core, which held power, storage, berthing and messing for the workers building the ships. In each building slip was a Terran naval frigate, and each new ship's building crew was racing the clock to complete her. Each ship was budgeted for a certain amount, and the building crews shared in any extra funds, but also in bonuses for early completion; and on the Navy's count of errors in her completion; fitting-out and trials. The crews therefore had powerful motivation to complete each ship early, under budget, and with as few errors as possible.

A short distance away (relatively speaking), a similar array of slightly larger docks (600-609) held light cruisers, and other, larger arrays held heavy cruisers (700-709), battlecruisers (800-809), and survey ships (900-909). Those survey cruisers were longer (1200 meters) and wider in beam than standard battlecruisers, designed to accommodate more small craft and science modules, as well as Marines.

In dock 505, a ceremony was taking place: the launching of a frigate. There were a number of traditions that had been modified for space-based ships, and others left in place. One was the sponsor was _always_ female, the second was the breaking of the traditional bottle of champagne. Mrs. Doris Mirado, the wife of the town's mayor loaded the bottle into the launcher, which was bore-sighted on a circular pressure switch on the ship, closed the breech, and touched the microphone to give the traditional first command: "Man this ship and bring her to life!" With that, she brought her white-gloved palm down on the big red button, the bottle launched and hit the switch, which turned on the ship's running lights, and also cut power to the tractors keeping her precisely located in the dock. Slowly, with only the momentum of the bottle's impact, the _Town_ class frigate _ITNS_ _Alberton_, (FFG 0025) left her building slip as the celebration of her launch got underway.

A pair of tugs waited for the _Alberton_. They would take the newly-built ship from her free-floating dock to Phobos, where a fitting-out dock waited for her. While her engines were installed, and a skeleton crew was aboard along with a builder's crew and a naval inspection team, fitting-out involved not only loading sundry materials and supplies (such as crockery and linens) which were customized to each ship, but also classified materials such as encryption machines. This all had to be tested and certified both in the fitting out, but also in free-space navigation trials. While this was going on, her crew was aboard, getting used to their new ship as 'plankowners'**(2)**. The ship would then be assigned with four other frigates to a squadron, commanded by a Commander on board a light cruiser. While the usual function of a light squadron such as this would be convoy escort, the ships could also be used as commerce raiders or as part of the defensive screen for a fleet or naval installation.

LCDR Frank Ainsworth, the new commander of the _Alberton_, turned to his comm officer; "Get me the _Alexander_, that slowpoke is still in dock. I want to gloat a bit."

"Aye, aye, sir," the PO**(3)** on duty replied. He played his console, then said, "I have Captain Timmens from the _Alexander_, sir."

"Glen! I notice you're still stuck in dock, and I'm first out."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Frank. I pay my bets. Six cases of beer for your ship when we hit Phobos." The Asian captain said, "What say to double or nothing? I say I have fewer down-checks than you do."

"Premium beer, Glen. Only the best for my crew."

"Same as I drink, Frank, straight from Germany. None of this piss-water American crap you like."

"Done! See ya in the winner's circle, Glen."

"Yeah, yeah. I got work to do." The image of the other officer vanished, and Captain Ainsworth said, "I want this ship so tight and so buffed even the grease is painted and polished. I'm not losing that bet. I've got twelve cases of German beer in addition to Glen's that say we ace that inspection. Pass the word, Clifford."

"Aye, aye, sir."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, April 24, 2003: 12:00 (relative)  
In transit, _Ba'an the Bold_:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

On the flag bridge, the General turned from his conversation with the ship's chief engineer. A very junior officer brought three slaves in, snapping "Inspection position!" to them, and clipped the first slave's leash to the rear of the command chair's base as they knelt, head down and left leg up to expose their penalty brands. "Change out the slaves," the General said casually, resuming his conversation with the engineer.

"Yes, sir. Slaves, stand and cuff yourselves," the officer said, and watched while they did so. He started toward the helm position, to check the security of the slave …

* * *

The ship encountered a minor ripple in the fabric of subspace. Normally, this would not have mattered, but on the aft end of the ship, the top-most of the three Jump Space engines, poorly built, installed, and maintained by corrupt contractors and officers, and stressed far beyond its design tolerances, reacted violently to that minor ripple. It exploded, killing 48 in the associated engine room, dropping the ship out of Jump Space, and adding additional stress to the ship's frame.

The two lower engines, now unbalanced, reacted by pitching the ship into a series of violent back-flips, killing more of the ship's personnel (and slaves), adding additional stress to the ship's structural framework, popping rivets and seals, which caused compartments to lose pressure. The ship was now bleeding air, but the damage wasn't done. The continual back-flips threw personnel and equipment around the various compartments, causing further explosions and impact damage. In one compartment part of the controls for the ship's gravity plates was damaged, causing some compartments to lose all or part of their artificial gravity, or damaging the compartments' controls. In some of the larger compartments, that meant that gravity varied from a negative (the grav plates repelling) through null grav and to a positive gravity of ten gravities or more. With the severe gravity gradients, the fact that for most of the ship it was in the middle of changing watches, which meant that twice the normal number of personnel were moving about, and the violent pitching, meant that many of them were thrown across the compartments. Unless they were secured somehow (in a torture frame, a slave's neck ring, or belted into a bunk or chair), the least injuries were broken limbs or a concussion. Far more common were broken necks, backs, or impacts with sharp console edges.

The lower port engine lasted twelve seconds after the abrupt drop out of Jump Space before exploding in its turn, adding yaw (spin) to the ship's movement as the lower starboard engine was the only one providing thrust. It was in marginally better shape than the other two, being the one that an occasional inspector had looked at. However, it was also severely over-stressed, and tore off, adding additional death, pressure loss, and stress to the ship.

The junior officer had just started toward the helm slave when the ship's steel bones screamed in agony, and the flag bridge's deck slammed up. While the slaves were secured, none of the three free males were, and the ship's chief engineer was thrown against the port-side consoles, his neck giving a sickening 'crack' as he collapsed to the deck. The General was flipped backwards, as he had just stood to adjust his uniform tunic, his back slamming into a console edge, his left temple then impacting the control board as the gravity in the rear of the compartment cycled from negative to positive before failing completely. The three hooded slaves leashed to the back of the command chair began to float in the null gravity, two of them pedaling their feet and fighting to free their wrists that were bound behind them by their slave belts. The middle slave hung limply in midair, unconscious.

The junior officer was relatively lucky: his trajectory was forward, he impacted the vacant navigation console to the right of the helm station. The slave bound at the helm tried to catch him, but was unsuccessful, bound as she was by her shackled ankles and back-bound wrists. He bounced off the navigation console's chair as the helm slave sank back into her chair by the seven gravities she now endured at her station.

* * *

The comm slave looked around. Only emergency lighting was on, although her console remained functional. Unfortunately, she was a bound slave. "My masters? This slave inquires as to the status of my masters and my masters' slaves."

"I am alive, slave," the chief engineer said. "However, I cannot feel anything below my neck. I believe my neck is broken, and I cannot move more than my head." He turned, "From what I can see of the General, he is not moving or breathing, and he has head injuries. Who else is functional?"

"My master, this slave sees leg bones and blood on my master here," the helm slave put in. "My master breathes, and moves slightly, but is unconscious. This slave believes one or both of my master's legs are broken. My master, the grav plates here are set to a high value, and this slave can barely breathe because of this."

"Damage control?" the engineer asked.

"My master," the sensor slave replied. "This slave can only see a part of the display. All three Jump Space engines are nonfunctional, and there are vacuum readings all over the ship. However, the gravity here feels a small bit less than normal. What are your orders, my master?"

The chief engineer drew a ragged breath. "First, we must assume that medical aid is not coming, and that I am the senior officer alive. Therefore, you will submit to me … "

"This slave thinks not, my master," the helm slave interrupted. She asked, "The recorders are running?"

"Yes," the com slave replied.

"Then, my master will free the ship's slaves, and this slave will take all living slaves and masters to the Terrans. This slave can, with difficulty, stop the ship's motion, and can reach the keys on my master's belt."

"How do you plan to do this, slave, and why should I do this?"

The sensor slave answered, "My master, this slave will search for medical aid for my masters. For my master's cooperation, at a minimum, this slave will grant my master a quick death. My master does hear the hiss of escaping air?" There was silence, and the engineer grunted. "As for how, my master does remember the small cruiser that was loaded in the boat bay when my master the king was thought to board?"

The comm slave added, "In addition, my master, this slave will download the plans and details this slave can for the Terrans."

"That's treason!"

"My master, this slave is slave. This slave does not care. This slave's sister slaves will set a coded beacon for the ship's location. He and the plans will be well worth the price of a few slaves' freedom. My master will also be dead, and beyond caring," the helm slave said, and with a grunt, freed herself. She crawled a few meters, then stood, walking to where the chief engineer lay, shaking the keyring in his face. She added, "My master, this slave inquires where this slave's control and programming chips are kept."

* * *

The medical slave knelt next to the ship's chief engineer, her collar dark. "We keep our bargain, my former master. May this give you an additional few steps up the Source's Spiral," and she touched an injector to his neck as he closed his eyes. "Good luck," he whispered. "I wish I could go with …" and his head slumped to the side. The former slave touched his neck, feeling for a pulse, then nodded. "It is done. Come, my sisters. We have a long journey ahead."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, April 24, 2003: 12:05 (relative)  
In transit, _Ca'arn the Cruel_:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"My master, we have lost contact with _Ba'an the Bold_," the comm slave said as she turned on the battle-cruiser's command deck.

"Interesting … with that ship's destruction that means I am now in command of the fleet," Sub-Admiral Is'las said as he sat up in the command chair. He smiled, "Continue with your duties, slaves."

"Yes, my master," they replied.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, April 25, 2003: 15:15 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Entrance hall:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Ah, good, ye' still be here," Hagrid said as he came through the main doors, followed by (people blinked) a sphinx.

"Thank you, Hagrid. We'll talk later," the sphinx said, and advanced, her hand out. "Brenda al-Jaffar, _Wizarding Reporter_." She was dressed very conservatively, with a pale gold long-sleeved blouse and darker skirt and headscarf. "I also string for _al-Jazeera_. I'm glad you're here, Ms. Wayne, I had several questions for you."

"Why am I not surprised that a sphinx is a reporter?" Mattie replied, shaking her hand. "We don't have that much time to catch our flight, Ms. al-Jaffar, if you're coming to Luna with us."

"Oh, yes, this is the closest floo. I've got my tickets on Delta up to Luna, I'll be covering the Imperial government." She gestured, "After you, please. I don't do well with the floo," and she raised a paw. "The fire hurts my feet."

"Allow me, my dear," Albus said, and cast a charm on each of her feet. "That should help."

"Thank you, Mr. Dumbledore," Brenda replied.

* * *

The sight of a live sphinx walking through Heathrow with a backpack on her back caused a few heads to turn. One particular busty redhead edged up to her, asking, "Brenda, was it? I'm Sue Bones, and I'm also moving up to Port Oldridge. Do you mind we sit together and discuss possibly sharing a flat?"

"I think that might be a good idea," Brenda replied as they waited in queue for security. "I was kind of worried about that. A government town is bound to be more expensive than one that's not."

"True, but I wanted to set one condition, though. We leave our jobs at work." Brenda raised an eyebrow, and Sue explained, "I work for IR & S. With you being a reporter, that means they'll investigate you as a potential flatmate, so we leave our work at work."

"While I can see the value of having you as a source, I can also see you as a source of disinformation, or planted leaks that would ruin my professional reputation," Brenda mused. She thought about it for a minute, then nodded. "Agreed, but I had a condition too. We open a joint bank account for household expenses, like groceries and the utilities. Keep everything strictly above-board." They moved up in queue, "Also, we should look into home offices. I don't know if I'll have an office or work off my laptop."

Ami Bones turned, "I'll have some time this week, so I can help you two out, but I'm not a source."

"Sounds good," Brenda agreed. "I've a place to look into when I arrive, supposedly a media centre. I don't know if I'll have a cubicle there or not. Then we can revise our requirements, so for now it's a hotel room for us." She watched as Ami turned to smile at the security bloke, and stepped through the metal detector.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, April 27, 2003: 08:00 (UTC)  
Hour 296.00/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Assembly anteroom:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"People, let's get going here," Connie Koslowski called from the podium. She had borrowed some of Anne Bundy's floor-sweeper skirts and peasant blouses, and wore knee-length stiletto boots. She was a small girl, but taller than Ms. Wayne, the boots gave her an additional 10cm (4") of height (and ankle support). "I'm not wearing these damned boots for the fun of it, I'm standing in for the Tsaritsa. Now we've all been fit for our respective uniforms and clothing, I'm now the same height she will be." She checked her clipboard, "Sara Whitloe and Ami Bones are the first two girls, because you're taller, and then Anna Driver, Heather Canby; and Bill Morton and Warren Driver hold up the end. We go in, the Tsaritsa is seated, and Sara and Ami, you're going to put about eight inches or so of this wig on a small bracket on the back of her chair so the Tsaritsa can move her head around, then you fold it up neatly so it's all on the low table. You'll watch the proceedings, but you're not going to talk."

Connie knelt and was assisted into the mockup head-dress (made of canvas, but the correct weight, width and length). She turned and walked from the antechamber, followed by protocol officers. Frowning, she looked at Heather and Sara, "Remember, _no talking_. That's why you're set up the way you are. This is going to be live telecast, and we don't want a couple of Crown Pages ruining the show. Ami, Anna, if they start, hit them with a '_silencio_' charm. Bill, Warren, same thing."

"That's …"

"Would you prefer we gag you?" Connie asked. She got into Heather's face, "You WILL keep your fuckin' mouth shut until after the ceremonies. Maybe we should cast that charm before the ceremony starts."

"Good idea," Bill commented.

"We'll give them a chance," Connie said. "No whispers, no comments, no gossip, no giggling, or I will as God is my witness shut the two of you the fuck up. Are we fuckin' clear on that? You're reading me five by, Canby? How about you, Whitloe?"

The two girls nodded (reluctantly), and Connie grunted. "'Kay. Now, let's do this like we've all been briefed. The Tsaritsa and her pages, holding her train, enter the chamber." She stood, and slowly (the boots didn't help) strolled into the chamber. There were a few MA's there, checking out the Chamber, along with various people who would have parts in the ceremony. Ami looked up, the Assembly Chamber was carved out of the basalt of the crater's rim, with a tiered stadium – style horseshoe arrangement. Boxes, like in a stadium, were reserved for the various system delegations, with a maximum of twenty voting desks with computer terminals in each box. Behind the boxes was a short tunnel leading back to the delegation's offices, and beyond that was space for aids, secretaries, and the public access to the offices.

At the 'base' of the chamber to their left, were two mid-back stone chairs, the one stage left had a cushion on it, behind the two thrones was a small room with supplies and a low table behind the left hand throne. There were steps to either side of a small chamber, with offices for the Assembly and Crown officials above the actual thrones, aligned with the first floor corridors.

They were entering stage right on the ground floor, and Connie strolled along the base of long horseshoe, heels clicking on the tile floor, turning at the end and strolling down the stage left passage, the boxes for the various system delegations again to her right. She slowly pivoted to face the Chamber, and Ami closed up with Sara, staying a few feet behind Connie as Anna, Heather, then Bill and Warren closed behind them. Smoothing her skirts, Connie sat on the throne, Ami and Sara hooked a couple of grommets through steel hooks, they then walked backward as the practice headdress was carefully laid on the low table.

"Very good," Mr. Harper from the Protocol office said, clapping briefly. "Very good indeed. Any questions?"

Connie turned her head (with some difficulty) as Sara raised her hand, "Um, will the real thing have those holes for the hooks?"

"Yes, there are grommets. Other questions?"

Ami raised her hand, "That thing is heavy, and it's hard to hold. Can we get some sort of brace to go across it, with hand holds? My arm was getting tired holding it up." The others nodded in agreement, Connie putting in, "I kept having to force my head forward. Can we get some sort of a shoulder brace kind of thing?"

Mr. Harper made notes. "I'll look into that. The next step is the blessings. Now, the two young gentlemen need to come forward and move the podium center-stage, in front of the globe …" He turned and bowed, "Good morning, Your Imperial Highness."

"Good morning, Mr. Harper," the Tsaritsa replied as she entered. She wore white leggings, low-heeled knee boots and a pale green sweater dress. She pulled out a chair and turned it, "Don't mind me, I'm taking a break before I go see the shrinks and make sure I'm sane. Please continue."

Bill and Warren came out of the small alcove, pushing a wooden cabinet – style podium across the tiled floor with a series of 'thunks'. They got it into position, Bill asking, "What's in this thing? Lead? It's heavy and doesn't roll well on tile."

"It should have a battery and the electronics for the wireless microphone and signaling circuits," Mr. Harper replied, coming over to examine it. He gave it an experimental shove, then said, 'Oh, my," and opened the doors. "Those look like auto batteries, and thermionic valves (vacuum tubes). The whole programme is only supposed to be three hours. We specified a six hour battery, to be certain it would have enough life."

"My speech isn't supposed to be that long," the Tsaritsa commented as she sipped from her travel mug.

"This looks like oak," Warren said. "You don't need this heavy kit, ma'am. You could do this with a lighter, laminate kit podium you knock together, and you could wear a wireless microphone. The signaling circuits can be run off wireless circuit with a few double-A batteries."

Mr. Harper frowned, "The podium is supposed to smoothly and silently roll into and out of position." He stepped aside as the Tsaritsa put her mug down; walked up, examined the podium, then stood behind it, silently gesturing as if she was giving a speech. She frowned, then tapped three colored lights below the mounted microphone. "These are the signals?"

"Indeed, ma'am. Green for continue, amber for a two minute warning, red for stop. We cannot have the religious speakers, nor the politicians take twelve hours each." Mr. Harper smiled slightly. "Not and fit in our scheduled broadcast window. When the red light goes on, the microphone will be cut off. The various priests will each have five minutes to properly bless us."

"Half hour," the Tsaritsa nodded, and turned. "Warren Warren, can you get the signaling circuits put together in time, and get some larger casters?"

He nodded, "Yes, ma'am, even if I have to ship them up, but I'm sure we can find an electronics shop here." He cleared his throat, "There will be a slight cost, though."

"I'm sure," she smiled, and pulled her wallet from somewhere. She flipped through it, "Here's … fifty Euros, that should cover it. Keep the receipts, please." She stowed her wallet again as she turned back to Mr. Harper, "I'm going to need a sword stand that will accommodate my naked katana as well as a standard Imperial Army gladius." She smiled slightly. "A bit of theatrics to emphasize that we're at war. I want them to cross, and have hooks behind for the sheaths. Can do?"

"Please sketch what you want, ma'am, and the materials?"

"Something to go with the other stuff, the crown, the staff and so forth," she replied, sketching with his pen on his legal pad. She handed them back, "About a meter or so high. It doesn't have to be fancy, but it needs to fit, and we don't have much time, so whatever looks best."

"Yes, ma'am. Anything else?"

"The teleprompters. I'd like the left hand one to be configured to show any urgent news, like the return of the Republican fleet, so I can work it into my speech." Mr. Harper nodded, and glanced at the door. The Tsaritsa turned, grinned, then said, "They're coming to take me away, ha-haaa, ho-ho, hee-hee! To the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time! Those nice young men in their clean white coats, they're coming to take me away!" There were several snickers, and she said, "If we can't laugh at ourselves, and Dr. Demento…" and held out her wrists, "Lead me on, Ms. Crystal."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny," Crystal deadpanned as she gripped the Tsaritsa's wrists. "Come on, you."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, April 27, 2003: 09:17 (UTC +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Zirkowski!" Elena called, and tossed the last package to her trainee. "Okay, ladies, mail call is over. We will be deploying to the _Abraham_, an assault carrier, along with the other companies. The ship will then transport us to Phobos, where we will go through zero-gee and vacuum training, in and out of body armor." She strolled down the barracks, "There is also the possibility we will see combat, depending on when the Republican fleet reinforcements arrive." She stopped and turned, "People, I've been on six assaults of Republican ships. They can't fight worth shit, but that doesn't mean you get lazy. You order any slaves to the deck, and give their masters one chance to surrender. If they do, good. You bind 'em and tag 'em so you get paid for the capture. If the idiots decide not to surrender, you kill them." She looked around, "Simple enough, right? You're combat troops, and if you puke your guts out after the first one, you won't be unusual. I did." She took a few steps, "You need to remember that your safety, the safety of your buddies, and the performance of your mission are your priorities. We're not going to argue with the enemy, we're not going to talk him into surrendering. One chance is all he's got."

Heather asked, "Sarge, what about women in charge, and what percent actually surrender?"

"Hause, I've seen very few women in charge, and in my experience from twenty to thirty percent actually surrender." She walked a few more steps, "Here we go, we need to have our skinsuits on before boarding a landing craft, so strip off your fatigues, down to your panties, and pull out your bottle of talcum powder and your suit." She walked over to the watch desk and pulled off her own boots and fatigues, exposing her skinsuit. "Off with the bra too, McKinnon," she said. "Support's built in. One benefit to this snafu is that it simplified logistics some. Okay, the waist is going to be tight, like a corset, people. You'll need help with it. Work the legs up just like the duty leggings …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, April 27, 2003: 20:15 (UTC)  
Hour 308.15/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Page quarters:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Whoa, you look good, Ami," Bill said as he met his girlfriend in the lobby. "I always liked a girl in uniform."

"Same to you," she replied, adjusting his light purple turtleneck, and tucking his security pass on his lanyard into the wrap of his his tight, white form-fitting top and the grey leggings they wore. "You put on a memory charm?"

"Yeah," he replied, and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

"We shall," she replied with a slight smile, accepting his arm.

* * *

" … I agree; I would rather not have a draft. However, the problem is that we're outnumbered, and a volunteer force isn't getting us the personnel we need," the Tsaritsa said to the MA. "The Republic has twenty-five planets in twelve systems, all developed. We have a total of seventy-three planets, which includes six trade planets like P'wheel, but forty of them are colony planets that are still struggling to get crops in. We can put a few ships in orbit to protect their convoys, but in terms of troops on the ground, garrisons, all we have is the locals with hunting rifles and shotguns." She nodded as Bill took her empty glass, replacing it with a full one as she read the other woman's surface thoughts.

The Assembly member frowned, finishing her own glass and exchanging it, and then said as Bill moved away, "I do not like the idea of a military conscription."

Mattie shrugged, "I'm open to suggestions," she replied. The other woman didn't have firm objections, instead she was simply concerned about her teen-age children and military service. "There would be deferments for religion, education and employment, but in fairness, we can't ignore half of our population. The reasons for not drafting women in the past don't apply in this case, and a lot of the volunteers we have been getting have been young women." She took a sip from her glass, "The strength and sexual assault objections are countered by the body armor, and the concern about unit cohesion is countered by experience from the Russians, Israelis, and others. If anything, women fight harder than the men do." She took another sip, "By using the Imperial Cadet Corps as part of school's Physical Education requirement, and making it fun, making it a competition, we pave the way for their later entrance into Imperial Service. By making that Imperial Service a rite of passage to adulthood, with various benefits attached, we're going to create a positive instead of what you're seeing as a negative."

"What about physical problems," the older woman asked, thinking about her daughter's diabetes.

"Everyone is run through a med-tank," Mattie replied. "They come out, not necessarily in Olympic caliber physical shape, but certainly lean and trim and fit, and the exercise they get in Basic reinforces that. Therefore the age and physical fitness objections don't apply. We have veterans from the Second World War and Korea that are serving, and we're glad to have them. If you're missing a limb, that's another thing, but for most of the population they would qualify." She sipped from her glass again, "To be young, fit and healthy again most people would call that a decent trade for Imperial Service."

"And they get to travel to the stars," the MA agreed. "What about this Imperial University?"

"Ah, let me introduce you to my proposed President, Albus Dumbledore,"

* * *

"How are things going?" Ami asked as she poured champagne into fluted glasses. She gave her own tray a quick polish as Bill put the used glasses (stem up) into the dishwasher.

"Mattie was talking about conscription with Ricasoli," he replied. "The MA wasn't happy with the idea of conscription, but I don't know what else we can do." He took some of the glasses, placing them on his tray, and putting more bottles to chill in the 'fridge. He put the empty bottles back in a case.

"Well, we've got the ICC next year," Ami said. "I hope it's fun. I'm looking forward to trying these guns they've been talking about." She grimaced, "Not very girly, I know, but Aunt Amelia didn't raise me that way, and Susan was right, spells and jinxes aren't good beyond a few yards."

"I'm looking forward to the sword," Bill said, holding the door for Ami.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, April 28, 2003: 10:50 (UTC)  
Terran system, Oort cloud perimeter:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"We're picking up a buoy," the former comm slave announced, and flipped a switch. They heard a young woman's voice in Trade:

"_Warning, do not deviate from marked flight path in system. Other areas are off limits, the Terran Empire will not be held liable for destruction and death of ship, crew and cargo. Warning, do not deviate from marked..." _

"Seems fairly clear," the former slave at the helm agreed.

"There's more," the former slave at the sensor station put in. "We're being scanned by a warship." The girl at comm flipped switches, and a young officer appeared on the main screen. "Republican yacht _Fi'ckr_, this is the picket ship _Ahja_. This system is under military control. State your business."

The comm girl swallowed nervously, then said, "_Ahja_, we come in peace. We were slaves on board the Republican BattleStar _Ba'an the Bold_. We seek refuge as the ship was damaged and is no longer operational."

"How was the ship damaged, _Fi'ckr_?"

"We do not know, master, but we will sell you his location for salvage in return for a guarantee of our freedom." The young officer appeared skeptical, and she added, "We understand you are at war with the Republic. _Ba'an_ was the command ship, and we have some of his computer files."

"We will evaluate those, _Fi'ckr_. Stand by to be boarded, we will take temporary command while we escort you in. We will inform Admiral Herschel aboard her BattleStar _Albion_."

* * *

A few hours later, the comm slave turned in her chair, "Master, we are being hailed by your command BattleStar." The Terran officer nodded, "Put them on, please."

"Yes, master," and she flipped switches. Another young officer appeared, "_Fi'ckr_, this is _Albion_. Orders from the Flag. Transfer the crew of _Fi'ckr_ to _Ahja_ and then to _Albion_, then take _Fi'ckr_ in to spacedock for examination. We've received the transfer of files, and they are most interesting."

"Copy transfer of _Fi'ckr's_ crew through to _Albion_, and then take _Fi'ckr_ in-system. What's going to happen to the crew?"

"Admiral Herschel wants them as her guests aboard _Albion_." She looked at the slaves on the other ship's command deck, "Not our slaves, not prisoners, not captives. Guests. I am Ensign Zhao, the Admiral's flag lieutenant. Her aide. We have sent fleet tugs and escorts to _Ba'an_, and on their return we will evaluate her in our shipyard."

"When will you know, mistress?"

"I understand a day or two for the fleet tugs to return with _Ba'an_, and for the shipyard evaluation to start."

"Mistress, it took us several days to arrive here, how …"

"We use different engines," Zhao replied. "Any other questions?"

* * *

"That … that is not a ship, master! That is surely a moon!" the former slave at the helm said softly as she leaned over her console, staring at the still distant mass of white steel.

"No, that's one of our BattleStars," the young officer in the center seat chuckled.

"ONE of, master?" the former comm slave asked. "You have more than one?"

"Fifteen complete, and more building for our various fleets," he replied.

"Various … you did say fleets, master?" she said. "_Ba'an_ took over a century to build, and you are … the Republic thinks … you are barbarians, and you have BattleStars?"

"The Republic's information is somewhat … in error."

* * *

"I am Ensign Zhao, Admiral Herschel's Flag Lieutenant," she said to the naked slaves standing in the lock gallery. "We will be quartering you in a restricted part…" she stopped, as every one of the former slaves was now kneeling in 'Inspection' position, their wrists cuffed behind them.

"You said the word 'restrict', Ensign," the escorting Lieutenant said. "They must all be Enhanced slaves. Release," and most of the slaves quivered. A few did not, and he added, "Sit up, please. Do any of you know how to release the others?"

"My masters must prefix the slave's model number to the term 'Release', master," one replied. "Shall we submit now, or does my master wish his new slaves to do so later?"

"Thank you, Lieutenant, I have custody," Ensign Zhao said. He nodded and departed. "First, that was a mistake on my part, for which I apologize. Second, you are not slaves, you are our guests, so there is no need for you to submit. Now, as I was saying, we plan on quartering you in a separate part of the ship's guest quarters, however you will first be examined by our medical staff. After that, we will have various officers talk to you. Now, if any of you can release the other girls, I would appreciate it."

* * *

15943 was escorted to Medical by one of the ship's troops, a pleasant young master in a black uniform who kept a light grip on her elbow as he walked beside her. He arrived at a door, whose labeling read 'Medical' in Trade and another language, a rather blocky alphabet, not smooth and flowing like Trade. The door slid open as they stood before it, and she was relieved to see a Healer in the traditional magenta vest, wearing a longer white coat over it. What's more, she was also wearing a dark collar!

"Another one for you, Doc," the young master said, and the Healer nodded, gesturing to the side. "Two to return, and I've got two cooking now," she replied. She looked at 15943, "Take a seat over there, please. You'll have a bit of a wait, there's three ahead of you."

"Yes, mistress," she replied, and went to join the other three, while two other cuffed slaves stood as they knelt before the young master. He gestured, opening the compartment hatch and taking each slave's elbow as he left with them. One of the circular hatches on the wall 'binged', lights changing color, and opened to a long table that held a slave girl lying face down. The Healer pulled it out, letting it tilt. "Release," she told the girl, and she shuddered briefly. "You must lie perfectly still," the Healer commented as she undid cloth straps with a ripping sound. "This is the easiest way to do a full body scan. How was it?"

"Tedious, mistress," the slave replied. "I was able to sleep through some of it."

"Good idea," the Healer commented. "Can you stand?"

"Yes, mistress," and the slave took a few steps to join the others, and knelt. "What will happen to us, mistress? Will we be sold?"

"When my ship was taken by the Terrans, I had the same questions," the Healer said. She consulted her datapadd, "12003, you're next." One of the slaves kneeling near 15943 arose, going to the table and taking the position the previous slave had. The Healer strapped her down, told her "Restrict," and then tapped keys on the control panel. "Sleep, girl," and slid her into the machine. "No, I don't think so," she replied. "The Terrans need experienced ship's crew. You may go through some military training, but …"

"Military training, mistress? We are slaves!"

"You _were_ slaves," the Healer corrected. "Now you have a dark collar, so you need a way to earn tungsten. You can join their military forces, or work in a shipyard, or join a colony. They will give you a briefing, a short lecture as to your choices. Think about this: could you raise a weapon to kill your owner? Think about some of the masters and owners you've had." The other circular hatch 'binged', and the Healer turned to it.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, April 28, 2003: 13:08 (UTC)  
Hour 325.08/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Assembly anteroom:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Connie looked up as the door to the antechamber opened, Mattie striding through with Crystal. "Sorry I'm late, guys," she apologized. "Some people don't know when to stop talking."

"One of the beloved members of the Assembly?" Warren asked as the Tsaritsa took a seat. Two of the girls helped her into the practice headpiece. She turned slightly as he and Bill went to the end of the long wig, "You're much too young to be so cynical, Warren Warren."

"I learned from the best, milady," he replied. "I think this thing has gotten longer."

"And heavier," Heather said. "Ready, milady?"

"Let's do this, and hopefully we'll all hit our correct marks," Connie said from where she stood with her clipboard. "Driver, did you get those electronics fixed?"

"Yes, ma'am," Warren replied. "All installed and tested. Bill and I also installed some larger casters, so it will move a bit easier."

"What about the sword stand?" Mattie asked.

"Done, steel electroplated in black," Crystal said. "I've got the swords for it, too. It's in front of your throne, and will make a nice contrast to the large crystal globe, which has been moved in front of your consort's chair. They're both also on casters, so they can move."

Miss Wayne nodded, "Good, and hello, Mr. Harper."

"Good afternoon, Your Imperial Highness," the Protocol officer replied. "Your press office released a summary of your medical information, although we're not giving specifics, such as the brand you have on your left hip. It's just described as a 'burn mark'."

"Everyone's been telling me to get rid of it," the soon-to-be Tsaritsa commented. "I won't, it's a reminder to me." She shifted, "Are we ready to do this?"

"Almost, ma'am," Mr. Harper said. "In your inaugural speech to the Assembly, we will need to add a section regarding personnel. This will later serve as First Reading for your nomination to their appointments, as will the other sections regarding your foreign policy and fiscal policy. This will serve to introduce your legislation to the Assembly, and will be split out into the appropriate individual Crown bills for Second Reading."

"An omnibus bill," Warren said.

"Indeed," he replied. Turning, he nodded, "Ah, Madame Delacour."

Fleur replied, "Bonjour, Monsieur Harper." She turned and curtseyed, "Bonjour, Mon l'impératrice." (Hello, my Empress.)

The Tsaritsa bowed in return, "Bonjour, Mon Premier ministre d'être." (Hello, my Prime Minister to be.) She changed back to English, "Fleur, any problems so far?"

"Non, madame. At least none that a daughter of the noble House of Capet cannot handle." She tossed her head, "I have not even had to use my glamours, and my _petite soeur_ (little sister) is one of the European Assembly members. She is young, yes, but is already becoming a skilled politician. It should prove a most welcome challenge to guide our programme to success."

Warren cleared his throat, "Excuse me, but I thought the House of Capet died in 1328 with Charles IV."

"You have studied your history," Fleur replied in approval. "However, the House of Capet survived, how you say, under the ground, not as a Royal house, it is true, but is still a member of the aristocracy in the Champagne region." She turned, clapping her hands, "Bien. I am here, to serve l'empire de Terra, to fight in my own way la République barbares (the barbarian Republic), and to avenge our honored dead." She waved her hand, "Proceed, s'il vous plait. We must be perfect for the ceremony, and then begins the real work of forming the government."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 29, 2003: 08:31 (UTC)  
Interstellar space:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"So John, what's the status of _Ba'an the Bold_?" Rebecca (never Becky) Thatcher, the commander of the heavy cruiser _Alberta_ (CAG 0006) and of Task Group 403 asked.

"Frankly, ma'am, it's a hunk of junk," her chief engineer replied. "We're finishing up SAR**(4)** on it while we evaluate structure. Normally, just one tug could handle it, despite the size of the _Ba'an_. However, we're going to have to create a subspace field to tow it, which is going to take all three tugs. It's also going to slow down our return."

"Another fine example of how NOT to build a ship," LTCR Crissy Koos, TG 403's second in command said from aboard the frigate _Aftafar_ (FFG 0013). The dark-haired rejuv continued, "I took a quick visit aboard _Ba'an_, the ship looks like it has never had any maintenance. Two of the engine rooms are wrecked from internal explosions, the third is just … gone. I'm surprised some of the compartments held pressure long enough for anyone to survive. Still, we got about a hundred thirty slaves and six or so of their masters out alive. They're aboard the _St. Alda_."

"Any guesses as to what happened?" Thatcher asked.

"Ma'am, there's a pulsating neutron star about six lights away that makes local subspace look like a potholed road," Koos replied. "I'm going to guess that pushing the engines way past their limits in this section of space finally did them in. We'll wait and see what Phobos has to say, but the local subspace had to have played a part. Like sailing through a major storm, there's going to be some damage even with a well-maintained ship."

"Makes sense, ma'am," the engineer concurred, and looked off screen. "We've got that field ready to initialize – anything else you need me for, ma'am?"

"No, that's it for now," and Thatcher ended the call.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 29, 2003: 08:36 (UTC)  
Hour 344.36/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The Tsaritsa walked her guest to the office door. "Thank you for coming by, Uncle Eddie. It's nice to know some things are improving and actually going to plan."

"They are not?" he asked, turning in the doorway.

"I'm just complaining to be complaining," she replied with a grin. "I'm already missing Hogwarts, and I've still got a month to go there, and to take my fifth year exams."

"Are you certain of this course of action?" he inquired.

"Well, it's not like I can abdicate," she replied. "I know, I can delegate, and I'm slowly learning to do that, and to make political deals I wouldn't otherwise. Still …" she sighed. "I wish my life were simpler."

"A common desire. My life would be simpler without a wife and child, but I would consider it a poorer choice now." He leaned over to kiss her forehead, "Now I can see your secretary giving me an evil eye, and there are people waiting to speak with you. I have already overstayed my time."

"You know I will always make the time for family," she said softly.

"Indeed." He pulled her into a hug, "I shall see you shortly, then," and he turned and left. She watched him go, took a deep breath, then asked, "Ellen, who's up next, and who have I shorted?"

"That would be Mr. Hagan and your speechwriter," the short-haired blonde replied.

An elegant leopard stood, stretched and yawned, followed by another fellow. He bowed, "Hello, milady. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, ma'am."

She took it, and then said, "Matt, if you're finished scaring people, we have things to do."

* * *

"Very nice fish tank," Greg the speechwriter said, admiring the large, floor-to-ceiling display, while Matt-the-leopard sat next to the coffee table, withdrawing a binder and folders from somewhere.

"It's actually a large video display, called a smart wall," Mattie said. "This is the equivalent of a screen saver. I can pull up TV, security monitors, all sorts of things with it." She picked up a remote, thumbed the volume up, and they heard bubbles and wave noises. She turned the volume down, "I'm sure I'm going to have lots of fun with it, but that means having the time to study the manual and learn the system." She put the remote back on her desk, "I do want to apologize for running over time."

"Ma'am, you are definitely not a politician," Greg said with a smile. "We're staff, our time is yours."

"Well, let's spend it productively, then," and turned to introduce the two. "Matt, the head of my Ministry of Information is a Hollywood action star and shape shifter, Greg was recommended to me by the Canadian Prime Minister's office. One reason I wanted to see the two of you at the same time is to coordinate getting my message out."

They both nodded, and Greg started, "Ma'am, I've spent some time analyzing the few speeches you've actually done, and your press conferences. I've also conferred with the protocol office and your Prime Minister's office." He gestured, "You're what we call a 'walker', milady. You like to move around, instead of standing rigidly behind a podium." She nodded, and he continued, "The problem with that is that it distracts from the message. You're more comfortable with talk shows and news conferences, and it shows in your body language. What we need to do is to convey the message that you are comfortable giving a speech, and you can make up some of this by gestures, which you do use to a limited extent. You will need to use more, which you will see in big red letters on the teleprompter. Gesture with both hands, pull in with your hands, lean forward, that kind of thing."

She frowned, "I'm not used to that. Whenever I start to do that, I think I look like Hitler, with the way he screamed and waved his arms around."

Greg looked slightly uncomfortable, "Ma'am, whatever his policies and politics, Adolf Hitler was a masterful public speaker and a consummate manipulator. Another was Winston Churchill."

Matt-the-leopard added, "If you think about it, ma'am, radio technology was new then. News got out through newsreels and newspapers, which is what we're doing now with IMI. We are not defending the Nazi's, but they transformed their society after defeat in World War I. Their 'stab-in-the-back' theory has some justification, especially since the Treaty of Versailles was dictated to them and they were forced to sign it at gunpoint." He waved a paw, "This isn't history class. The point is that we need to perform a similar social revolution to what they did …"

"Including their laws?" Greg interrupted.

"Well, no, obviously not that. Nor am I Goebbels," Matt replied. "My point is that we need to keep a free press and a democratic forum, even if a number of the Empire's worlds are not what I would call a democracy." He waved another paw, "We're getting off track here. We need to move the population of the Empire from where they are now, to support of the Empire and the military, the necessary support for conscription as a rite of passage, and the wartime economy as a major exporter with the necessary changes in the labor force."

"With lots of jobs, I hope," the Tsaritsa added. "That's the big thing I'm getting with public opinion polls and the different MA's. Jobs, jobs, jobs."

"Jobs will be there, ma'am," Matt-the-leopard replied. "Now, some will be off-planet, and a number will be in the military. If we look at the last time the planet had a war economy, World War II, there was about half-percent unemployment. Germany actually had the highest, with their political doctrine refusing jobs to their women so they could stay home and pump out good little Nazi babies. Here, many young women are choosing the Army and Navy, especially the combat arms. They're regarding this as their war, something we want to encourage."

"We're also seen as barbarians by the enemy," Greg put in. "Our using swords reinforces that."

"Scalps. That's something I want to discuss with your cabinet and especially General von Hesse regarding military morale," Matt-the-leopard put in. "We're seen as barbarians, as uncivilized. I think we need to reinforce that, because we also need to create fear in the enemy. We will earn respect, but right now, I think fear works best. Therefore, I would like to encourage things like nose art on our aircraft; the more insulting the better, and letting the combat troops hang enemy scalps on their shields. All psychological warfare."

"Hmm. Preferably when the enemy is dead," Ms. Wayne replied. "We'll put it on the table, but I can see it, especially if the scalping is done near the enemy POWs." She waved her hand, "By the way, Matt, I was wondering why you hadn't changed back to human."

"Err, I'm somewhat stuck like this at the moment," he replied. "I was in this form for my vacuum experiment, and I'm still somewhat … frozen. I tried to force a change when I was in London, but it was painful, so I'm going to be patient and finish thawing." He looked at Greg, "I'm a shape shifter, which means I normally don't have to breathe, eat, and so forth. We were wondering how I would survive zero-gee and vacuum. Well, I don't need a space suit, but I do need to be somewhat warmer than absolute zero." He waved a paw, "We're off track again."

"Ma'am," Greg started. "Going back to your Investment Speech, a parliamentary speech is different from a stump speech or your press conferences. In this particular type of speech, you are simply laying the groundwork of your proposals. The actual nomination bills of your ministers and your proposed legislation are shepherded by your Prime Minister through the legislative process."

She frowned and nodded. "How does this differ from a stump speech?"

"A parliamentary speech like this lays out an outline of a course of action, with a few reasons for that. A stump speech lays out a trial balloon; like the mechanics and reasons for conscription. I will go over this with you later, ma'am. Speech-making and the differences have tripped up a number of people. For example, former President Luthor came from a similar background in business, although he was used to simply giving orders. All of his speeches would be lectures, not persuasion. You have at least used jokes, but those can be tricky. We're going to intentionally introduce a small malfunction in the PA system, so you can lead off with a joke about it."

"Okay…"

"Next point, milady. We have two audiences to keep in mind. The Assembly in the room with you, and the watching audience. As long as you don't embarrass yourself in front of them, the Assembly is your Prime Minister's job."

"So this is a three hour long photo op for the television audience."

He nodded. "Essentially. There will be commentary by the various network talking heads, interviews, various analysts and so forth. I must say, ma'am, that shutting down broadcast TV and radio, while understandable from a military security standpoint, did not do you any favors regarding publicity. Right now, the public has a 'wait and see' attitude about the Empire. You will do better once employment picks up and off-world tourism starts. Even a long weekend trip to Luna to see the Apollo sites would be a positive."

"We've been promoting the Belt and economic development as part of that."

"Which is good, but it doesn't address the _consumer_ demand. Recent surveys have said that a _minimum_ forty percent of first and second world consumers would like a trip to low orbit and to experience zero gee. It goes to seventy percent if it is to the moon and the Apollo sites. Many people remember watching Neil Armstrong take that first step. Is it any wonder that he is a recluse? Make it affordable to the average middle-class family at a few hundred dollars; interest kicks up to _eighty-five percent_. Tourism is a huge economic engine! Just look at the cruise industry."

"Hmm …" she said as she paced. Pausing, she said, "I'm doing it again," and smiled. "However, I don't know how well we'd do sending off cruise liners full of tourists when we're in the middle of a war. In addition, many of our colonies are at least a week or two's travel time away; and they are not ready for hordes of tourists. We also have the problem of radically different social systems on non-colony worlds that are closer."

"How different?"

"Umm … think about the difference between Europe and religious communities such as the Middle East. There, you would just be deported if you committed a serious _faux pas_, but in these cases, setting a foot wrong may earn you a collar and being sold as a slave. Not good for tourism."

He grunted, "True, milady. However, I would suggest passing this on to your Commerce Ministry. They can at least start identifying the pros and cons, and just think about all that new tax revenue." He smiled, "Milady, the television networks are promoting your investment as a news special, so there's going to be a large world-wide audience. That is the good news. The bad news is that any discussion of conscription, a draft is a strong negative. That is why I eliminated that part of your speech. This is a getting-to-know-you speech; you are not selling your agenda. That's the job of your Prime Minister and her Whips." He held up a hand, "Yes, I know the reasons behind conscription. You are going to have to keep selling it, and that is an uphill climb right now. You will be better off to pitch the Freedom Bonds as an investment and sneak in tax increases behind it. For those reasons, among others, I've re-written your speech to fit within your part of the broadcast window." He handed over a bound copy.

"I worked hard on that speech!" she smiled, moving to her desk and picking up a fountain pen. She tapped it on the glass surface of her desk, then unscrewed the cap and made a few notes as she read. There was silence as pages turned and the pen scratched. They watched as she gestured to herself, nodding once or twice. "I want you to be at the dress rehearsal tomorrow," she said, and tapped her intercom. "Ellen, make sure my speechwriter is cleared for the dress rehearsal tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am. The people for your nine-thirty meeting are here."

"Well, that's my cue, ma'am," he said. "I'll work your edits into the script, and see you tomorrow."

She walked him to the door, smiled, and offered her hand. "Thank you for your help."

* * *

"Good morning, everyone!" the Tsaritsa smiled, gesturing for them to take seats near her 'smart wall'. "I'd rather do this meeting informally, and I have an announcement for all of you."

"Christmas comes early?" Lady Sarah asked as she took a seat, her case of notes and papers next to her. She leaned forward to put her binder on the coffee table as others sat near her.

"To some extent," the young woman replied. "As you know, I'm a witch, that's with a 'w' and not a 'b', and not just for a few days of the month." There were some smiles, and she continued, "Correctly, I'm a 'magic user' (she finger-quoted), as are Mr. Griplink and Madame Delacour. However, one drawback in my case is an involuntary case of Legilimancy."

"Eh? What is that, please?" Mr. Kim Soo-bin, her (proposed) Minister of Commerce asked.

"It is a psi talent," Mr. Griplink replied. "Madame Delacour and I are different enough from a 'stock' human that our brains work on a slightly different frequency." He turned, "You have my sympathy."

"Eet is like hearing ze conversations at ze party," Fleur explained. "Oui, my sympathy as well. Can you not shield zis?"

"My headpiece, my wig-of-rank has shielding built in, as will all of yours," she replied. She grinned, "What, you thought all of you could get away without wearing one? No, no, no! I've got my formal one and this informal one that's for day-to-day use." She gestured at her current knee-length wig.

"That still doesn't explain the problem," Lady Sarah commented.

"Eh. We've all been to cocktail parties, and when you circulate, you pass areas of conversation, and some people speak louder than others." She waited, and people nodded. "Well, in general people will broadcast their thoughts, which can be substantially different than what they're saying. What's more, people that are not properly trained can't shield their thoughts from people that have been trained to search for those thoughts." She paused, and then said, "Consider the intelligence possibilities." There were dawning looks of horror.

"You are saying that you can read minds?" Wai asked.

"I am saying that without this shield that's built into this headpiece, I would right now have a massive headache because I'd have to maintain my own mental shields. What's more, some people's minds are the equivalent of jumping up and down, shouting, 'Look at me!'." She took a sip of water, "Now, at a government function, like that cocktail party, we have people circulating with trays of drinks. After the party, they sit down and write a report on what they picked up, or what the mind they were specifically targeted on was thinking. For that matter, slaves can be bought that can do this. They're more expensive than other slaves, but …"

"In an embassy, or at a Foreign Ministry …"

"Yes," she replied to her intelligence chief. She looked around at the others, "Now, this seems to be linked to our general magical abilities. For instance, we need to have natural gravity to perform magic, which means planets or moons. I can't cast magic on stations or aboard ships, nor can I pick up mental broadcasts. Still, it's something to be aware of, and to plan for."

"But this mind reading can't happen aboard ships, or stations?"

"Not in _my_ experience," she replied. "There may be a bred slave that _can_ do this – we don't know. Nor do we know if the wig shielding is perfect, but it is the best solution we have now. I do have a wizarding research company working on this, among other things, but it is best to implement and enforce compartmental security. If you don't have need-to-know, you're not granted access." She gestured, "That applies to me as well as all of you. I don't need to know the identity of an intelligence source, just how reliable that source is." She looked around, "Do you want a demonstration? Is there a volunteer? Someone who will think something that I couldn't possibly know."

"I will," Mr. Kim agreed.

Ms. Wayne reached behind her neck and unfastened her wig, turning and removing it, shaking it out and laying it across her desk. She winced in pain as she removed the small wig cap, and then fluffed her short natural hair. "Ow. A few of you don't believe me, and are rather loud about it. Mr. Kim, I don't think you would want me to say that. Can I whisper it to you?" He nodded tightly, they took a few steps, and she cast a privacy spell as he bent forward. The spell dropped as his normal poker face returned. He resumed his seat. "Can you erase that memory?" he asked.

"Um, maybe," she replied.

Mr. Griplink spoke up, "Self – obliviation is what you're asking about. Removing memories is generally a job for specialists, as it is rather tricky. It is the equivalent of removing one paragraph from a page and modifying the others in the chapter and the book so the missing one does not interrupt the flow of the text. As I understand it, your skills with a wand are, shall we say…"

"Not good?" Ms. Wayne asked. "I suck at spell casting, in other words. I could ask Mr. Griplink or Madame Delacour to do it, but that would involve informing them as to which memory needed removal."

"In ze momente we are dizcuzzing, we would need to modify not only ze Emprez' memories, but alzo ze memories of all of uz," Fleur said. "From, zay, your agreeing to ze reading to your declining ze honour. Eet is pozzible, oui, but not a zimple task." She turned, "Zo, ze Christmas presents?"

The Tsaritsa picked up a stack of boxes. "Pass these around, please. The Weasley Twins have developed this headpiece to protect you until your wigs-of-rank are finished. That will be done by the end of the week, I am told. Until those are delivered, you can wear these." She held up a gleaming metal headband with delicate linked chains and a pendant necklace. "These were rather expensive; they have platinum and osmium built into them. Still, for a security device … Need some help there, Matt?"

"Non, I have eet," Fleur said, adjusting the headpiece on Matt-the-leopard as Ms. Wayne took a few steps, replaced her informal wig-of-rank, and then pulled open a drawer of her desk. "Anyone else need something for a headache?"

* * *

"We do have civilian control of the military, so will it be a problem for you to wear both hats, Heinrike?"

"Nein. I believe I can serve as both your Minister of War and CMO**(5)**." She cracked a small smile, "It will also allow me to continue wearing my uniform. I vastly prefer uniforms, I have been wearing one for over sixty years, and I have no understanding of women's civilian clothing." She took a sip of coffee, "However, some officers outrank me."

"We can say that ze double-post is a wartime emergency," Fleur replied. "As for ze second, we can use ze Russian model, in which ze post is more important zan ze rank. Still, shall I press for a promotion for you, mon General? To Field Marshal, perhapz?"

"Nein, but another star or two would not be improper for this posting," General von Hesse replied.

"Still, you should have something civilian. I'll need to do some shopping with my husband and daughter, you can come along," Wai offered, cradling her own teacup.

"That would be appreciated, I will need to furnish my flat," she agreed.

"I thought the ones in Moonraker Bay were furnished," Mr. Griplink said, cradling his own cup in his long fingers.

"Furniture and so forth, ja," Heinrike agreed. "Not for things like pots and towels."

"A problem my wife and I have as well," Mr. Kim put in.

"And I," Fleur Delacour added. "My 'usband William is starting wi' th' Imperial Guard, and we need to place our daughter Victoire in ze kindergarden. She is only four." She waved her hand, "We are getting off ze track, although zis form of meeting is most pleasant, more than zitting in ze suits around ze formal table. We can do zat for ze photo op."

"Agreed," Mattie said. "What's new?"

"We had some slaves sell us the location of the Republican command ship, _Ba'an the Bold_," Heinrike said. "It was a poorly maintained ship, but we recovered it and it is being taken apart in Phobos. The various computer files are most interesting, although I do not know if it will be worthwhile to repair it; we would need to rebuild it from the keel out."

"One thing it does tell us is the planned date the reinforcing fleet is expected," Lady Sarah said. "If IR & S did their sums right, in three days, on the first."

"We also know the exact composition of that fleet, at least as much as _Ba'an_ knew when it left Aeeloh's orbit," Heinrike said. "In addition, if the general state of repair of _Ba'an_ is extrapolated to the rest of their fleet, it is being held together with wire and tape." She took a sip of her drink, "This matches what we have found from the previous fleet. Old designs, not well maintained due to graft and corruption among the personnel. Ach, the _free_ personnel, I should clarify."

Mattie turned, "Mr. Kim, your input on our technological levels?"

"Rising, ma'am. We still need to reverse engineer some things, but the Crown Corporation holds stock in a great number of companies. This gives us income and to a greater or lesser extent, control of those companies."

"Which means less deficit spending," Griplink put in. "Licensing to the Crown Corporation of Terra as part of that technology licensing to the individual companies definitely helps." He shrugged. "Were we not in a state of war, we would not have that deficit spending. However, I am able to control it, and we should have it paid off within a few years."

"But ze Assembly is not now in session," Fleur put in.

"So much for a balanced budget …" Mattie commented, and there were snorts and chuckles.

"Zat is my problem," Fleur replied. "Madame la General, we shall need to develop a somewhat standardized defense for each of our colony worlds."

"I thought we were using them as fleet bases," Wai asked.

"We are," Heinrike replied. "Ideally, they would become new nodal points for the convoy routes, but some of them are in backwater systems. We will also have the difficulty of integrating the former Republican systems into the Empire, and what do we do with transient business?"

"What do you mean?"

"Through traffic," the Minister of War clarified. "If there is a shipment of slaves from the origin of A through our location B to destination C, what do we do? Intercept and confiscate the slaves? Let them through? Tax them? What about existing personnel? They would all have their hand out for bribes and so forth. We cannot prosecute the lower ranks and let the bosses go free."

"A problem," Griplink agreed. "Ideally, we would not deal with slaves at all. Additionally, we have the problem of pirates." He took a long, slow measured sip of his tea, "I would issue general guidelines, with the local commanders or system governors allowed some latitude. It would depend on how much business the local pirates and slavers do, and their composition. Remember, some pirates are simply escaped slaves surviving as they might."

"Offer them clemency if they join our military?" Wai asked.

"Ja," Heinrike nodded slowly. "They have a legal support structure, we gain experienced personnel. Break apart the crews, of course, and run them through our basic training, and then naval training."

"We can return any stolen naval vessels to their original owners if necessary, but not the escaped slaves," Wai agreed, nodding slowly. "Otherwise, pirates are thieves and killers, and should be prosecuted by a civilian court. Slavers?"

"Whatever we might think of them, they are considered legitimate businessmen," Mattie said slowly. "We can impose tariffs on them, and mandatory health inspections of their cargo. That should drive them away, hopefully without too much of an impact on the gross system economy. However, it doesn't solve the overall problem of eliminating the slave trade. It just drives up the cost."

"No, it does not solve the problem," and they turned to see two Guardians and several Lanterns floating a few inches off the carpeted floor. Ganthet was frowning, adding, "What do you plan to do to eliminate slavery, as I want you to?"

"Are you willing to state publicly your opposition?" Wai asked. "If so, we can do quite a bit more …"

"I wish you to do my bidding," Ganthet snapped, and Boodikka rolled her eyes.

"You have your Lanterns," Heinrike said. "Surely they can enforce your will."

"How stupid are you? I wish you to do this as I have specified. There will be no more arguments regarding my orders."

"This is one reason I didn't want your Ring," Mattie said. "You tell your Lanterns to go somewhere, but don't give them any background information. There might be legitimate reasons for someone to be doing something, but without …"

"The Lanterns are given all the information they require! Do not criticize me!"

"Saying 'Go here,' without any further information isn't very helpful," Mattie replied. Kilowog rumbled, "I gotta agree with you, shorty. Lots of times I wanted more information."

Ganthet spun in midair, "You agree with her?"

"As do I," Tomar-Re said, and Boodikka nodded.

"I am Sayd, and I hear distressing news," the female Guardian commented. "I have been involved with my own projects, but if the Lantern project is not working correctly …"

"There is nothing wrong with my Lantern project!" Ganthet almost screamed.

"Then why was my Ring disabled remotely? Why were our people confined to Oa?" Mattie asked. She stood and walked to stand near the two Guardians.

"The Lanterns assigned to this sector have been returned," Boodikka replied, then asked, "What of the Kryptonian? We have brought him along; shall we return him to his people?"

"Yes," Sayd agreed, while Ganthet screamed "No! He will pay for the insult he offered me!" He looked at Mattie, snarled "You!" and raised a fist. "You will pay for this insult!" and threw a punch.

Catching his small blue fist in her left hand, Mattie twisted, and Ganthet dropped to his knees with a cry of pain. "You … barbarian! You dare touch me?"

"He did strike first," Wai commented.

"And not very well," Kilowog added. Boodikka snorted at that, "She simply defended herself. Guardian Sayd, the Terrans have legitimate concerns about their citizens."

"We want our Kryptonian back so he can be reunited with his wife and child," Wai said.

"No! I will have the child! Release me, barbarian, or I shall destroy you!"

"Guardian Sayd, I think that Guardian Ganthet is over-tired and needs to take a very long period of rest," Wai put in. "Any comments he might have made can be attributed to that." She took a few steps to stand next to Sayd, looking at her. "I would suggest for public consumption that the Kryptonian, and our Lanterns, were on a secret mission for the Guardians of Oa. This is what we shall tell people. In return, the Guardians, their Lanterns and Lantern Bank will publicly announce their opposition to the slave trade and associated piracy. In addition, the Lanterns will be given full briefings on their missions to be handled as they determine to be best." There was a muffled cheer from several of the Lanterns. "Ignoring a problem, or not dealing with it effectively, is the same as endorsing it. The Guardians and their Lanterns have had millions of years to deal with the slave problem. It is a large problem that has festered, and will need more resources than we can apply by ourselves."

"What would you suggest our Bank do?" Sayd asked, ignoring Ganthet's weak struggles.

"Calling in loans made to slavers, refusing to make further loans to them come immediately to mind," Griplink said. "Attack their financial supports, the rest will follow. If you wish our cooperation, you must participate as well."

"In addition, within the next few days, we have an incoming fleet of slavers," Heinrike said. "The addition of Lanterns would be welcome. Would you be willing to accept our tactical control for this?"

"I'm due some leave," Kilowog rumbled. "Sounds like fun."

Sayd raised a hand, "Your Rings have been reactivated. Allow me control of my colleague, I shall ensure he does not cause difficulties. You have my apologies. Regarding your other suggestions, I shall consult with my colleagues." Sayd disappeared with Ganthet.

The Terrans looked at the Lanterns, Boodikka smiled, "It has been a long time since a Guardian agreed to such terms. I for one would enjoy such an exercise as you describe." She gestured, and Superman's floating body came into view. "Your Kryptonian. We do not know what ails him, but he can be reunited with his mate and child. Would you have attacked a Guardian?"

"He attacked our Empress without cause," Heinrike said with a shrug. "As I have said, I would rather be an honest barbarian. If one cannot, or does not yet have respect, fear is a good substitute. The Empire needs to generate that fear in our opponents; for that reason, I wish to endorse and authorize our troops to take scalps. We can hang them on our shields."

"Only from the free dead, who have not surrendered. The ones who have surrendered, we protect," the Empress replied. "I am not happy with it, but it is a part of our psychological war."

"Precisely," the Minister of War replied.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 29, 2003: 20:30 (UTC)  
Hour 356.30/708.00  
Luna, Grimaldi Crater, Wayne Quarters:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Mattie Wayne hurried into her private quarters, and then into the sunroom. "How is he?" she asked.

"He is comfortable and deeply asleep," Bella said from an adjacent chair. "He seems to be suffering from simple exhaustion." Her patient had been stripped and was lying on a lounger in a sunbeam. A towel over his groin provided modesty while maximizing the skin available to absorb solar radiation. Lois kept an eye on her husband's steady, deep breathing while working on her laptop. "I called Perry," she said. "He sends his best wishes to you and to Clark, of course." She saved her article and shoved her laptop aside, "Did I see a _sphinx_ in the press room?"

"Her name's Brenda al-Jaffar, she's covering the Empire for _al-Jazeera_," her neice replied. "She was on the Delta flight up from Heathrow," she added, and grinned. "Come on, Aunt Lois. You've run into intelligent grasshoppers, centaurs and unicorns. Surely a Muslim lion-girl from Cairo isn't too weird."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, April 29, 2003: 21:56 (relative)  
Melotte orbit, _Ca'arn the Cruel_, flag deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Sub-Admiral Is'las strode onto his ship's command deck, throwing himself into the command chair as the duty officer vacated it at his gesture. He smiled; he finally had crushed his last opponent, and was now in total command of the Republican fleet. He turned to the comm slave, "Send out the recall order. Load all the troops; we depart for this barbarian system as soon as they are aboard."

"Yes, my master," the comm slave said as she turned on the heavy cruiser's command deck. She worked her console as the relieved officer asked, "What about additional supplies? We are deficient in …"

Is'las waved this off. "We shall take what we need from the barbarians! They are a few hours flight away. We shall crush the barbarians and send our beloved leader their King's head in a box by the end of this week!"

"As our King has said, my commander," the other officer replied.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, April 30, 2003: 06:00 (UTC)  
Hour 330.00/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Assembly anteroom:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Connie Koslowski put two fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply. "People! We need to run through this twice today before we can call it good! We have a couple billion people watching us do this live tomorrow, so today is the day we screw up. Not that we will." She consulted her clipboard. "Clothing? Where are we?"

The head elf popped into view. "Minor repairs, mistress. One more minute," and she popped away. Connie nodded, "Facilities?"

Another elf popped into view. "Clean, polished and ready, mistress!" He popped off as Connie called, "Personnel?"

"Waiting for an MA, ma'am," Warren Driver replied. "Madame Delacour went after him. He had apparently stopped for some 'liquid breakfast'."

"God save us from drunken politicians," Connie replied. "Thank you, Mr. Driver." She sighed, went over her list, then said, "Okay, we'll take the first stage. Places, please!"

* * *

"And just WHY didn't you wait for me, little girl?" the former US Senator snarled later.

Connie counted to ten, then remembered Ms. Delacour had cast a particular sobering spell on this man. Unlike some of the kinder spells of this type, this one left the subject stone cold sober, but with a raging headache and nausea. She smiled at him and decided on brutal honesty. "Because you were forty-five minutes late when you got here. We're not pausing a worldwide broadcast while you get shit-faced and stagger in, drunk and puking. ASSEMBLYMAN."

"Zink of eet as saving your job, mon ami," Fleur said. "Zink of how your arrival would play on ze television if it were to be … shall we zay, leaked?" She held up a small bottle and smiled. "If you agree to leave ze whiskey azide for ze next forty-eight hourz, I shall give you zis potion, which will make you feel much better."

"Gimme that," he said and grabbed, unsuccessfully. Fleur pirouetted away, "It iz now seventy-two hours. Zrou the press conferences …"

"You French bitch, give me that."

"Now ze ninety-zix hours, mon cher. Do we have ze agreement?"

"Bitch."

"Oui. Zis I am, and you are ze baztard. I will not tell my huzband zat you called me zat, he iz very protective and would tear your arms off, then beat you to death wiz zem." She shrugged, "Zuch is ze curze of ze werewolf. I will alzo tell you zat any alcohol will make you feel ten times worze wiz zis potion, zo zere is no cheating." She waggled the small vial, "Ze deal?"

"Deal." Fleur handed it over, adding, "Zee me tomorrow for zat day's doze. After ze ninety-sixth hour, I will give you ze finishing doze." Her accent suddenly vanished, "Now go get dressed, you drunken bastard. Hopefully you can hit your marks this afternoon." He pulled the vial open, swallowing it down, then threw it at her and stomped off.

"I was wondering how long you were going with the accent," Connie said.

"It has ze usez," Fleur said. "By the way, my husband Bill is not a full werewolf, but he makes a good threat. Now let me make some suggestions about handling politicians …"

* * *

(1): MA: Member of the Assembly.  
(2): Plankowners: The initial crew of a newly-built ship.  
(3): PO: Petty Officer: A mid-ranking non-com, equivalent to a sergeant.  
(4): SAR: Search and Rescue.  
(5): CMO: Chief of Military Operations.


	17. 1 15 May 2003

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter XVII: 1 ~ 15 May 2003  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 05:00 (UTC)  
Hour 352.00/708.00  
Luna, Grimaldi Crater, Wayne Quarters:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Good morning, spitcurl," Selina said as Clark groaned. He opened one eye, "Selina? Where am I?"

"Mattie's private apartments in Grimaldi Crater," she replied. "You're on the sun deck. Lois is taking a shower, and I have a young lady that wants to see her daddy." She scooped up Lana from her playpen and with a tickle, dropped her on Clark. He exhaled deeply, and then cradled his daughter in his arms, his head back in joy. Selina watched a small smile on her face.

"There are times like this when I wish I had a camera," Bella said quietly. Selina cocked an eyebrow, and the doctor smiled wanly. "I've caused too much pain, but I can start to pay it back, a little at a time," she said. "Mr. Kent, I won't disturb the two of you, but I'd like to run a diagnostic."

"Be my guest, Dr. Black," Clark said, watching as little Lana sat on his broad chest. He played with her dark hair as Selina asked, "Would you like me to take her for a minute?"

"No, no, don't separate them," Dr. Black replied. She waved her wand and went 'Hmm,' several times. "Mr. Kent, you're doing much better, but I am officially … what is the term … 'benching' you for a while. Superman is still off planet, doing important, secret work for the Guardians of Oa. Therefore, Mr. Kent the journalist has several things to be working on."

"One of the Lanterns took Lois down to Metropolis, she brought your laptop and some clothing for you," Selina put in. "Perry issued you new credentials, you can sign in to the press center for Mattie's Inauguration as Empress later today. In particular, GNN wants you to do a live broadcast of _Crossfire_, if you feel up to it."

Clark took a deep breath, cocked an eye at Bella, and asked, "Doctor?"

"Superman is off-world, and there are, I believe, nine Lanterns in system. I think you can do a broadcast, Mr. Kent."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 06:00 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Metropolis, _Daily Planet_ newsroom:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Perry White, editor-in-chief of the multiple-Pulitzer Prize winning _Daily Planet_, walked into his office as usual on the stroke of six. He put down his jumbo-sized mug of coffee, flipped on his computer screen, and logged in. While he waited, he looked through the competitor papers from overnight, grunting at the _New York Times_. His mail binged, and he looked at it.

_To: Perry White  
From: Clark Kent  
Date: May 1, 2003  
Subject: I am on Luna  
_

_Perry – _

_I don't know what Lois may have said to you yesterday, but I am back on Luna, staying at Mattie's apartments in Grimaldi. Her personal physician has said I can do that broadcast of _Crossfire_, and I will email you those articles you asked for as quickly as I can. _

_I understand that Superman is still out of the system, but there are a number of Lanterns here to help us out with this expected reinforcing invasion fleet. It is a pity; I could always use an interview with Superman. I will pinch-hit with some of the more unusual Lanterns. _

_Clark _

Perry raised his head, said quietly, "Thank you, God," in prayer, and then got to work.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 11:30 (UTC)  
Hour 358.30/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Assembly anteroom:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Half an hour, people!" Connie called. "Last chance to pee!"

"Oh, gawd, I'd better," Mattie said. "Sara, Ami, help me out, here?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 11:45 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, 5th year Citizenship class:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"… and I'll expect to see a few pages from each of you on Miss Wayne's Investment," Professor Lupin said. He flipped the folder closed, "The Headmistress has cancelled third and forth period classes for the rest of the day, but we expect notes taken. We expect you to be in the Great Hall, watching the show on telly." He stacked his books, smiled, and said, "Go. Off with you to the Great Hall. Lunch will be at the usual time." He picked up his wand and unlocked the door.

* * *

The talking heads on muggle telly were not saying anything, the students that subscribed to muggle newspapers and the _Wizarding Reporter_ had charts and diagrams to help them figure things out. They watched the 'Strangers Gallery' section when a camera would pan it. Minerva let out a small gasp, "There's Albus!"

"He cleans up rather nicely," Callista Vector added. "Somewhat muted colours." Instead of the former Hogwarts Headmaster's usual brilliant colours, he was wearing sky-blue robes with lavender trim.

"I bought them especially for this occasion," Minerva replied.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 06:53 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Grandview Heights, Morton home:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Oh, there's Julie, and Tomas," Teela said. For today, the normal rule had been set aside, and breakfast was eaten in front of the TV. "Doesn't Dad look handsome?"

"Every day," Momma Morton replied. GNN switched to commentary, and Teela said, "Oh, there's Mr. Kent! I've wondered where he was."

"Has Bill come in yet?"

"No, he's a Crown Page, he'll come in carrying Mattie's hairpiece," Teela reminded her mother. "You got his email; it had all the details."

"Yes. We need to finish dressing; we'll set the machine to record while we're at work."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 12:00 (UTC)  
Hour 359.00/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Assembly chamber:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

There was a rustle and a hush as the Imperial March played, and exactly on time, the soon-to-be Empress entered the chamber, strolling slowly in her formal white fur robes as her attendants followed, carrying her long hairpiece. She walked slowly up the right-hand aisle, turned at the end through the bend, and then back along the left-hand aisle. She turned, her attendants collecting up her long hairpiece as they backed into place, and she was seated in the left-hand throne. The two young men pushed out the podium, locking the casters and then retreating. Lights glowed on the podium as the first holy man (they had cut cards to decide the order), the Chief Rabbi of Israel, advanced from the guest seating in the 'infield'.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he started. "We are gathered here today to offer our blessings …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 12:30:01 (UTC)  
Hour 359.30:01/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Assembly chamber:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"… the Good Lord …" the red light on the podium finished flashing and the microphone cut off. The minister continued to speak for a minute before he realized that no one was hearing him. He huffed, gathered his things, and made his way down to his seat in the 'infield'. Those in the chamber could hear him complain, "I was just getting started!"

* * *

There was a pause as one of the television cameras could see the lights on the podium reset as the Teleprompters™ rose into position. Off camera, Connie pointed at Mattie and her attendants, and she rose, advancing to the podium. She slipped a paper copy of her speech onto it, her long hairpiece held up by the six aides, and began, "Greetings … " There was a whine of feedback, she smiled and said, "Sorry about that, gentle beings. We start with the taking of oaths; then we move to the status of the Empire. I start by reaffirming my pledge to the residents, citizens and Imperial subjects. As your Empress, I do swear and affirm that I will do my utmost to provide for the safety, security, and economic well-being of those persons, no matter their age, gender, legal status or species. Thus I pledge before the Creator of All, known by many names."

She moved to the sword stand, and took the katana in her left hand. "Our Empire is being born in the blood, fire and steel of war. However, we seek peace, and as part of that pledge, as part of the office of Empress, I accept the status of _Damiyo_, warlord of the Terran Empire." She drew it in one smooth motion, resting it point and blade up on the left side of the sword stand. Hanging the sheath behind and to the right, she took up the standard Imperial infantry gladius, and drew that with her right hand. "This blade, a standard infantry short sword, represents my commitment to those who risk their lives and stake their honor in our defense." She placed this blade point up, crossing the katana, and placed the sheath behind and to the left. Moving back to the podium, she added, "Let these blades be bared while the Empire is threatened, let them be sheathed when the Empire, its subjects, ships, planets and commerce are at peace."

She paused, waiting in silence, then gestured, "I offer for the Empire as a whole and the Assembly's consideration, my thoughts on the current State of the Empire. I would first like to review the current opportunities and difficulties. Currently, we have an active membership of sixty-two worlds, with an additional twenty-three in either protectorate or trade status. However, many of those sixty-two worlds are new, struggling colonies, or they are otherwise not suited to the task of self-defense. This places the burden on the Empire; something we gladly accept, although it comes at a cost. That cost is not only financial, it requires both material and personnel commitments… "

* * *

The Empress paused to take a sip of water. "Regarding my administration, I am aware of some discussion regarding the format of the Empire. Many of you come from democracies, where the common citizen has a voice is their government. This is a cherished right, along with the personal freedoms we enjoy, and I am dedicated to the preservation of those rights, liberties, freedoms, but also those responsibilities. However, we are also aware of the difficulties of those types of governments, where one or two members can halt necessary movement of vital legislation for their own reasons." She took another sip as a low chuckle ran around the Assembly chamber. She smiled, and added with a small smile, "However, none of the members of this august body knows anything about THAT." Another ripple of laughter went around the chamber. "This is why the Assembly and the Crown vote is designed the way they are – to move legislation. This is also why the line item veto is designed in, so that the Crown can edit out suspect legislation, which can be re-inserted by the Assembly if necessary. This is because I am of the opinion that it should be much easier to remove a bad law than pass a good one. In that spirit, I propose for the post of Prime Minister, Madame Fleur Isabelle Delacour. Madame Delacour is well qualified …"

* * *

" … and finally, I pray for the peace of the Empire; the security of its subjects and the prosperity of its planets," as the yellow light flashed. "Good day," and the red light turned on. She took a step backward, moving backward toward the throne, as her attendants maneuvered the length of her hairpiece. She sat, back straight, as Fleur advanced to the podium. Her hairpiece was just past her bum, indicating her rank as she said, "Merci, my Tsaritsa. We shall not detail our proposed legislation at this time, but simply list the bills. Our Assembly will consider each in full at their first, second, and third readings. For now, we offer as a first bill a general outline of our proposed budget, including the proposed construction of survey ships under our Foreign Ministry. Our Commerce Ministry offers various incentives and tariffs for trade with other star nations…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 15:59:55 (UTC)  
Hour 362.59:55/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Media Centre:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"We're live in five, four…" and the producer's fingers closed as he pointed to Clark. "Hello, and welcome to _Crossfire_. I'm Clark Kent, with my co-host Lana Lang." He turned slightly, and Lana said, "In this special broadcast, we're glad to welcome Ms. Wayne, the newly invested Tsaritsa of the Terran Empire. Good afternoon, your Majesty."

"Good afternoon, Ms. Lang, Mr. Kent, everybody. I'm glad to be here."

Mr. Kent smoothly took over, "Today we're glad to welcome our panel of journalists. With us in the studio today are reporters from _al-Jazeera_, _Muvek-as-Shklam_, _Sikim Taaspah_, the _Los Angeles Times_, _New York Times_, _London Times_, and the _Daily Planet_." He shuffled a few papers that he used as a prop.

Lana added, "This interstellar broadcast is co-sponsored by the Imperial Ministry of Information and GNN. This is live, with no government control or commercial interruptions." She turned slightly, "Mr. Nigel Howard of the _London Times_, you have drawn the first question."

"Thank you, Ms. Lang," he said as a crawler strip identified him for the watching viewers. He turned, "Ma'am, in your investment speech you offered survey ships under the Foreign Ministry. Please tell us why these would not be naval ships."

"Certainly, Mr. Howard. However, I would like to mention one thing before I answer that question –government control of the media." She turned a bit in her chair, "The simple answer is that the Empire has the facilities to send this information, the broadcasters do not. The only thing we ask of them is to respect operational security regarding our military and intelligence services; in other words, no specifics. We ask them not to identify members of our intelligence or armed services, their units, locations, and obviously no upcoming operations. For those journalists embedded with military units, we ask them to follow the unit commander's orders. If he or she tells them to move, they move, no arguments, no getting 'just one more camera angle'. I think most people would agree that these are common sense rules."

She took a swallow from her coffee mug, "Now then, Mr. Howard. The _Explorer_ class ships are built in naval shipyards, on stretched battlecruiser hulls. They are twelve hundred meters long, which isn't the largest ship we have. However, their purpose is to make peaceful, friendly contact with other species and civilizations. The commanders are naval officers, and they are armed to defend themselves or to run if necessary." She turned, "Someone once said that a single ship declares peaceful intent, several ships can be hostile. Their mission orders are to investigate various stellar systems, and report. That is why they have diplomats and commercial officers aboard, as well as various specialists. If it's an uninhabited world, they're equipped to answer why it's uninhabited."

"Ma'am, why don't we already have that data?" Constanza Arroz of the _Los Angeles Times_ asked.

The Empress spread her hands, "The astronomers of IR & S are merging our data with Oan data, which is thousands or millions of years old. In that time, civilizations rise and fall, orbits change, natural disasters, plagues, and wars happen." Ms. Wayne gestured around the table, "Only fifty thousand years ago, we were hunting with sharpened sticks. Most of the Oan data is older than that. In our galaxy alone, there are roughly forty billion stars or stellar objects. Divide by thirty-six hundred sectors; you have an average of eleven-point-one million stars. From the Oan data in our sector alone, we know of ninety-one thousand planets, eight thousand of which are inhabited."

Ms. Arroz reacted, "Eight thousand inhabited planets …"

"That's eight-point-two percent of those ninety-one thousand, but they're not all orbiting G-type stars like our Sun. Each of those planets is just as big and complex as Earth is. Inhabited worlds are valuable, which means they are protected. Those survey ships can protect themselves, or run if necessary. However, we hope that we can either colonize or trade with those planets. Now, they may not be at our particular level of social or economic development. They may be higher or lower, they may be colony worlds for another star nation, and they may be dead worlds. We don't know until we go and see. Some of the Oan data is just stellar coordinates and the system's course information around the galactic center."

"Nothing else?" Mr. Howard asked.

"No. We are merging our data, as I said, so we might have stellar class and possible planetary information, but we don't know how accurate that is. That's why the survey ships carry accredited diplomats as well as commercial representatives."

"Where you will be exploiting the locals," Lois Lane put in.

"Ms. Lane, we carry commercial officers to make deals. Fair deals. I don't want to buy Manhattan Island for twenty-four grams of tungsten. We have markets, but so do the locals. Trade is trade. We are not going to sit around a fire and negotiate with cave dwellers, but we will negotiate with people who know there is something on the other side of the sky. Knowledge is also a trade item. Furthermore, we cannot hope to have a presence in every village where a planet's tech level is the 1500's. They need to have a global trade system, which is going to restrict our locations. We do have a Prime Directive of sorts. The locals need to have some sort of global communication and transport network, even if they are wooden sailing ships. Our presence would give too much of an advantage to one location."

She turned, "I'd like to add that we've been out eight to twelve sectors on either side of ours, so you can multiply those eight thousand planets by twenty or so. That's a hundred and sixty thousand inhabited planets, and if we develop trade with only _one percent_ of those, that's sixteen hundred planets." She knocked on the table, "Think of that. Sixteen hundred planets, each as big and complex as any of our planets in the Empire. That's an enormous export market, and not only do we need to have uniform training to handle that market, we're going to need data on each of those planets. We hope to get military, political, and economic news." She gestured at the different journalists, "Here at this table, we have different species from different worlds."

"You mentioned uniform training," Maat-es-saalah from _Sikim Taaspah_ asked. The felinoid journalist lifted a wide mug to his mouth, "Please explain."

"I am not one that thinks we know everything," the Tsaritsa explained. "One of the problems of galactic society is stagnation, the idea that we know everything, that everything useful has already been invented, there is nothing new. Your own people have a unique and possibly better way of long distance communications, something I hope we can license and produce here. However, we must all know how to build and maintain them in a consistent way. That not only puts more tungsten in bank accounts, it exposes all of us to different thinking."

"Ma'am," Brenda al-Jaffar started, her crawl-strip identifying her with _al-Jazeera_. "In the invocation before your address, one person was cut off. Are you trying to restrict free speech?"

"No, each person was given five minutes, and on the podium there are warning lights. They were told not to exceed those five minutes." She shrugged. "If you go time the videotape, you'll find he did." She took a swallow of coffee, "If I was trying to restrict free speech or a free press, all of you would certainly know about it." She gestured in a circle. "Any of you? Any of you hear anything even close to that?" She waited. "The only thing I know of is asking you to observe operational security; and that's why you file your stories through a press officer, in case there's an 'Oops!'. Once again, I ask if any of you have experienced any form of restriction, other than those guidelines." She waited in silence, sipping coffee as the various journalists looked at each other. "I guess not. As it would be putting your own life in danger, or that of a colleague, I don't think there will be many complaints there. Regarding the various holy persons that spoke, I understand their order was chosen by drawing cards." She held up her hands, "I wasn't even in the same room."

Lois Lane started, "Ma'am, you mentioned …" and Ms. Wayne held up a hand, drawing out a grey flip phone. "Excuse me. Wayne." She stopped, putting a hand to her other ear. "How many? What composition? How well does it match our intelligence?" She nodded several times. "Does Admiral Herschel have this information? Good. Stand-to, system defense condition three. Admiral Herschel has tactical command. Alert the different military commands. Okay. Okay. Prepare to evacuate our orbital stations, man our ships. What is the rate of advance? Okay. Okay. Prepare to restrict unnecessary ground-to-space traffic. Inform the national governments. I am staying with the plan, I will be here on Luna, and I am under a kilometer or two of rock. Yes. Yes. Wayne, clear." She flipped the phone closed, "The Republican reinforcement fleet has just crossed the outer perimeter. Three hundred twelve ships."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 16:23 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"… a kilometer or two of rock. Yes. Yes. Wayne, clear." She flipped the phone closed, "The Republican reinforcement fleet has just crossed the outer perimeter. Three hundred twelve ships." The watching students and staff looked at each other as the sirens in the city of Inverness once again sounded across the loch.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 19:23 (UTC +3)  
Terra, Moscow, Kremlin, Senate building:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"… a kilometer or two of rock. Yes. Yes. Wayne, clear." She flipped the phone closed, "The Republican reinforcement fleet has just crossed the outer perimeter. Three hundred twelve ships." The red emergency telephone rang in Vladimir Putin's home office as Moscow's air raid sirens sounded.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 1, 2003: 11:23 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Columbus, Ohio State University Library:  
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"… a kilometer or two of rock. Yes. Yes. Wayne, clear." She flipped the phone closed, "The Republican reinforcement fleet has just crossed the outer perimeter. Three hundred twelve ships." The watching students and staff looked at each other as the city's air raid sirens sounded.

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Thursday, May 1, 2003: 20:20 (UTC)  
Pluto, gatekeeper station, operations:  
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"This is boring."

"We also serve who are bored. Or something like that," his wife replied. "Enemy fleet still coming through the mouse hole?" she asked, leaning over to give her husband a peck.

"Yeah. Battery 23 is still reporting a power fault, too. Pity we can't blame it on enemy action."

"Not since it was reported before their first appearance. Besides, think of all that money we're making. We'll be able to buy Switzerland!" She rubbed her arms, "I'm still cold."

"You're always cold. See if some of Tatiana's soup is ready yet, that will warm you up."

"I'm a woman, dear. Comes with the territory," she grinned. She kicked off and floated over her own console, glancing at it. "I'd rather have a nice private island, someplace like Maui." An indicator changed, "Did you see that? We have Admiral Herschel's excuse, now!"

"Hot damn! One hotheaded ship commander vaporizes a buoy, and we have the excuse to fire!" He actually rubbed his hands. "You saw it, dear; forward the data on to our beloved fleet commander, while we start up fire control radars." He hit his intercom, "Yoshi, Viktor! We got our incident!"

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Thursday, May 1, 2003: 20:22 (UTC)  
Titan orbit, _ITNS Albion_, flag bridge:  
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Admiral Herschel looked over at her comm officer as she said, "Ma'am, report from Pluto. The incoming enemy fleet has fired on and destroyed a warning buoy. They are energizing targeting radars per standing orders."

"Acknowledged, but they are not to fire unless fired upon. Repeat that to the scouts. They are to run their stealth at ghost level. Minimal comms for the fleet, we do not know what they can pick up. We want them to wonder." She considered her holo plot. "Tactical, pull the 27th squadron back, we want them to wonder while they trap themselves against the outermost planets. Helm, when they cross Uranus' orbit, pull our ships out from Titan orbit."

"Yes, ma'am," the various officers replied.

"Good," and she motioned for her flag lieutenant, Ensign Zhao. "What's the latest with our parasite craft?"

The young Chinese officer checked her PADD, "Ma'am, as of the eighteen-hundred update, three carriers were in Earth orbit taking on those craft and their associated personnel. Those are the _Alura_, the _Amelia_, and the _Anne_. They will come forward and join the _Alicia_, the_ Ali-Dinar_, and the_ Akihito_. The last three of our carriers that needed parasites and personnel were the _Andrea_, the_ Arthur_, and the_ Augustus_. That will give us nine fleet carriers and six BattleStars, plus the Assault Carriers. There are twelve of those, the _Algiers_, the _Abraham_, the _Action_, the …"

She stopped when the Admiral waved her hand. Keying the holo, "We're going with Liang pi thirty-three, option twelve. We are going to funnel the incoming fleet into this area, with the Lanterns backed by the carriers against the outer edge of the asteroid belt. The enemy's starboard will be against Jupiter and its radiation field; their port side will face our fleet. We're going to cross the T, Ensign, but we're going to talk to them until our IT boffins have penetrated their firewalls."

"Having the _Ba'an_'s computer codes will be useful," Zhao commented.

"Precisely. They keep the sleep-gas plumbed in to their life support in case of a slave revolt. Well, hopefully we can do this without having to use all those troops on the assault carriers. The enemy goes to sleep and wakes up bio-sculpted, collared and Enhanced."

"Although not slaves," Zhao added.

"No, the Empire does not deal in slaves," her Admiral agreed. "Go brief in our visiting Lanterns. I'll have a breakfast meeting with them tomorrow if they have any questions."

"Yes, ma'am," her Flag Lieutenant said, came briefly to attention, and left.

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Thursday, May 1, 2003: 20:24 (relative)  
Terran system entry, _Ca'arn the Cruel_, flag deck:  
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"And what were my orders?" Sub-Admiral Is'las snarled at the officer on the screen.

"To … to do nothing without your specific authorization, my lord," the officer stuttered in fear.

"Correct. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We have not heard from the previous expedition, so we do not know what we are sailing into. Your officer's actions may have placed the Republic at war with a foreign power." He saw two troopers enter the smaller ship's command deck, and waved a hand. "You and your over-eager firing officer will go with those troopers." Left unspoken was the addition, '_You will not live long_.' Is'las waved at his comm slave, and obediently she broke the connection.

"Is this wise?" his second asked quietly. "Granted, we do not know what happened with the Princess B'tan's first expedition, but to creep in like a rodent, our tails between our legs?"

"My personal thought is that the Princess B'tan found another fleet taking this system for themselves, and they did not want word getting out," Is'las replied, equally quietly. "It is not likely that the natives of a class twenty-five system, those who have just started to forge iron, would have been able to remove her. Granted, they may have killed a few of her troops, but they are almost as expendable as slaves are. Since she did not send a courier back, there must be a space-borne threat. That means to me another star nation fought and destroyed her fleet without a survivor. We have not located any of her fleet's transponders, have we?"

"No," the second replied after a moment's thought. "The sensor ghosts we are seeing around the fleet?"

"They must be scouts, En'das," the Sub-Admiral claimed. "Scouts of this 'Terran Empire' who placed that entry buoy, and their stealth is not as good as ours, or our sensors are better, or a combination of the two. After all, the locals have, not very imaginatively, named their planet 'Dirt'. There is no possible way some grubbing farmers who use animal transport, and who create iron over wood fires could have defeated the Princess B'tan." He wagged a finger, "You'll see. We will see warships soon, once we get into the inner system. That's all the ghosts are, although I'd like to know how they're reporting." He turned, "Comm slave, are we picking up transmissions from the ghosts?"

She trembled slightly, "My master, none have been reported to this slave."

En'das grunted, "We could try capturing one," he offered.

"And further irritate the Terrans? No," Is'las replied.

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Thursday, May 1, 2003: 21:23 (UTC)  
Terran system, _ITNS Abraham_, squad bays:  
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Entering the squad bay, Elena called, "Demon Company! Listen up, people, we got new orders! The Republican fleet has crossed the outer perimeter, which means we're going to be taking their ships." She waited until they were all present, and then said, "This is directly from Generalmajor von Hesse, our new CMO and Minister of War." She cleared her throat.

_To: All Imperial Terran Combat Units  
From: Generalmajor Heinrike von Hesse  
Date: May 1, 2003  
Subject: General order 2003-05-001  
_

_To all combat commands: _

_A reinforcing fleet from the Republic of Sodolokve has entered the Terran system to continue their unprovoked aggression. We shall attempt to gain a peaceful resolution, but this is unlikely. In the interests of psychological warfare, we shall instill in our enemy respect of our arms and fear of our troops. _

_Respect shall be earned by our professionalism, our courage, our honor, our obedience to orders and our devotion to duty. _

_The sight of our ships, our armor and aerospace craft, and most especially of our troops shall create fear. They shall know that to resist us is futile, and will only gain them death._

_I am therefore ordering all vehicles, including armor and aerospace craft, with the exception of naval vessels, to create and maintain 'nose art', the more mocking and insulting of the enemy the better. This shall not conceal or obstruct vehicle identification or function._

_We are expanding the 'ACE' system for all combat kills of resisting enemy troops. Ten gun camera verified combat kills or more will qualify._

_Our ground troops, most importantly the infantry, will decorate their personal shields in a similar artistic manner. Do not impede identification, sensors or communications._

_Infantry will take scalps from the foreheads of enemy dead. These will be attached to the infantry shields using thin wires and other materials. These will only be taken from resisting enemy troops. Surrendered or non-combatant troops do not qualify, and the death or mutilation of these enemy personnel will be investigated and if necessary prosecuted under military law. _

_H. von Hesse  
Generalmajor_

Looking up, Elena regarded her troops. "There you have it, ladies. We are not here for a dance. We are Demon Company, we are here to kick Republican ass and take names. We all remember what happened to Paris. Now think about what's going to happen if we don't stop these misogynist bastards." She walked a few paces, pointing. "You. You, and you. We all have family at home. We're the thin grey line that stands between our families, our homes, and the enemy." She walked down the bay, "I'm going to stand and fight these bastards until I'm out of ammunition, until they tear the sword from my hand, and then I'm going to fight with my knives and my fists and my teeth. I am the mama wolf standing at the entrance to my cave, and they can call me a barbarian. I WILL defend my cubs and my home. I WILL FIGHT! I will FIGHT until I can't fight any more, and then I'll get up and rip out their bellies as I continue the fight! Demon bitches, what will you do?"

There was silence for a minute, until Sgt. Chung stood up. "Damn these bastards! I will FIGHT these assholes!"

McKinnon said, "I may be a colleen now, but I'm an IRISH colleen, an' if its one thing the Irish know how tae do, it's tae FIGHT. They'll pry me blade o' o' me cold dead fingers, lassie." She turned, "Aye, I dinnae plan tae be a girl, but I'm a Demon Bitch nae. Wha 'th' hells are ye? Ye wussie lil' girls, or are y' DEMON BITCHES?"

"BITCH!"

"BITCH!"

"BITCH!"

"BITCH! KILL THE BASTARDS!"

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Friday, May 2, 2003: 05:59:55 (UTC)  
Hour 376.59:55/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Media Centre:  
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Mattie waited just offstage of Studio 29. The complex of one hundred numbered studios was rented by the day by individual television shows, while broadcast networks (including IMI) permanently leased the fifty alphabetical studios. This week, most of them were occupied, this one by GNN's '_Morning Brew_' television show. This morning she had three other shows to do, with an afternoon of paperwork and meetings. A makeup assistant hovered around her, frowning slightly. "Did you do your own makeup this morning, Your Majesty?" she asked.

"Yes, and your people redid it five minutes ago," Mattie replied with a bit of a snip. She could really use another cup of coffee. "Sorry," she apologized as the Producer counted down on her fingers: 3 … 2 … 1 …

Diane, the hostess of the show said, "Here she is, Her Imperial Majesty, Ms. Mattie Wayne!"

Putting her 'happy' face on, Mattie turned around the edge of the set as the Imperial March played. The seats were arranged around an oval coffee table with a front-facing dropped leaf that had the show's logo. She stopped outside the coffee table, waving at the nonexistent studio audience, "Hello and I'd like to welcome the _Morning Brew_ people to Luna and Port Oldridge!"

"You've had an interesting week," Diane said, as the other hostesses made way for her to sit on the couch in the center. As she worked her way in, she commented, "You know, I bet Spielberg makes a dollar every time that march plays." There was a general chuckle as she pulled her 'semi-formal' wig aside, and settled in, reaching to check the coffee mug in front of her. Surprisingly, it actually had coffee. She smiled and took a gulp, "Ah. That hits the spot. Yes, I've gone from high-school student to head of an interstellar empire."

"So when are we going to see some of these interstellar sights?" Joy, a rather pneumatic blonde asked, sipping from her own mug.

"We're working on that," the Tsaritsa replied. "A couple of problems with that. First, Luna is probably the most developed of our colonies, and you can take tours to see things like the Lunakod and Apollo sites. We are building up the first lunar golf courses, the Shepherd Memorial golf and tennis club, but construction isn't finished yet. We have to dome one of the smaller craters and then pressurize it, before we can put in the greens, the hotels, clubhouse and so forth. We are already getting inquiries about memberships, both business and individuals. I'm looking forward to playing a round or three myself."

"What else?" Emily, another hostess asked.

"You can take a cruise to the outer planets, so you can see things like Jupiter and Saturn's Rings for yourself. It's kind of like the gambling 'cruises to nowhere' you can take out of Florida, but right now, with an incoming hostile fleet, they're suspended."

"Other stars? Other planets?"

"Most of our colony planets are just that, colonies. They are not set up for tourism, right now, they have to struggle a bit to get bread on the table. Other, more developed worlds have social structures or laws that need to be followed." The Tsaritsa took a swallow of coffee, "You've seen ugly behavior from tourists and travelers. People with huge egos. Well, that is not going to fly with some planets, you follow their laws or you are either dead or collared, and they will not care if you are the senior vice president of something-or-other. You broke their laws, you pay the price."

"I've seen people like that," Joy agreed. "What about an example?"

"Okay, there's a planet that requires everyone, including slaves, to wear breath masks or carry misters. Little bulbs that spray a sanitizer as you talk or eat." She raised a hand as she lifted her coffee mug, "I take a drink and a mist. A bite and a mist. They had an airborne disease at one time in their history, and like some laws, it never was repealed, and now it is cultural. God help you if you had a cough or cold. I'm sure we can think of people that would refuse to comply with even something simple like that, and there are much, much worse."

"You mentioned slaves," Whitney, the only black hostess said. "What about them, and tourism?"

"Once again, it depends on the planet," Ms. Wayne replied. "Some places, they're almost free, they're paid, they pay bills, everything that you or I might do, only they wear a slave collar and someone owns them. Other places, it goes far beyond sexism." She took a sip of coffee. "A while ago, before women had rights, could vote and so forth, they were still considered people. Intelligent people." The other women nodded, "Only on some planets, you're female, you're an animal. An unintelligent animal and that is if you're a free female. If you're a slave girl, you are a disposable animal, like a lab rat. I've had various politicians, including members of the Assembly, want to buy or import their own slave girls." She grimaced, "With all the press I've given it, you would think they'd realize that asking ME when or where they could buy their own personal collection of slave girls wouldn't be the wisest thing."

She shook her head as Whitney gave a low whistle. "They're that stupid?"

"Yes, but I'm not going there, because I won't stop. Let's change the question a bit. Let's say that your company wants some bit of galactic tech. They tell you to go and negotiate rights for it, and you happen to be female. Now you do your research for cultural traps, as you would if you were American or British and went to Japan or Korea or Saudi Arabia. You'd get suitable clothing, practice using chopsticks or learning some phrases in Arabic." They nodded. "You get there; you negotiate, have dinner, maybe some drinks, and strike a deal."

The hostesses nodded again. "Let's move this off planet. First, you would need a translator implant in your jaw. Outpatient surgery, but it's needed because negotiations and documents are in Trade." She tapped her jaw and continued in that language: ("Negotiations and documents are in Trade.") She tapped her jaw again to reset it. "Size of a few grains of rice, and outpatient surgery. You would need a hip implant, left for females, right for males. Has legal status, medical, financial information. You will not be able to function without it, because everything, and I do mean everything, has a reader for it. Ground cars, hotel room doors, everything."

Diane nodded, "We were strongly advised to get them before we left New York."

The Tsaritsa nodded. "Good. Now, one of the jobs of the Imperial Ministry of Information is to compile a briefing disk for every planet where we might go. That has things like appropriate clothing for different social situations, rules of behavior, peculiar laws, and who to call for help. Some planets we don't have embassies on, so you're more on-your-own than others."

"Back to our business-woman. Let's say she needs to go to the planet Abington. Very nice planet, like a lot of others it has many islands, like the south Pacific. She checks the IMI disk, and notices two things. First, clothing is an option, and even something like a bikini bottom is, well, very conservative. Most business is done in the nude, which is somewhat understandable; it is a very warm, tropical planet with lots of beaches." She gestured at all of them, "We would definitely stand out, which would harm our job performance. Second point, all females are collared. Not just the slaves, who are judicial slaves, but ALL females. If you were not traveling with a male, who would 'own' you (she finger-quoted), you would have to be owned by the ship or make arrangements to be owned by a male-owned company that we have there. So on the station, you would leave the ship, check your luggage through customs, strip and have our male agent lock a collar on your neck. The agent would have arranged your hotel and transport for you, your luggage and a company-owned slave. You then go about your business, and the different tags locked on your collar would show what you as a female were permitted to do."

"And your company-owned slave?"

"It's actually a pretty good deal for her. She is a convicted criminal, so she is in a permanent judicial collar. She is there not only to serve you as a personal slave, but also to take the blame for any screw-ups. The custom is that you simply blame the slave for everything that goes wrong, even if she had nothing to do with it, even if she was on the other side of the planet. Our company agent sees to it that she is well treated, because she chooses the bidder for her owner, and she has the right to petition the court to be resold. So you sit around on a beach chair and do your negotiations, sign the contracts, the agent countersigns and validates them through the system government, you fly back up to the station, the agent unlocks your collar, you get dressed and re-board your ship." She took a swallow of coffee, "A male wouldn't have to be collared, although he would get a personal slave as an assistant. Where this has a problem is if you were traveling with a male assistant. As a male accompanying you, he would be your 'owner', even if you vastly outranked him."

"Like a woman traveling to Mecca with her son," Joy agreed. "We have a company that owns slaves?"

"Yes, but it's necessary to do business," the Tsaritsa replied. "I'm not happy about it, but the slaves bid on their owners, what they're paid, and they can quit (she finger-quoted) by asking the courts to re-open bidding on their services. It is more of a legal fiction, and from what I understand, some females that are in debt will volunteer for an owner in order to pay off those debts. Once those debts are paid, she can stay with her owner to build up savings, or petition the court to free her. She would still wear a collar, but she would be a 'free female' (she finger-quoted again). She can start a business if she wants, but she would need a male to counter-sign legal documents. If we sold all our slaves, we could not continue in business, and as I said, we treat them well. We have to, if we're going to have good employees." She shrugged. "I'd rather deal with a world like Abington that's developed and peaceful, even if all females are collared and there are slaves. When a teenage girl's of-age, she goes to town hall to get her own collar. She's still a free female, but now that she's collared, she's considered an adult." She shrugged again, "That's preferable to some others that are downright brutal. There are slave worlds that are owned by corporations, and just tiny percentages are free. The rest are slaves, and have been for thousands or millions of years."

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Friday, May 2, 2003: 07:05 (UTC)  
Hour 378.05/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Media Centre:  
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Mattie emerged from Studio 29 to find Matt sitting in the corridor, waiting for her, tail-tip flicking slowly. He nodded, asking, "Milady, will you walk with me?"

She eyed him warily, and then nodded. They started along the corridor, Matt looking over his shoulder at the security people. "A little privacy, please?" The party spread out some, and Matt waited. "Milady, what message are we trying to sell here?"

"Um … Slavery is bad?"

"No. Granted slavery is bad, personal liberty is good, yada, yada. You have done the 'slavery is bad' thing to death. There might be a few African tribesmen in the bush somewhere that don't know how you feel about it, but trust me, the rest of the planet does." They walked a bit more, then he continued, "What is our target market for the show you were just on?"

"Metropolis?"

"No. Specifically, the demographic for that show is Eastern North America, which encompasses down to the South Carolina/Georgia border, west to the Mississippi and north past Chicago and Detroit up into Canada. The target market is white females between 30 and 65 with incomes over $75,000. In other words, your mother and others like her that do not have to work. Wealthy, bored trophy wives who may volunteer at clubs or have businesses like law firms or other upscale service businesses. They have the time to watch morning shows like that, which they will discuss with other wives like themselves in their same socioeconomic bracket. That's when they're shopping, playing tennis or golf at their country club." He stopped and turned. "What messages have you given these women?"

"Um …" She stopped and leaned against the wall as she thought. "Slavery is okay under some conditions?"

"That's one. You also called people, and by extension their husbands, stupid. When Whitney asked if people were that stupid, you agreed, thus calling people stupid. Second message was that you knew of a local market for slave girls, even if you disapproved of it, and it was thus possible to buy slaves if you have the money and influence. These people have both. Third message was that slavery was agreeable under certain conditions, in this case as a legal punishment. Fourth is that there are planets where they can do no legal wrong – they just blame the slave. Fifth message is that there are planets where public nudity is not only legal, but also encouraged. Together with the presence of slave girls, I predict corporate conferences there will skyrocket, along with separations, divorce, and alimony. Sixth is that collaring a girl, and by extension her enslavement, is routine, a matter of coming-of-age for young women. The only benefit I can see is these people will now push your agenda so they can gain those slave girls."

She sighed, "Damn."

Matt-the-leopard nodded. "Yes. I will do what I can to mitigate it by going on that show. I'm exotic – I'm a shape shifter, I represent your diversity policies and I'm the head of IMI, so they'll know I'm your propagandist. You will continue down this hall, and you will go to the next studio and the next show. This demographic is roughly similar, same rich, bored housewives, only the market is Southern Europe. Southeastern France, the top of Italy, southern Germany, Switzerland, Austria and Romania. See if you can get some new clothing – you're wearing too British a cut on your suit."

"This suit cost me £850!"

"See about borrowing a different jacket. Our message is that a constitutional monarchy like the Empire is not particularly different from their existing representative democracies. Like the US President, Queen Elizabeth, the Chancellor of Germany, and others, you represent the Empire, so you are both the Head of State and the _embodiment_ of the Empire. The actual power is in the elected Assembly and your Cabinet, headed by your Prime Minister." He frowned, "It would be better if Madame Delacour were older, or, pardon my language, uglier. However, she is definitely French, which is good for the sympathy interest, and a powerful figure, which is also good. Being a beautiful woman can be a political hindrance, but she is also seen as loyal to and in love with her husband, who is disfigured. This gains her points with the female market, who would normally subconsciously feel threatened by her beauty. However, her relationship with William gains her approval points for both men and women." He glanced sideways, adding, "Men will fantasize about her."

She nodded, and he continued, "Milady, these people have heard from their parents and grandparents, and as small children may have lived through World War Two. They _do not_ want to repeat the mistakes of the 1930's with Hitler and Mussolini. They _do not_ want to elect another despot, so your message is not _Sturm und Drang_, but the _limitations_ on your power. You want to emphasize the Assembly, the fact that every year you have both a physical and a _mental_ checkup." Matt-the-leopard smiled, showing his fangs. "Someone said that a difference between Americans and Europeans was that Americans thought two hundred years was a long time, and two hundred miles wasn't far. Europeans were the opposite, two hundred miles was far, but two hundred years was nothing." He sat, his tail flicking. "Europeans are taught in school their history. In some cases, that goes back over two thousand years, so 1939 is not that long ago to them. You are also young, so you want to emphasize the age and experience of your Privy Council and your Cabinet. You can mention the fact that you have been in regular contact with everyday people, including high school and college students, and so you have a good grasp of their concerns. Emphasize job creation and how it will make your target audience's businesses better."

Crystal coughed, "Ma'am, we're running a bit late."

Matt-the-leopard nodded. "Good luck, milady."

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Friday, May 2, 2003: 08:10 (UTC)  
Hour 379.10/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Media Centre:  
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Mattie emerged from Studio 31 to find Matt sitting in the corridor, waiting for her, tail-tip flicking slowly. She smiled, "How do you think I did?"

"Much better, milady. Much better. Now while we walk a few hundred yards to our next appointment, let me go over a few points."

"Wait, I thought you were going on _Morning Brew_."

"I am, milady. I am scheduled on Monday. These shows are taped, and if I went on an earlier taping, it would look like damage control. That is what it is, of course, but by timing it this way, I can narrow down their available time slots. It's like doing a late-morning interview in LA; it will be too late for New York, where things are scheduled on the networks." He smiled, showing his teeth. "It's an elaborate dance with appointments and scheduling, one that I'll go over with your senior secretary and Madame Delacour's. We want to be available to the press, but not _too_ available, and to control our message, as they will try to break that control. Others in the press such as Ms. Lane will try to catch you in an inconsistency, which they will exploit. This is why Ms. Lane asks you every time about exploiting the workers – she can read your body language that it irritates you."

"Ah. I had wondered. Yes, it does irritate me."

"And you've been doing well, redirecting and asking her to redefine it, but that irritation still shows. I will go over body language with you and Madame Delacour. I should go over some things with William as well. He is not photogenic with that facial scarring, but he and his wife make a nice human-interest story. How was he injured, by the way?"

"I … think you should ask Fleur, but expect to be turned down."

"O … kay," he replied. Changing the subject, he pointed with one paw down the corridor at Studio 34. "Same basic format as the previous two. Target market is Northern Europe. Northern France, the Benelux countries, Germany and Poland. By the way, I must apologize; I forgot to mention the previous show was multilingual."

"Crystal caught it, she cast a translation charm."

"Good. Good," and he turned, "Thank you, Ms. Evans, for catching it."

She smiled, "No worries mate. You'll need it again?"

"Yes, please." He turned again, "Once again, your focus is on the restrictions to your power, and creating jobs. Jobs, jobs, jobs. You will be muttering that in your sleep, and repeating it when you are brushing your teeth. Jobs, jobs, jobs. This area has traditionally been agreeable to higher taxes if it shows a material benefit to the common man, such as health care. I would also mention Madame Delacour's sister is the Assembly representative for this region. That gives this region a bit more political influence, along with the business associated with companies such as Mercedes, Volkswagen, and export items such as beers, wines and spirits in the Champagne region. This area has always had an export focus, and that is what you want to emphasize. The number of planets both in and out of the Empire, the survey ships for exploration, and the huge market that represents."

"Oh, it's there," she agreed. "Just in this sector, eight thousand or so planets. Even a tiny slice of that is an enormous amount of money. That's why Gringotts and the Empire are funding this."

People walked past in the corridor, and Matt-the-leopard added, "One other thing. The Greens are particularly strong here, because the Germans are very protective of the natural beauty. Mention that we're placing heavy, polluting industries, but not jobs, such as smelting and shipbuilding to orbit or to dead worlds like the Moon to protect the environment."

"Oh, I can make an easy business case for that," she replied with a smile.

"Good. Remember, jobs, jobs, jobs."

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

The show, _Kaffe Klatch_, was a mid-morning show oriented toward women, as Matt had said. The show, personnel, and the hostess was German, but there were also French, Polish, and Belgian female journalists, who were 'neighbors' and had dropped by for a cup of coffee and to discuss the news of the day. The set looked like a country farm kitchen, as it was German, it was scrupulously neat, clean, with everything _in ordnung_, instead of an actual working farm's kitchen like Molly Weasley's who was always somewhat disorganized and had dishes in the sink. Mattie suspected that if she were to look, she would find actual pots, pans, and cutlery in the drawers.

Frau Helga Zöhller was the hostess, and thus the primary language was German. The other women were also multilingual. When Mattie had appeared (slightly late), the producer had sighed, and given her age, ordered her to wardrobe and then to makeup. She was now the 'college daughter' who was home for the weekend and gossiping with _Mutter_ and her friends.

'_At least they've got really good coffee_,' Mattie thought to herself. The level of preparation the show put in was amazing – the sinks and the elaborate coffee maker actually worked (and drained). '_Of course, they also call me_ 'Martha' …' she added to herself. She was also supposed to refer to herself in the third person.

("I don't know what you want the Tsaritsa to do,") she replied in German to the question from the French journalist. ("The hole where Paris was will require several cubic kilometers of fill. There is enough slag and waste from the orbital refineries or close to that amount available. The Tsaritsa has asked that it not be disposed of as it would normally be, but compacted and left in orbit. However, how are you going to get it down from orbit? It's the amount of dirt you would have by shredding several of the Alps.")

("Superman,") she replied in French.

("Who is off-planet and out of contact. He is somewhere else in the galaxy,") the Belgian woman put in, speaking in French. ("Besides, we cannot rely on him for everything. No, I think it is proper to fix what we can, water and sewer pipes and such while we re-route the Seine River around the hole.")

("Besides, the French economy was too centralized around Paris,") the Polish 'neighbor' said, in German as a dig at the Frenchwoman. ("Everything ran through Paris! Telephones, mail, transit, everything! To go from South to North you had to travel west through Paris!")

("Besides, there was only one small office of the Empire in one building,") Mattie put in. ("To my mind that does not make the whole of Paris a military target. That is like saying Wolfsburg is a target because Volkswagen produces the Landing Craft for the fleet.") She took a swallow of coffee, finishing the mug. She walked to the sink, rinsing out the mug and turning, coffee pot in hand, ("Does anyone need a refill?") The mugs were the only thing slightly 'off' about the set's décor. Large, half-liter ceramic mugs with a brown and green earth-tone 'farm' pattern, they had a logo of the show on them. They all took refills, and Mattie started to puzzle out how to start a fresh pot with the device.

("Let me, Martha, dear,") her '_Mutter_' said.

("Very nice machine. Where'd you get it, Mother? I would like to take one back with me, and the coffee is delicious,") Mattie snarked before catching herself.

("Thank you, dear,") her '_Mutter_' said with a fuming glance at Mattie, but kept in character, ("Your father picked it up in Hamburg, and the coffee is Jamaican Blue Mountain. I will look up the information for you.")

("Thank you, Mother. I have heard that coffee is what they serve at the White House,") she said with a smile. ("Perhaps they can export the machines off-planet. There are a lot of planets out there.")

("That's what the Tsaritsa said when she addressed the Sejm in Warsaw,") the Polish 'neighbor' said.

Relieved to have _finally_ gotten away from the Paris topic, Mattie confirmed this. ("That's true, and it's not just trucks and such that we can export.") She waved a hand at her (very tight) 'skinny' jeans, boots and casual blouse, before accepting another cup of coffee from her 'Mother'. ("There's clothing of all sorts, although we will need to standardize sizing. Why, with one company, I am a size zero, another I'm a four, but I am still a hundred forty-eight centimeters. Why does my sizing change from one to another?")

("Something all women have wondered,") the French 'neighbor' agreed.

("Its part of the Great Male Conspiracy,") her '_Mutter_' put in, and they all laughed.

* * *

("Ooh, I like these jeans, and this outfit! They are really, really comfortable. Can I buy them from you?") Mattie asked the wardrobe mistress.

("If you'll agree to come back,") the producer said. ("You're a natural actress, are you sure you're not a member of a theatrical union?") From where she leaned against a wall, Crystal chuckled. "We're lucky, milady, that the last show has technical problems and had to reschedule you, so you've got an extra hour for lunch before we need to be back at the office. Your Aunt and Uncle wanted to have lunch with you, so you can scoot home with your prizes before you need to change back to a skirt and suit for the office. I think they were going to have pizza with everything."

"Lucky you," Frau Zöhller said in English as she entered the wardrobe office. Only women were here, and she handed over a slip of paper, "The coffee maker information. They've got your mug as part of your fee outside, one of your young men has it." She removed her wig, scratching frantically at her scalp and her short blonde hair with her fingernails. Mattie chuckled, and glanced at her 'informal' wig. Ami handed it over, and Mattie held it out, "Give this one a try, it's my 'lightweight' one for informal occasions."

"Gott!" Helga said, "What's in this thing?" As she was taller than Mattie was, it came to her upper thighs.

"Human hair, woven with titanium and carbon-carbon armor. The one I wore for my Investment was over seventy kilos. Crystal, how many assassination attempts now?"

"Five last month, ma'am," Crystal replied as the heavy wig was handed back.

"I'll be happy to come back, but this is an unusual format for a news show." Mattie shook back her hair, pulling a wig cap on, then her 'informal' wig. She found her wallet, "I've got fifty Euros, will that do for the clothes?"

"Keep them, we'll write them off," the producer said. "If we can get autographs … I'll agree it's unusual, but it's what's tested best, and has been consistently in the top three ratings positions for the last five years," she replied with a shrug. "Perhaps, Frau Zöhller, you would like to schedule something with Herr Kent and his _Crossfire_ program. You have said you wish to be seen as a more serious journalist."

"I've got his contact information," Mattie said, digging her phone out of her bag, adding, "He does speak fluent German." She dialed, "Mr. Kent, please." She waited, "Mr. Kent? Ms. Wayne. I'm here in the backlot of _Kaffe Klatch_ on Luna. The hostess, Frau Helga Zöhller, was interested in appearing on _Crossfire_. Um-hm. Yes. Yes, of course." She handed the phone over, and Helga said, ("Hello, Herr Kent. I was talking with the delightful Tsaritsa …")

* * *

"So, mother, do I pack up and head back to good old Hogwarts on Sunday?" Mattie asked between bites of her pizza. "Normally, I wouldn't even consider asking, I did tell the Headmistress that, but I do have that incoming fleet …"

"You have to! Don't you?" Julie asked, taking a sip of her Diet Coke™. Mattie shook her head as Tomas said, "It would look as if she was running from her duties."

"Precisely," Selina said. "Let me see if you can take the exams early. Bill, what about Connie?"

"Yes, what about Connie? I'm just the Chief of Staff."

"But you are not as much in the media spotlight," Uncle Clark remarked. "Nothing would be said if you were to go back for the last month." He gestured, "The rest of you need to go back for that last month, and then if the six of you want to come back for the summer, and work as Crown Pages again, that's up to you and your parents."

"Bill, I'll talk it over with your mother. Would you like to come back?" He smiled slightly, "Assuming Ami is here, of course."

"I know my Aunt was in favor when I called her, I'll give you her mobile number, Mr. Morton." Ami smiled shyly, "It won't be the same in the dorm without you, Mattie."

"That's settled for now," Bella said. "I'll talk to Severus. Mr. Kent, I still need to get blood and hair samples from you and your wife, assuming you wish to sit for the family portrait with M. DeClerq."

"Family portrait?" Lois asked.

"I mentioned that," Selina replied. "M. DeClerq is a wizarding portrait painter; he is doing several portraits for all of us. Blood and hair samples means the portrait not only captures part of us, but can move and talk."

"And move between the different portraits, as well," Bella put in. "Not that much, ten or fifteen cc's of blood and a bit of hair from each of you."

"I want a family portrait in my office here," Mattie said. "I've got a personal portrait here and in the Slytherin portrait gallery, as well as at home in Gotham."

"I didn't even know there was a Slytherin portrait gallery," Julie admitted.

"There is one for Ravenclaw," Tomas put in, and Little Bill nodded, "Hufflepuff too."

"Maybe no Gryff has lived long enough to sit for a portrait," Mattie said with a straight face, and pizza crusts were thrown at her.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, May 2, 2003: 12:13 (UTC)  
Earth orbit, _ITNS Alura_, approach:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Brenda McCain waited aboard her fighter as her carrier, the _Alura_ (_CVA-10_) accepted her assigned parasite craft, and the deck crews sorted them out. It wasn't as fast as it should be, but everyone was still new at this. '_Better slow and certain_', she mused. '_So now we see how close the simulators are to reality_.'

_**Warning, combat death.**_

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, May 2, 2003: 12:23 (UTC)  
Phobos, Infantry training, Holodecks:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"A-ten HUT!"

Demon Company snapped to attention along with the other companies in the 11th Brigade. Lieutenant Fujiyama looked them over, and then said, "At ease." The companies relaxed, and she said, "This morning, you were able to get an up-close-and-personal look at an enemy ship, the BattleStar _Ba'an the Bold_." She took a few steps, "You no doubt have noticed the poor maintenance of that ship, as opposed to our own ships, in particular _ITNS Abraham_. The _Ba'an_ has been used as a model, along with other captured Republican ships, in your final examination. You will attack and capture the Republican warship _A'nasa the Arrogant_ and her crew. After that, the _Abraham_ will take us to the battle line, where we shall do it for real." She regarded her troops, "Good luck. Dismissed."

* * *

Teena Young was nervous. If she was honest with herself, she was scared out of her wits, for not only herself, but also her husband and kids, each of them in different companies. She had met up with them when they all had a weekend pass in Katherine, and it was … unusual to see her husband and sons looking like Barbie dolls – like she and her daughter did.

She had gained several inches in height and reduction to an E cup; she had wanted the surgery but hadn't been able to afford it. She was also much more comfortable with being fit. Her daughter Carrie had kicked cigarettes, and Adam and Brian, now her daughters Anna and Beverly … well, Anna finally looked happy, while being a girl wasn't sitting too well with Beverly.

As she waited to enter the holodeck, she was startled when Sgt. Morton asked softly, "You okay there, Young?"

"Bit nervous … well, frankly, I'm scared silly. I am going into _combat_. Something I never thought I would be doing in a million years. Girls didn't even consider it …"

"And you're wondering how you'll do," she replied. "I know. Teena, I know exactly what you are thinking. Can I cut it? Were they right, that women can't handle combat?" She crossed her arms and regarded Teena. "Rely on your training, your buddies. They have your back, you have theirs. You may freeze when it comes to that moment, when it is you or him. That's why your buddies and your wing Zirkowski is there, for mutual support. When you have your first kill, when you see his blood on your armor, you're probably going to puke." Her Sergeant smiled, "I did. You gave him a choice, and he chose poorly. You'll also see his face, see his last few moments in your mind, along with all the others, so you take your helmet off and puke."

"Because cleaning puke out of a vac helmet is just nasty," Sgt. Chung mentioned in passing. "Trust me in that. Combat is not neat and clean, not sanitized by Hollywood. We're not pulling punches here, people. You make threats into non-threats." There was a whistle, and he smiled, "Go make us proud."

* * *

"Just like in training. Just like in training. Just like …"

"Shut up," someone said over the squad channel. "We're all fuckin' nervous here."

"You mean we're all scared shitless, but nobody has the balls to say so."

"We ain't got no mo' balls no' mo'," Jasmine said in her New York accent. "We got us a bad ass rack, tho', and that ain't shit."

"And who was that I saw doing 'the nasty' with her knife before these panties were glued on?" Kiera Winton asked in her distinctive upper-crust Boston accent. "Please wait, I have movement." Commentary cut off, and Teena could imagine Kiera crouching, several corridors over, her sensor probe held around a corner. "Work detail. One guard and half a dozen slaves. Looks like a shift change."

"Got yo' back," Jasmine said. "Yo' call. Flash-bang?"

"No. Let him pass, jump him from behind. You take the slaves, belly and cuff, I'll see about their master. A knife to the throat should get his attention."

"Sho' nuff," her wing said, and Teena picked up something herself. "I got a work party too. Zee?"

"Got it," her wing replied, turning so she faced down the corridor, covering their backs while she picked up the data feed. "Definitely looks like a shift change."

* * *

"Slaves, BELLY AND CUFF," Zee shouted over the external speakers on her armor, and Teena snaked a hand out, pulling the man back by the hair. He stumbled, dropping his PADD, and her combat knife went to his throat. "Surrender or die, asshole," she said.

"What … who are you?" he asked. "Are you these Terrans we've heard about?"

"You got it. Now you can surrender or die," Teena said, and he could see the end of the combat knife at his throat.

"You expect me to surrender to a barbarian slave?" he snorted. "Let me go."

"That's a no," Zee said. "Kill the son-of-a-bitch." She had her P90 out as she scanned the corridor. Teena took a deep breath, thought '_This is only a hologram. This is only a hologram_.' She pulled him away from her, turned him a bit, and slid her knife through his throat, almost separating his head. She shoved him aside as blood spurted out; he collapsed against the corridor's wall, hands going to his throat as he gurgled. His legs kicked as he tried to contain the blood, but he finally was still. Teena dropped to her knees, wrenching her helmet off, as she was sick.

"Scalp him."

"Wha … "

"He's your kill. Scalp him. Psy-war, remember?" Zee was implacable. "He called you a slave. Scalp him, or take over watch, and I'll do it." The slaves watched silently as Teena stood, unslinging her own P90, while Zee pulled his head up, cutting through the spinal cord and doing a neat job of removing the skin of his forehead, including some of his eyebrows and receding hairline. She cut a small slit, threading a wire through and hung the grisly trophy on Teena's shield, then stood, putting his head on his waist as he sprawled against the corridor wall. She handed her bottle of water to Teena, "Rinse and spit, then let's get going. I've tagged these slaves; you can do the next batch."

* * *

"Got something," Heather said. "Two officers – two female officers."

"Capture if possible, Hause," Sgt. Morton said.

Sandra O'Reilly commented, "They're really into their conversation. Not a care in the world. They must have walked past some of the other kills. Wait for them to pass …"

The two officers walked past, gesturing at the PADD, and didn't stop (or look up) until they ran into the muzzle of Heather's P90. "Surrender or die, ladies," she invited.

One looked up, eyes blinking rapidly, and used her right hand to push a tendril of her blonde hair behind her ear. "Who are you?" She jerked a bit as Sandra pushed the muzzle of her P90 into their backs, "Against the wall, you two."

"I don't understand," her brunette companion said. "Who are you? Are you the Terrans that have been on the fleet message boards? Where are you from? We've never heard of you."

"You aren't in ANY of my databases," the blonde commented, sounding rather offended. "I'm the astrogator! Where are you … ughhaa …" she said as she collapsed. Sandra threw the used 'sleepy capsule' aside, as the brunette caught sight of the scalps decorating their shields, her eyes went round, and she fainted.

"One way to do it," Sandra said. "Your turn, I'll stand over watch," and she passed over an ID tag as Heather bent to search and cuff the two captives.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, May 3, 2003: 06:36 (relative)  
Terran system, _Ca'arn the Cruel_, flag deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Who are they? Where are they?" Sub-Admiral Is'las asked. "They come and go, appearing as the Riders of the Dead. When we try to close them, they are not there, but they are when they observe us. They are as substantial as smoke…"

"And as difficult to grip," his second, En'das agreed. "They refuse our attempts at communications … who is this 'Terran Empire'? The databases have no information on them." He shivered, "They … seem too like the fabled Riders of the Dead."

Is'las shivered himself. "The Riders are myth; we are an advanced, scientific society. We do not huddle around a wood fire at night to frighten the Riders away. No, we must advance cautiously, with an unknown enemy ahead and to our flanks. The fleet is closing together in fear, a herd instinct; we must disperse instead. When this Terran Empire finally does open fire, their beams will only strike one ship's shields. Source forbid, but it will also prevent secondary damage to another ship."

"I shall see to it," En'das replied. "Still, the only thing worse might be the presence of the never-sufficiently-damned Guardians and their Lanterns."

"Source provide not!"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, May 3, 2003: 06:40 (UTC)  
Titan orbit, _ITNS Albion_, guest quarters:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Kilowog's basso laugh rumbled across the common compartment. Arisa looked up from her computer screen, smiled slightly, and returned to her reading, while Ch'p continued his exercising. The Terrans were good hosts, asking them to stay aboard ship so the incoming fleet would not detect them. It was boring, truth, but then occasional boredom was welcome in her life.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, May 3, 2003: 07:41 (relative)  
Melotte, Melotte City, safehouse #3:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Sandra Woosan snarled at the leader of the newly dropped Imperial Special Forces team. No, that was not quite right. They were not really Imperials; they were still US Army, with the mindset of 'I'm the baddest bastard around.' She snapped, "Fine, do it your way. Just remember the 'Sons and daughters of Liberty' need to blow the bridge with the wine train."

Their leader actually yawned in her face. "When we get around to it."

"When you … you arrogant bastard. Fine. We'll do the damn train, and trash their exports. You do your own thing, but we won't rescue you."

"You? Rescue us? One little Chinese girl with two (he suppressed a laugh) _slaves_? Yeah, right, toots. Pull the other one, it's got bells on." He waved at the door. "Go on, do your damn train. We'll show you how a proper insurgency works."

She smiled at him sweetly, "You'll eat those words, Captain Carter." She ran a fingertip over his uniform name tape.

"Yeah, right. By who? The locals? Don't make me laugh. These bums couldn't organize a bottle party in an Irish distillery." He finger-waved her off. "Go. Your train awaits."

* * *

"It makes me ashamed to claim the same home world as those idiots, mistress." 74136 replied as Sandra Woosan met up with her 'slaves'. She was one of the two new 'slaves' that she had received in her latest supply drop, and a professional intelligence officer, supposedly to 'advise' the Special Forces team. However, they had made their opinion of her usefulness abundantly clear. "Do we need to disperse our supplies?"

"No, they don't need anything we have," her 'mistress' replied. "We've already cleared anything we need from the supply dump they know about. Let's head north; we've knocked out two of the three roads leading out of wine country, which means the government will be keeping a close eye on the remaining bridge."

"At least until they can clear the rock slides, mistress," 74613 added as she stretched luxuriantly. She was also along to support the Special Forces team, but had also been rejected by them. She looked at her sister slaves 74136, 81149, 22411 and 22458. The last two were former hotel girls, the other three were bio-sculpted as felinoids and collared, with 81149 also Enhanced. "We should be going, mistress. I don't want to be in the same city when those idiots are captured. They'll destroy several city blocks." They started walking toward a public transit stop, the two new girls dropping back to observe the local 'slave etiquette'. While they had served time as slave girls on other planets, each planet was also different. On Melotte, with its tropical weather, slave girls were tanned and topless, wearing only a very short and light, almost translucent slave skirt over their slave belts. This bothered 74136, what currently irritated her sister-slave 74613 was the small bells she wore on her nipples. Her new mistress had promised to remove them from both slaves, but hadn't yet. She leaned over and whispered, "Our wrists!" to 74136, and cuffed herself.

"I was wondering if you would catch that," 81149 said, her own wrists secured behind herself. "Mistress, can we do some shopping? We can catch first-meal."

"Yes, and it's the weekend. We can lose ourselves in the marketplace, and catch up on the news," Sandra agreed. "We'll just get off the bus a little earlier than we were going to."

* * *

Sandra Woosan considered the slaves in the overstock area of the market. There were currently three model 128 'chase slaves' in stock, all three of which looked to be in their early thirties. She made a show of examining the three, checking their implants and teeth, then motioned a slaver over to haggle. To the slaves' relief, they were unchained from the display wheels, then taken with their new mistress' other slaves, new and old, to have heavy gags and hoods installed and their nipples ringed. They were slave animals, they obeyed.

* * *

After having a long first-meal, Sandra returned to the slaver to pick up her slaves. She had needed to have the slaves on an itemized, time-stamped receipt; and therefore had all her slaves nipple-ringed. She also had a different number of slaves than the fools of the Special Operations group knew about. She wished she could adjust her own appearance, but the locals wouldn't know what 'Chinese' meant, or what 'feet' were relating to her height. She had been fortunate in picking up the chase slaves; they were designed and bred for high intelligence and creativity. That meant they were most likely to resent their lives as slaves, and be open to the slave insurrection. She was moving to a new safehouse, so all the slaves had to be gagged and hooded until they had arrived. A single mistress with a baker's dozen tightly gagged and hooded slaves would be slightly unusual, but not tremendously so. She regretted not being able to buy more slaves in overstock; their prices were generally exceptionally good …

* * *

"81149, you're First Girl," Sandra said as she opened the cargo hatch on the battered old vehicle. The slaves stirred where they lay on the floor of the vehicle. Outside the parking bay, rain could be heard on the roof and sides of the thin metal shed. She reached forward, grabbing a chain leash and pulling, "Come on, we'll get you secured and 81149 can suction you. I'm not a bad mistress, and I'm certainly not an owner. I've worn a collar and I have slave brands myself."

* * *

"I'm not telling you everything," Sandra said later as she sat on the steps of the underground slave cell. It was a small room, two by two meters with a low 150 cm ceiling, and while she was petite, her head brushed the concrete ceiling. Anyone taller than she was would need to bend over, but the slave 'cylinders' were built three high, 175 cm long and 50 cm square, so there was just enough room for a dozen girls. "What you don't know you can't tell under interrogation, but we're agents of the Terran Empire. The Republic of Sodolokve invaded our home system; we're here to return the favor by starting a slave revolt and overthrowing the government on each of the Republic's planets."

There was a stir among the slaves, whose gagged, hooded heads hung out of the slave cylinders. She continued, "When I wore a collar, I hated it, and I wanted out of it. All but three of you are Enhanced, so there is no way to get you out of your collar, or get the Enhancement out of your brains. I won't lie and say we can. However, we can reprogram you. Still, the Planetary Guard has a nasty reputation, and I would not blame you if you want no part of this business. If you do, if you want some payback for how you've been treated, we can use you. If you don't, we can't sell you, but we will keep you gagged and you won't be told anything. You will be a normal household slave girl. I'm going to let you think for a while; your First Girl will take care of you. Make your decision, not only for you, but also for other slaves. First?"

"Yes, mistress," and the heavy wooden door dropped. There was the 'clank' of locks, and silence.

* * *

12254 thought. She was a chase slave whose owners had been arrested by the Planetary Guard for some unknown crime, and she had been auctioned off with their other property and slaves. She knew she was a more expensive slave than others were, yet she was also older than other slaves were as well. Normally she would have had nothing to do with any form of slave revolt, but … but her previous owners had been kind to her and their other slaves. They hadn't done anything she considered a crime; they had owned and run a small business that had been sold for a puff of wind to a Guard officer. Perhaps this is why they had been arrested – the Guard officer had desired their property, but when he had seen her at a short distance, she had been rejected. It had offended her pride, she thought she was still an attractive slave, and she had been a bargain! No, she had been rejected as what she was, a female slave, and it offended her pride. She knew that as a slave, she was considered an animal, but she had been treated well by her previous owners, valued for her service, and to be rejected because of a wrinkle or two? Everyone aged! Even masters!

She wiggled slightly to gain comfort. She lay on a small sliding tray, her ankles confined, pressing down on her nipple rings, which were somewhat uncomfortable, but nothing major. Nothing like she and other slaves endured routinely. Her collar protruded from the locked, hinged gate to the slave cylinder, so she could be properly identified if necessary. Her wiggling had moved her collar where it was implanted in her neck, and she was reminded of it. She snorted to herself; she was a slave who had worn lock collars from birth, until she had 'earned' her final, permanently emplaced collar and Enhancement at ten standard years. She had then gone through two years of brutal slave training, reminded every hour, every day by her collar that she was only collar meat, a slave animal to be sold. She was designed to be decorative, able to be raped by a master, but not to have the dignity of giving birth – her owners had seen to that! She remembered being taken from the collaring machine which had synchronized her Enhancement, placed to sit on two thick prods; an electric current passing through her female organs. It had been intensely painful, but she was only another animal being neutered. That is all she was – an animal.

Now her latest mistress, one who had spared her life from the overstock pits, proposed an act of war! She fought for her home world, and offered … what? Her freedom? She snorted – she was slave, she would not know what to do with a dark collar. Still … she had heard of other planets where a collar was not necessarily all bad. Slaves were actually _paid_ for their labor, they could buy their collars … She snorted again. Ridiculous! It may be absurd, she thought after a few minutes, but … but it was seductive. A dark collar? To be allowed to go, to do as she wished? Mistress was offering, not ordering … she could say no, and properly should. Properly, she should inform the Guard, but … Mistress had said that if she said no, she would simply be a house slave. A permanent gag, true, but while they were uncomfortable, she would still be alive – Mistress hadn't said anything about her death, she would know where Mistress was … but what would informing on Mistress gain her? The proper thing for Mistress to do to any slave that defied her was to kill the slave so that Mistress could not be betrayed. That would be fundamental security, and yet … and yet, Mistress had saved her life, perhaps unknowing, truth, but she still had, and that deserved balance.

What would informing on Mistress gain her from the Guard? A new Owner, very likely one of the Guard, one who knew she had broken faith with her Mistress, and would not keep her Mistress' secrets, and thus was likely to inform on him. Even if he kept her, she would be under strict discipline, and as she was an older slave, likely to be disposed of shortly. She would still be a tightly held slave, strictly bound and chained, with a hostile Owner … she shuddered. No. That option was out. Her best plan was to determine what Mistress planned to do in her war. So far she had been treated well, the gag and hood she wore were nothing. Mistress did not want her slaves knowing where they were – understandable, really. She would wait for more information.

* * *

74613 was covered as a slave girl, but the combination of bio-sculpt and Enhancement with her collar meant that her previous existence was unknown to her until her current Mistress used a code phrase to unlock a mental partition. She knew she had volunteered for this, knew about the Terran Empire's war with the Republic, but was baffled by the cargo that had come with her. A stick and a twig broom?

* * *

74163 lay on the small tray and considered. Her other personality 'Thomas' knew she was covered as a slave girl, and so far there hadn't been anything bad. 74163 had walked the streets of other planets as a slave girl, gotten used to 'steering' while 'Thomas' looked over her virtual shoulder. No, what bothered 'Thomas' was going about as a topless female slave – he considered it 'indecent', even while his male core enjoyed it.

'_Yes you do, you cannot deny it to me_,' she said to 'Thomas'. '_We are not a proper young lady, we are a slave girl. I have told you this repeatedly_.'

'_Yes, you have_,' he agreed. '_You need to remember that I don't come from a slaveholding society, much less AS that slave. I also didn't expect to have my eyes and ears replaced and hooked into Enhancement_.'

'_And you know my opinions on THAT_,' she replied in their shared mind. '_The wastes of flesh that pollute your homeworld would be better off wearing a collar and working_.'

'_I'm not going to resume this argument, I'm not in the mood_.'

'_Coward_.'

'_Bitch. We're arguing like an old married couple_.'

'_Yes, we are, and I repeat my point that marriage is selling the female to the male, only painted with different laws. She is still at least a partial slave, she takes a token of his ownership, and changes her name, and is bought by the dowry. It is not considered a complete transaction until she has been taken by her new owner. Would you like citations from the ICC_?'

'_No. You're not a very meek and submissive slave, are you_?'

'_No, WE are not. That is a survival tactic learned very early by a slave. She must adapt or die. What do you think the odds are of one of the new girls betraying us to the Guard_?'

'_Seeing how well I've learned my lessons? I think Mistress did well in choosing from the overstocks, and the three chase girls were a good choice. They're not prime meat, but they have lots of experience. If any of them do, I think it would be either of the 70 – series disposable girls. They're young and may think they'll get a better collar out of it_.'

'_Young fools. Tell me why Mistress had all our breasts ringed_.'

'_To itemize her ownership of us and date-stamp it. Those fools in Army Special Forces are walking into trouble, but they don't realize it. She walked us past others that were cheaper_.'

* * *

"Mistress," 81149 said in the small kitchen, "I think you are making a mistake with the new slaves."

"I've asked you not to call me that," her petite Chinese owner replied, somewhat irritably.

"Very well, SANDRA," the slave girl said, with a tap on her jaw abruptly changing her translator implant from Trade to English. She stood from where she had knelt and poured herself a cup of tea, and pointedly did not top the other woman's cup off. She took one of the two seats at the table, took a sip, and then leaned forward. "If I remembered my real name, I would insist on your using it. You wish me to be First Girl, not only will I do so; I will forget my collar and speak to you as a free female. You are making a mistake with the new slaves."

"How so? They are slaves; they expect to be treated as slaves."

81149 sighed. "Yes, we are slaves. We wear a collar, as you did, or so you claim." She ran a finger along the edge of hers, "Have you forgotten so quickly what it is like? No, it is not uncomfortable, but it is THERE, you are aware of it, you know that you cannot remove it or the Enhancement, and most importantly, it marks you as a slave. An animal. You are bought and sold and disposed of like an animal, because you are an animal." She sat back, "Yes, I am a volunteer; I volunteered to wear a collar, to become that slave, to be a spy for my people and my planet. I was aware, or thought I was, of the risks, I thought they were acceptable, as I was informed that my owner would be another undercover agent."

"I … "

"Tell me, why did you buy those new slaves? Their presence puts us all in jeopardy. The fools from the Special Forces didn't want to take advantage of the two girls that were shipped in with them. However, they are a known quantity, to some extent, being volunteers from Terra. I don't like how they were modified and Enhanced, as I was against my will, it makes me think something is wrong back home. However, there's nothing I can do about that. I hope you'll mention it in your next report, though." She took a sip of tea. "Why buy them?"

Sandra dithered, and then sighed, "I needed a time stamped receipt with all of your collar numbers for when those fools in Special Forces are captured and tortured. I have to assume they'll give us up, I wanted to throw them off the scent."

"You're assuming the Planetary Guard will be persuaded by a receipt?" 81149 snorted, "Dream on. You know as well as I do that the Guard will torture first, and as slaves we will take most of it. What's the real reason?"

"They think I only have their two rejected slaves, by having more it confuses the search parameters," Sandra replied. "I … I also felt sorry for them, but I had to show them who was boss."

"Ah, the old 'swinging dick' response. Believe me, MISTRESS, we are well aware that we are SLAVES and you are the 'boss'." 81149 snorted again, and then said, a little more gently, "On the other hand we have the conditioning that a slave keeps her master's secrets. I'll sit down with each of the new slaves and sound them out. For now, I don't think it's wise to leave them hooded and gagged. I'd like to give them a couple hours to think, then go and remove their hoods and gags, and let them talk between themselves. If there are any leaning toward informing the Guard, which is what a slave should do in this situation, they can be talked out of it. If not, we can leave them gagged or slit their throats later." She grimaced and rubbed the back of her neck above her collar. "At least Enhancement doesn't let you lie. Why don't you figure how we can use a zarroji or two in blowing the wine train and wrecking the planet's major cash crop?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, May 4, 2003: 06:00 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Metropolis, _Daily Planet_ newsroom:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Perry White, editor-in-chief of the multiple-Pulitzer Prize winning _Daily Planet_, walked into his office as usual on the stroke of six. He put down his jumbo-sized mug of coffee, flipped on his computer screen, and logged in. While he waited, he looked through the competitor papers from overnight, grunting at the _New York Times_. After reading his email, he started on this week's editorial.

Daily Planet_: Editor's opinion  
By: Perry White_

_There are a diverse number of opinions regarding the new Terran Empire and its Empress, Ms. Wayne. Before I start, I must state this disclaimer: that Gotham's Wayne Enterprises has a twenty-two percent ownership of Galaxy Communications, the parent company of the _Daily Planet_ and _GNN_. Ms. Wayne's own company, the London-based Arrowhead Investing, owns another ten percent (along with a similar position in several other media companies around the world), and that her elder brother and sister-in-law's own holding company, the Bludhaven based Clock Tower Holdings owns twelve percent. This gives a total position of forty-four percent interest for the Waynes. While not a controlling interest, it is substantial. _

_The Waynes have never; I repeat _never_, asked for a different editorial position or attempted to bias either an editorial or story in their favor. When they felt it necessary, they have written letters to the editor like any other citizen. They have stood squarely in the defense of journalistic integrity and freedom of speech for well over a hundred years. This has held true in my personal sixty-seven years with both the _Daily Planet_ and Galaxy Communications. It has held true with Thomas Wayne (Ms. Wayne's grandfather), her father Bruce Wayne, and her mother Selina's control of Wayne Enterprises after her father's death, and with Ms. Wayne herself. They have supported employee ownership of Galaxy Communications, most recently in last December's Board meeting (although the motion failed). The Waynes have a long history of community involvement, not only in Gotham, but here in Metropolis and other cities as well. Since Thomas Wayne (a well-known Gotham physician), they have sponsored free clinics for the poor, as well as picking up the hospital tab for those in more urgent need. _

_That said; the Waynes have their critics as well. The basis for their fortunes is real estate, and while they all have diverse portfolios, Ms. Wayne's control of, and licensing of, off-world and galactic technologies has drawn sharp criticism. Some believe that she, as an American citizen, should keep this technology in American hands, if not simply donate it. Former President Luthor was of the opinion that he as President should control this. Others believe that since Ms. Wayne's primary residence is in London, she should donate it to the British, and others have made similar arguments. Ms. Wayne's own opinion is that 'a rising tide lifts all boats', and has thus made the technology licensing open to worldwide bidding. _

_Another point of criticism is the political design of the new Empire. While this has come from those who would have her duplicate the US Congress or the British Westminster system, she has pointed out that the Empire has a system of checks and balances, that the common citizen (especially those from smaller countries like Belize, Ethiopia, and Israel) are represented not only by their Assembly member, but also by the Crown. Some fear a strong central authority, a repeat of the European dictators of the 1920's, 1930's and 1940's such as Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin. She has pointed to the Presidency of the US and other countries, the Chancellor or Prime Ministers of Germany, the Russian Federation, the UK, and other countries. Indeed, this is a point she has made repeatedly – that there is a valid concern regarding a strong central leadership. She has addressed this with several points. The Crown is required by law to have an annual mental and physical examination (and publication of that information); that while she must submit a proposed budget, so must the Assembly, who will be the ones to vote on that budget, that any bill requires not only two, but three readings before being passed, and that the Crown, while the head of the Imperial armed forces, may only authorize defensive actions; she cannot unilaterally declare war on another sovereign star nation. A war bill must be passed in the Assembly, and there are multiple political parties, which means Ms. Wayne's Prime Minister, Madame Delacour, must forge a coalition to pass each bill. _

_This brings up a point that Ms. Wayne has made. She proposes a military buildup for several reasons: there are eighty-five worlds the Empire currently has an interest in, and that we have not only a moral but also a legal obligation to provide for their defense. We have treaty obligations that require our military participation in the defense of trading partners, as they participate in our defense. That the majority of the Imperial worlds are our colonies, with our citizens, and with their own local economies, and will need to export to local fleet bases but also to the Empire and other systems as well. That the current Home Fleet is needed here, as both a central reserve and training location. It also serves to protect the system and the Imperial manufacturing base. The financial benefits of this expansion will boost the Imperial economy and give a number of well-paying jobs not only in the lunar and orbital shipyards, but also in worldwide job creation. That moving the Earth's economy into using Galactic technology will not only boost exports in supplying and transporting goods and services, but also in the reduction of pollutants with the use of 'green' Galactic technologies. That with the use of Galactic technology such as off-world drugs and med-tanks, persistent diseases such as cancer and diabetes are curable. _

_Ms. Wayne also points out that we are in a dangerous situation, that our local stellar 'neighborhood' is not the best, and that the wealth of our having eighty-five known habitable planets means that we are an attractive target. Indeed our own system having four habitable planets: (Earth, Mars, Ceres and Titan) as well as our wealth in tungsten (the basis for the galactic economy) explains the repeated attacks and invasions we have suffered. Ms. Wayne has proposed not only a 'Thousand ship fleet' to support our colonies, our treaty obligations, and protect our commerce, but also a 'Grand Tour' of a substantial part of that fleet to our immediate stellar neighbors, for similar reasons of President Roosevelt's 'Great White Fleet'. While she did not mention it in her Investment speech, she has mentioned on other occasions the possibility of conscription to fulfill the manpower requirements. This will serve a deterrent effect, but that also means counterattacking and placing a garrison on each enemy Republican planet as well. _

_The reason for conscription is simple arithmetic. The Imperial Army is using a brigade with a strength of 6500. However, each brigade is not on duty continuously, and must be rotated with three other brigades for rest, training and resupply. This gives a total requirement of 26,000 for each deployed location. While some locations will require less of a deployed presence, others will require more, and this does not account for Naval or Marine requirements, or for base or other support facilities. While this buildup will take several years, she proposes the use of the 'Imperial Cadet Corps', similar to the existing Junior ROTC to supplement or replace the current Physical Education requirement in today's junior and senior high schools. This can be done on a considered, deliberate basis, instead of the emergency, crash priority that we have had to use. The ICC will also, if done instead of current Phys Ed requirements, help with the epidemic of juvenile obesity. Make no mistake; conscription has never been a popular option since Napoleon and the Grand Armee introduced it. However, it has been a _necessary_ option before, and it is again. _

_Another concern has been the proposed use of young women for combat duty. However, many young women see this as a defensive war, one that they are intimately affected by – after all, the enemy wants to collar THEM as slaves. They regard this as a personal attack, and previous reasons not to utilize them in a combat role are not relevant. Powered armor eliminates the strength argument, and with some forty percent of new volunteers being women (Imperial data), the risk of sexual assault is reduced. Men have long complained that they are subject to conscription while women are not – the proposed ICC and the intake into the Imperial service address this. _

_While Imperial service through the ICC and by other routes can be considered a rite of passage to adulthood, there are other tangible benefits, such as lower interest rates on loans and mortgages, having trained military personnel available on colony worlds for their own Reserves, health care, and so forth. _

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, May 5, 2003: 23:26 (relative)  
Melotte, Ankara province, Fast'an River:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

A disguised 74613 hid in the crags overlooking the sheer drop the bridge spanned. It was an old bridge, but it still had seemed in good shape, until she had transfigured some of the steel to baked clay. The train's whistle blew, she could see the headlight coming down the tracks, and she jerked when she heard two voices speaking French.

("Wait for it …") one said.

("I know, I know … I've done it before.")

("Yes, but that was in 1944, this is now.")

("A detonator is still a detonator.")

74613 looked over a rock, and saw the two. She tapped her translator implant and put in, ("Except when the detonator is a laser, my friends.") She saw them start, adding, ("Relax, I'm with IR & S out of London.")

("Merde! You almost gave me a heart attack!") The other said, ("We are with White Rose of Paris. A European resistance group.")

("Glad to meet you. Let's blow this train, shall we?")

("Once the locomotive has started across, we shall blow the train and the carriages shall be pulled into the chasm, along with the guards and the bottled crop.")

("At least most of it,") the second voice said. The train whistle blew again, and the train started across. They hunched over the sight, and squeezed the trigger. There was a pause, and then a rapid series of explosions along the base of the bridge started. There was an almighty groan, and the chugging steam locomotive slid backward down the rails into the depths of the canyon, the freight cars sliding down the rails until one car jammed against the bridge abutments, saving the last few cars, but derailing them. Sparks flew, and the wooden boxcars caught fire, spread by the alcoholic cargo and the various oils and greases. It burned brightly in the dark night.

All three of them watched the train burn, while a glow was seen from the bottom of the canyon. 74613 shook herself, then said, ("Well, that was fun. We should meet. Place an ad for Paper Monkey in this weekend's Melotte City classifieds. Sign it White Rose.") With a pop she apparated out.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, May 6, 2003: 09:11 (relative)  
Melotte, Melotte City, Presidential Palace:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

" … to do about this?" the executive hissed, leaning over the President's desk and pounding his fist. "This is an outrage! What do I pay your Guards f …" he didn't finish the sentence, or the word, as his head suddenly exploded, splattering blood and gore all over the President. That worthy jerked away, standing in shock, until there was a 'c…rack' sound and his head exploded in turn.

Twelve hundred meters away, Sandra Woosan packed away the Barrett sniper rifle as her spotter put the scope away. "Who was the second fellow?" her spotter wondered.

"Don't know, but he was important enough to chew a strip off the President of this miserable ball of rock," the Paper Monkey replied. "And for him to sit and take it. Let's get out of here."

"Yes, mistress," the slave 74163 replied. "I'll pick up your brass."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, May 6, 2003: 16:49 (UTC)  
Terran System, _ITNS Alura_, port hanger bay:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Brenda McCain sat on the maintenance walkway, twisting to get into place as she worked on the fighter's nose. Her interest in art was paying off; she was one of the various artists aboard ship who painted the various parasite craft's nose art. She had gotten together with the other artists and worked up an informal price sheet, from simple lettering to complex pin-ups, including both beefcake and cheesecake. For the other small craft, like pinnaces, the SCS and the Captain's VIP gig, the various crew chiefs had collected from their crews and paid for the art.

This one was simple, using one of the common themes of a standing, naked and collared slave girl. She was bending at the waist, giving a 'come hither' smile and a crooked finger in front of her breasts. Behind her back, stuck in her slave belt, she had a sheathed dagger she was reaching for. Brenda was just finishing the text balloon, which read, '_I have a present, my owner!_' Each side took about an hour; the major problem was working around the utility umbilical arm. Once the paint was dry, she would spray on a coating to protect the art from re-entry. It was an easy way to earn a few hundred Euros.

The Captain had said he wanted the others done before his VIP gig (he was still considering the design). There were various contests going on, organized by vessel type, both in-ship and with the fleet. She herself hadn't decided what she wanted; only that it would be called '_The Dweeb_'.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, May 7, 2003: 05:23 (relative)  
Terran system, _Ca'arn the Cruel_, flag deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

72339 was worried. Her master, Sub-Admiral Is'las was concerned about the mysterious Terrans, and he was taking his worries out on the slaves. She worked at her comm console as he spoke to his second. "We approach the second blue planet, En'das. There are some small craft in orbit; they are doing some atmosphere mining. Capture one or two for information."

"By my lord's command."

* * *

On board the _Albion_'s flag bridge, "Admiral, Signals Intercept reports orders have been issued to capture some of the atmosphere miners around Uranus."

Admiral Herschel turned, "Warn the miners, and detail a division of destroyers to decloak and move to block any attempt. They are not to fire unless they or the miners are fired on."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Commander Jared Chase, aboard the heavy cruiser _Alaska_ and commander of DESDIV 05 acknowledged his orders and passed them on to the five destroyers of his command. Dropping cloak, he rendezvoused with those ships and formed a line to intercept the two cruisers heading toward the miners of Uranus. He watched in silence as they continued their course. "Cloak is dropped?"

"Yes, sir."

Commander Chase regarded the holo plot. "Preheat shields and energy mounts. Arm the alpha missile salvo, prep the beta and charlie. Notify some assault troops in case we need to board or run SAR. If they don't sheer off, we'll see how well our designs hold up in actual combat."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Aboard the assault carrier _Abraham_, Lt. Fujiyama called "Let's go, people!" Apache, Barbarian, Cheyenne and Demon Companies assembled for the first time fully armed and armored. The Lieutenant kicked a crate into position, climbed on it and addressed her troops:

"Ladies, here's the situation. We have two enemy cruisers heading toward the atmosphere miners in orbit around Uranus. We are backing up a division of destroyers that are moving to block them. They will not fire unless fired upon, but by God, the first little laser means we engage. We will need to board and capture those cruisers." She let them think about that. "Ladies, our IT boffins from Signals have penetrated their computer systems; however, we don't want the enemy to know that – that's too great an advantage. That's why we're boarding those cruisers. However, we've rigged things in our favor. The ships' command circuits have new, longer and more secure passwords that we know, your sergeants will be able to access the ship's internal sensor networks, so we'll know the enemy's location and numbers, and the ships' armories and armor morgues have also had their access codes changed."

There was a murmur, and she smiled, "Ladies, we think that for the most part you'll encounter ships' crew, their version of naval infantry or Planetary Guard. Of those three groups, their on-duty squad of naval infantry will present the greatest threat. Give them the chance to surrender, then dispose of them with fire and maneuver. The naval officers and any ratings you encounter will not likely be armed, slaves will certainly not be armed and may be bound and leashed. Planetary Guard will be armed, if you can call it that, only with nightsticks. Remember, they are not police, not infantry, not soldiers. They are enforcers and thugs. Think of them as Mafia in uniform. Any weapons or firearms you encounter, aside from what I've mentioned, will be privately owned, not issue." She paused and looked over the orderly groups, "Apache and Cheyenne will board to port and move aft, securing all weapon stations, compartments and Main Engineering. Barbarian and Demon will board to starboard and do the same, taking the secondary Command and the primary Bridge. We will then fly the captured cruisers back to Deimos." She looked them over, then said, "Board your boats, and kick ass!"

* * *

Aboard _Ca'arn the Cruel_, En'das whistled in surprise, "That awoke a response." He regarded the icons of the enemy ships that now burned brightly in the holo plot. "Five ships, we're calling them light cruisers, anchored here by a battle-cruiser and here by … Sensors isn't sure. They are calling it a BattleStar. It's big, whatever it is." He blinked as smaller shapes detached from it, puzzling at the new icons. "Why are they detaching cargo shuttles?"

"We will find out when we examine the wreckage," Sub-Admiral Is'las said confidently.

"We are also outnumbered," En'das said softly. "At least by number of hulls and mass. Reinforce our ships or call them back?"

"My master," the comm slave said. "Forgive this slave, but this slave is in receipt of a communication from the other ships for my master."

En'das stood and straightened his uniform, muting the holo plot. Is'las turned, "On the main screen, slave."

"Yes, my master. This slave obeys." The screen changed, an officer in a white uniform sitting in a command chair very like Is'las own, setting down a metal cup. "Commander Chase, Imperial Terran Navy. Recall your two ships or we will engage them." He gestured and the communication cut off.

"Well, that's … interesting," En'das said as he reactivated the holo plot. "Reinforce or withdraw the two ships, milord?"

Is'las studied the plot. "Let's see what they do. Have our ships drive for the center of the line, and when they get to one light-second, if the line doesn't break, force the line."

"Fire first on their ships, milord?"

Is'las nodded, "Yes. Break their line."

* * *

Aboard the _Albion_, the comm officer turned, "Admiral, Signals Intercept reports orders have been issued to break our line of ships at one light-second."

Studying her plot, Admiral Herschel replied, "It looks like they want to test us. Form a skirmish line on their right flank and be prepared to fire a warning shot across their bow. Warn the assault troops for boarding actions; we don't want the rest of their fleet to know we have penetrated their computer systems. That means we need to do this the hard way. "

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Commander Chase regarded the holo plot aboard _Alaska_, and considered his orders. "If they don't break off in two minutes, fire a warning shot across their bows."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"They've redeployed, and fired on us!"

"A warning shot, En'das. They missed, intentionally."

"My masters," the sensor slave said. "Forgive this slave, but this slave is informed the missiles fired upon my masters' ships were using antimatter, my masters."

"Understood, slave," Is'las replied. He turned in his command chair, "Antimatter, En'das? Instead of fission warheads?"

"Do we call them back, my lord?"

"No. Let us see what happens."

* * *

"If they don't perform a turnover or communicate by oh-six-hundred, signal the _Alaska_ to start their diversion," Admiral Herschel said.

"Aye, aye, ma'am."

* * *

Aboard _Ca'arn the Cruel_, Sub-Admiral Is'las noticed the sudden movement of the naval ships toward his two cruisers. He ignored the small icons of the shuttles; they were not a threat, only a curiosity. The Terran naval ships closed to five light seconds; he turned as the slave chained at Sensors reported, "My Master, this slave is informed that the other ships' energy mounts are powering up."

"If their laser mounts have a five second range, they substantially out-range us," En'das said. "We'll have to reply with missiles."

"Why are they using lasers when they have antimatter missiles?"

* * *

Teena Young waited aboard the utility boat with the rest of her section, ready to latch on to the starboard side of Cruiser 'B'. Her mastoid speaker twitched, and she heard Sgt. Morton on the company channel, "Demon Company, the LT has authorized those of you that feel the need to take a level one trank. We know you're nervous, but remember your training and that you've got your buddies with you. I'll see you aboard ship, now go and kick ass!"

She tapped the 'ACK' button on her right sleeve's comm panel and then the 'T1' button on the med panel. She flipped the protective covers closed, then took a deep breath. With a soft click, she heard Zee ask, "You okay there, Tee?"

"Yeah. The T is already helping. I wonder how many scalps I'll earn?"

"The first round at Yasmin's says I have more than you do. You want to visit me in Krakow on our next leave?"

"You're not coming to Orlando with me and the family? We'll take you and your family to visit Disney. Didn't you say you had young kids?"

"Deal, as you Yanks say." There was a thump and rattle, and the boat's copilot appeared, "We're here, ladies. Go kick ass for us."

* * *

Sub-Admiral Is'las turned as his comm slave reported, "My Master, this slave reports this slave has lost communications with my master's two cruisers."

"Well, regain it, stupid slave!" En'das replied.

"My Master, this slave reports the difficulty is with my masters' two cruisers. This slave has already attempted to restore my masters' communications."

* * *

Teena came through the lock, looking and finding her buddy Zee, who forwarded her a ship's map. "We go down two decks and forward, third corridor in. Marked as crew quarters. Ready?"

"Let's do it."

* * *

**_Warning, combat deaths._**

Heather Hause and her buddy Sandra O'Reilly advanced cautiously, leapfrogging each other. They came to a four-way intersection, Sandra drawing a few symbols on the bulkhead with her paint stick as Heather checked each way (including up). So far, all they had found were a few privately owned slaves, they had marked the slaves as captured, popped trank capsules on them and locked their owner's quarters.

"Movement," Heather reported. "Single Planetary Guard officer coming aft. I'm amazed he hasn't seen us yet. Our camouflage isn't that good."

Sandra piggybacked Heather's take as she watched their 'six'. "Maybe he doesn't give a shite."

"We'll find out in a second," she replied. Standing, she said, "Surrender or die."

The officer looked her up and down, sneered, then said, "You must be one of these Terrans. You'll need training before I sell you. Report to the slave master, tell him Fa'ast sent you."

"That's a 'no', then?" Heather asked. "Very well," and she fired a short burst from her P90. The young Planetary Guard officer slammed into the opposite bulkhead, dropping his PADD and clutching his stomach, which was rapidly becoming bloodstained. He slid to the deck, his legs spread, a smear of blood on the white wall behind him; and looked up at the two in shocked amazement. "You … you have attacked me. You have attacked a free male …"

"No, I've killed a slaver," Heather replied. She drew her pistol and gave him a mercy round between the eyes. The back of his head exploded, leaving another smear of blood and brains on the wall. She drew a combat knife and carefully cut the skin of his forehead off. As she threaded a wire through the hole between his eyebrows; attaching the scalp to her shield, Sandra called in, "Mark one for Hause, this location, and recover a data PADD."

"Copy that," Sgt. Morton said. "For your information, there seems to be a shift change starting. Both squads of ship's infantry are currently locked in the morgue."

"Bloody good. I was wondering where they were," Sandra replied. She switched that channel back to standby, and asked, "You don't want to puke?"

Heather considered, and then said, "No. Not now, anyway. I'm pumped, though. Let's go get you one."

* * *

"Movement. Lots of movement," Teena called in at a four-way corridor intersection. "Request reinforcement, over a hundred enemy inbound."

"Copy that," Sgt. Morton replied. "Hause, you and Winton with your wings meet with Young on deck two. Sgt. Chung is on his way with some additional party favors. Lock and load, ladies."

"I hope they hurry," Zee said. "I'm nervous about our ammo."

"You were issued ten fifty-round mags, like all of us," Teena replied. "You're going to burn through five hundred rounds of orange-tip**(1)**?"

"Yes, but I only have four frag grenades."

"Me too. Well, we'll see what happens. Might as well ask politely, although I don't think they'll agree to surrender." She stood away from the bulkhead, turning her external speakers up, and said, "Surrender or die."

"I will see you kneeling at my feet, disobedient slave!" one shouted back.

"That seems like a 'no' to me," Teena said, raised her P90 to her shoulder and let loose a full-auto burst at the approaching Republicans, while Zee pulled the ring on a grenade, let the spoon fly, then threw it, shouting "FRAG OUT!" as she ducked behind her shield.

"Be careful, I don't want you to lose a hand," Teena commented as she dispassionately watched her rounds turn the heads and upper torsos of her targets to bloody meat. "You know the saying, '_A five second fuse is a three second fuse_.' The Republican advance faltered, their polished boots slipping in the blood as the secondary ranks of the Planetary Guard tripped over the bodies of the front ranks; until someone screamed at them from behind. She turned, giving the second group a burst.

Zee threw another grenade, she watched it bounce off a wall and drop into the middle of a group as she shouted, "FRAG OUT!" again. There was another blast as they ducked again, the AP**(2)** grenade detonating in the middle of the disorganized group. She shouted, "Any of you losers still alive want to surrender?"

"I will see you both dead for what you have done!" the same voice called back. Teena shrugged, pulled and armed a grenade of her own, then threw it toward him as she shouted "FRAG OUT!" herself. It bounced and rattled on the deck, she saw a grey clad arm pick it up before it exploded as he tried to throw it back. Fragments dinged off her shield as reinforcements arrived.

"Looks like you're having all the fun," Heather commented as she studied the situation. "These idiots actually think we're just going to meekly submit to them?"

Kiera Winton armed and threw a grenade. "FRAG OUT!" It exploded as they ducked, and she adapted her haughtiest Boston accent, "My dear, the rabble has no concept of proper behavior."

"Yo," her wing Jasmine replied. "Tha' ain't no shit wi' m' homeboys an' girls in th' hood." She stood, aiming her P90 carefully, and proceeded to pick off individuals with head shots. "I could make a killin' wit' this bad boy in th' Bronx. Don't suppose the 'man' would lemme keep it?" She squeezed off a few more, and then called, "Yo! Idiots! Yo wanna live, yo surrendah or die! We's gettin' bored over hea'."

There was an inarticulate sound of fury, and another called back, "You females will wear our collars and take your place at our feet!"

Jasmine called back, "Yo, asshole! I may got tits an' a fuckin' pussy now, but I ain't no slave bitch o' yours! Yo gonna be our slave bitches!"

"I will beat you for your arrogance, female!"

"First yo gots to get to me, asshole! Come on, bring it on, I won't fire on yo, yo got the manhood to say that to my face? Fifty say he ain't got the balls to stand up and look me in th' eye."

"I'll take that fifty," Sgt. Chung said as he arrived. "These people are idiots. Ladies, that passage leads to the main bridge, which is why they're trying to defend it. The side passages we can booby-trap, I've got some AP mines. Be sneaky with them." He gestured, "Take the outboard passageway first, you've got plenty of bodies to use and camouflage the mines with. I'll watch the inboard passage with Jasmine and Kiera, then we'll switch passages."

Teena grunted and picked up a couple of crates of mines. "I could never lift this without body armor. We can stack a couple bodies around so they can't walk without moving them…"

Kwang turned, settling the strap of a light machine gun on his shoulder as he watched the inboard passage. "So, Kiera, Jasmine, how's your day been?"

"How we gonna get scalps out all this mess?" Jasmine asked.

"Good point. We'll just divide them up among the six of you." He turned, "Zee!"

"Yes, sergeant?"

"While you're moving bodies, scalp 'em, we'll divide them up among the six of you."

"Yes, Sarge. Hey, I've got a live one! He isn't in very good shape." She addressed the Guardsman, "I don't think you'll make it back to the ship and sickbay. You're missing your arm and you're lying in a lot of blood. Want a mercy round?" They could hear him groan, and Teena said, "Don't scalp him. Use him as part of the camouflage. If he dies, he dies."

"Yo a cold bitch, Young," Jasmine commented.

"What can I say, he wants to collar me and my family." She pulled a body over, arranging it to create a cavity where she put the mine. "We going to tripwire or daisy-chain these?"

* * *

Sgt. Elena Morton watched her holo and saw movement through the ship's sensors. Really, having her holo tied into the ship's internal sensors made this even more of a cakewalk. "Kwang, you've got a party of enemy troops coming up the outside passageway. Looks like about fifty or so, be there in about ten minutes. They're actually leapfrogging. How you doing?"

"Fine so far. We're using the mines to booby-trap the bodies. Winton, Hause, pile the bodies up so we can hide behind them. We can shoot through them if we need to."

"Of course, sergeant," Kiera Winton's smooth, aristocratic voice replied.

"Put one o' two o' those bouncin' mines in there," Jasmine suggested.

"Put a remote on top of the stack, we can watch and detonate them in sequence then," Teena Young put in. "I'll do it. Give me the clackers."

* * *

Ca'allah licked his lips as he advanced. The sudden attack and frantic messages for help in defending the ship made him nervous. He wondered why the arms lockers were still locked. This was all very disorganized. He stopped, peering carefully around a corner, and saw bodies lying in the passageway, some still groaning. He also saw a LOT of blood on the deck. He pulled back, reporting, "A lot of blood, and bodies, some still alive. Be careful where you step, the deck looks slippery."

"Who ARE these Terrans?" Go'omsh asked. "We have no information on them." He stood, straightened his uniform, and then advanced. "Terrans! We must speak!"

A female appeared a few meters away, "You and your colleagues may surrender to us, or you may die where you stand."

"Surrender? To a mere female? Don't be stupid, I'll see you in your proper, natural place, female."

"That place would be?" she inquired calmly.

"Collared and at the feet of a master. Submit to me; I am a kind and generous master."

"I think not. A Terran does not surrender. You may surrender to me and live, or you can advance and die. Your choice."

"No, YOUR choice. You are not dressed or known as a free female, therefore you are a slave that needs to relearn her place. SUBMIT, female!"

"Come and make me," and she ducked behind a stack of bodies. Go'omsh started forward, tripping over a limb as Ca'allah watched, and a small grey cylinder bounced upward with a 'pop', exploding at a height of roughly one meter.

* * *

Aboard _Ca'arn the Cruel_, Sub-Admiral Is'las watched his plot as his two cruisers changed attitude, arcing as they yawed ninety degrees 'up' and over the Fleet as they headed toward the inner system. The Terran naval ships broke off and vanished as the large Terran ship accompanied his two ships toward the inner system. "Well, En'das?" he asked softly. "What do we make of that?"

His second leaned forward, replying quietly, "I would say that we have lost two cruisers, furthermore the large ship is a troop carrier of some sort. Further, their stealth is excellent. Notice that we no longer have even ghost images of their ships. They permit us to see only what they wish us to see."

Is'las frowned; drumming his fingers on the armrest. "That would imply that they have captured some of the Princess B'tan's fleet. That is not possible. We are supposed to have the finest ships in space."

En'das paused, considering his words carefully. "Truth, that is the view expressed on behalf of the King by the Ministry of Correct Thought …"

"Ah," Is'las replied with a knowing glance at En'das. "It is of course perfectly correct. Capture of our ships is impossible, as is failure to carry out the King's Will. There must be some other explanation that in our ignorance we simply do not yet understand. The King's Wisdom …"

" … is the Perfect Wisdom," En'das replied, quoting the correct phrase.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, May 7, 2003: 06:00 (UTC)  
Hour 497.00/708.00  
Luna, Grimaldi Crater, Wayne Quarters:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The light came on and the clock radio started playing. Mattie groaned, tossing a forearm over her eyes as Cindy, her maniac house-elf strode over, pulling the cover aside. "Youse is getting up and gettings readys, Mistress Queen Wayne. Youse is doing that nowse." Mattie groaned again, then said, "I'm up, I'm up," and swung her legs out of the warm bed.

* * *

"Um, Cindy? Why do you have a uniform out for me?" Mattie asked as she brushed out her hair. "I haven't earned it."

"We's at war, Mistress Queen Wayne. The Bad Mans Republicans is attackering the Fleets in the outer planets. Mr. Leopard Matts wants youse to wears it to makes good publics image for the press talkses youse be on later todays."

She thought about it, and then said, "No, Cindy. Keep it available until I talk to Matt, but for now, please put out one of my regular skirted suits." She sat down and started to do her makeup.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, May 7, 2003: 09:43 (UTC)  
Hour 500.43/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"… and remember, milady. Jobs, jobs, jobs." Matt Hagan, now back to his movie-star good looks finished his report.

"I would agree with that," Mr. Kim Soo-bin, her Minister of Commerce asked. The Korean added, "Please remember, milady, it is not just military equipment and supplies exported, it is also things like clothing, food and wine …" he gestured. "There is an enormous export market to be tapped here."

"Which will do positive things to the economy in general as well as things like tax receipts," Mr. Griplink put in. "If we can capture the enemy fleet whole, or nearly so, we can redirect those funds from warships into loans for building cargo ships." He sipped his tea, "I would like to see standardized designs for both interstellar and local use cargo ships, troop ships, and tankers."

"I would agree with that. We cannot count on reusing enemy naval ships. My reports are that they are held together with wire and tape," General von Hesse put in. "We are using most of them for parts, as we would need to rebuild them from the keel, so there is not much savings there. The privately owned slave ships are in better condition. We can retrofit some of the larger ones to troop transports, the smaller ones to courier ships." She took a sip of coffee, "How is the engine plant since their change of ownership?"

"Greatly improved," Mr. Kim replied. "I understand you had a hand in that, milady?"

"My uncle, actually," Mattie said. "Will those girls be ready to go off to school come September first?"

"They should be," Mr. Kim put in. "I understand the Catholic Church has invested in the plant?"

"They will be the girls' legal guardians until they turn eighteen," Lady Sarah put in. "Changing the subject, the first ten Survey Cruisers are about to commission."

The Tsaritsa smiled, "Excellent!"

Mr. Kim nodded, "Where will they be deployed?"

"We are synchronizing our colonies with their containing Messier Objects," Lady Sarah replied. "However, M1 is the Crab Nebula, which is a supernova remnant, not a cluster of stars. We are therefore using M2 through M11, which are stellar clusters. Therefore the _Charles Albanel_ (ITSV 0001), will be deploying to M2 and our colony there." She took a sip of tea herself. "The colony there is our most distant, over 37,000 light years away. The cluster is also one of the largest, at 175 light years in diameter and containing over a hundred fifty thousand stars. Even with the new drives, that's thirty days, and with the old drives we were using, over ten months each way."

"Which means we make that base, that colony a _Festung_ – a fortress," Heinrike put in. "Able to withstand a prolonged siege, a major base in our strategic planning." She took a swallow of coffee herself. "Think of it as a major seaport and naval base, like Danzig or Amsterdam."

"Or Marseilles," Fleur put in. "Mon amis, I agree about the standardized cargo ships, zis is somezing that we should be able to produce fairly easily, especially with our use of containers instead of barrels and crates. We need a more modern Liberty Ship, called the … Freedom Ship, or the Freedom Class ships, with standard hulls and different fittings for use as a long distance cargo ship, troop ship, or tanker. The question arises, who will finance, build, own and operate them?"

"If we are to use them as naval auxiliaries, with military grade engines, compensators and shielding, then we would of course pay for them. We can lease them to civilians to recoup some of the cost, like the US Government does with cargo aircraft," Mr. Griplink put in. "This allows us to call them up in an emergency."

"Or we can crew them as Imperial Merchant Marines," Lady Sarah put in. She took a sip of her tea, "That does not need to be decided now. Let us have some preliminary designs put together first."

Mattie checked her agenda, "Moving on, Matt, what about the advertising we're doing?"

"In conjunction with our polling, trends are starting to shape our way. We're having to adjust our advertising according to the market, of course, and the conscription issue is still the thousand-kilo gorilla in the corner. Still, in Europe and North America, the concept of the ICC as an activity for summer, especially if it helps keep kids in shape, is popular. We're doing a nominal fee, which we're heavily discounting as necessary, and the churches are promoting it too. Local governments ..."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, May 7, 2003: 12:59:58 (UTC)  
Hour 503.59:58/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Media Centre:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Waiting just offstage, Mattie heard the host say, "And now, here she is, our new Empress!"

She strolled out, "Good morning, Chicago!" as she made her way to the sofa. She sat, and checked the coffee mug for the show, '_Chicago Sunrise_'. Because of the time zone difference, this was being broadcast in Chicago at seven am. She was pleasantly surprised; this mug also had coffee in it. Word was getting around.

The perky blonde host Deb picked up her mug and sipped from it as David, the dark-haired host checked his clipboard. "You've had an interesting week, Your Majesty. One of the questions we had for you regarded your schooling."

She took another gulp of coffee, sighed, "Ah that hits the spot." She shifted, settling deeper into the sofa, her coffee mug held in her lap. "One of the things we need to really ramp up is our education, to go along with job training." She held the mug, taking a small sip, "Let's go into that. First, we're getting a lot of off-planet tech in, which means we're going to need to know how to install and service that. Second, there's not only our ships, our shipyards and our colonies that need that, but things like asteroid mining. All sorts of jobs there, and there's no age or sex discrimination. If your twelve-year-old passes the tests for a position, he or she will get it. We need the qualified personnel too much to push them aside just because of their age. Think about the various video games and how much better they are at that then their older brothers, sisters, or their parents."

"How do you mean, Your Majesty?" David asked.

"Think of it this way," she replied. "Telerobotics, operating a probe or robot remotely. Your son or daughter sits in a nice comfortable chair and operates a robot remotely. That robot is the one in danger from the environment, not your kid. We're already doing this with our vacuum construction and maintenance. A crew floats in zero gee, monitoring robots that assemble a structure. The robots follow pre-determined paths, bolting, riveting or welding parts together. Those structures are then combined into larger structures or ships, or packaged together to be shipped out."

"So why the human element?"

"David, if there's a problem, the robot will stop, and we need a person in the decision loop. Is it simply a rivet that's not feeding correctly? Was the wrong part put in?" She waved her hand, "That's why we need a person in the loop. We've got a lot of people that are … what's the term … 'differently abled', but there's nothing wrong with their brains."

"But what about abuse by management?"

"Deb, I have no problems with unions, although I do with featherbedding. I encourage the unions to have safe work practices, because nobody wants to see anyone injured. It also reduces my costs, and the union contracts have bonuses for early completion, zero defects, loss prevention and workplace safety. We are an 'open shop', but I encourage people to join the unions for the protection. Yes, your son or daughter may work the very high steel, but we make it as safe as we possibly can." Ms. Wayne shrugged, "Accidents will happen, and have. Usually it's a case of violating procedure, or just plain stupidity. There's not much we can do in those situations."

"What other kinds of jobs are there?"

"Well, David, look in a phone book," Ms. Wayne replied. "Our colonies are essentially small towns of a few hundred to a few thousand people. They need everything from accountants and barbers to woodworkers. Now, I would mention that most of our colonies' tech level is about the 1950's or so. The reason for that is the colony farm fields are much smaller, a few hundred acres, instead of square miles. A horse or shonnen is … "

"Excuse me, a 'shonnen'?"

"Shonnen are very big, very slow and very stupid oxen. They run about six feet high at the shoulder, are about twenty feet long, weigh about twelve thousand pounds and have six legs. They will walk off a cliff because they don't recognize the danger, but they're each powerful enough to take the place of a dozen horses. We use a pair of them to plow fields, pull rocks and stumps, grade roads, that kind of thing. They are a lot cheaper than the equivalent farm tractor, don't require fuels and lubricants that are polluting or difficult to dispose of, or expensive spare parts." She took a sip of coffee, "Shipping costs matter for our colonies. A computer is one thing, it only weighs five or ten kilos, but a massive farm tractor is not as cost-efficient as a mare. We can breed that mare or cow, keep track of the genetics, and get the same amount of work done. For the same reason, we use radios and vacuum tubes instead of things like cell phones." She pulled her phone out, "These are small radios. They require cell towers every few miles, links to the phone company's central network … it's not cost-efficient for a few hundred cell users, but a simple radio powered by DC on a farm wagon works fine." She put her phone away, "The idea is to make it locally if at all possible, which is why each colony planet has an internal economy as well as an external one. They have a central mail and distribution point, run by DHL under contract, and at least one sub-colony is heavy industry, producing things like steel and glass."

"Why a pair of these shonnen?"

Ms. Wayne shrugged, "They get upset if they can't smell or see another shonnen from the herd, so we pair them up." She took another swallow of coffee, "Jobs. We've discussed orbital work and colony work, but there's also plenty of jobs for families in asteroid mining. Now, I would like to mention that there are mortgages available for colony and other things, talk to a banker for that."

"Asteroid mining."

"Yes. We do encourage families to do this, for safety reasons. There's a limit of five cubic kilometers per claim, which is a small mountain. You would claim one of the millions of asteroids out there, sink a core sample, which lets you know the contents of your claim. You would then either sell it on the futures market, or set up a mining camp, collect the ore, and ship it back to the smelters at L4. There are also supply ships going around the Belt, again, this is expanding."

She took a swallow of coffee, "We are building a lot of both commercial and military ships. If we go back to World War 2, we had to build thousands of Liberty ships. We have sixty two colonies and other worlds scattered around, the most distant is in the M2 globular cluster, 37,000 light years away. With standard drives, that colony is well over ten months one-way. However, that cluster has over 150,000 stars, if only _ONE_ percent of those stars have inhabited planets, that's fifteen hundred planets in that one cluster." She was quiet, "Think of that. Fifteen hundred planets, each as big as Earth is. That means an enormous market, which means exports, which means jobs."

"We're in the middle of a military buildup," David said.

"That's true," the Tsaritsa agreed with a nod. "We need personnel for the Imperial Army, for the Navy, for base personnel, all of that. We have put together an attractive benefits package, and unless you are missing a limb, we can use you. Even if you are, we can talk." She smiled. "You've seen Generalmajor von Hesse. She is a veteran, captured by the British in Operation Market Garden. We have personnel who took part in World War Two, Korea, and Vietnam, so unless you served with General Washington at Valley Forge, we can at least talk to you." She grinned, "If you did, _I_ want to talk to you! I have a history paper due!"

There were chuckles, and she continued, "People assume that exports are primarily military gear, and while that's significant, things like coffee (she raised her mug) and foodstuffs are a healthy business too. Clothing, consumer electronics, we can't forget petroleum, raw materials such as cotton and timber (she leaned forward to rap the coffee table with her knuckles); even software, music and movies are exports."

She took another swallow of coffee. "Now, you may have noticed that some things are more expensive here on Luna than they are in Chicago. Things like milk, steak, and fruit, while fish and vegetables are literally so fresh they are only minutes old. You can walk into a restaurant, point at a fish swimming in a tank, and five minutes later, he is on your plate. You can't get any fresher than that."

"So why the difference in prices?"

"Well, I know a gallon of whole milk at Jewel's in Chicago runs $3.50 to $3.75." She smiled at the surprised expression on the co-host's faces. "However we're shipping that gallon up a gravity well eleven thousand miles deep, and then across another two hundred fifty thousand miles of space, so an equivalent price of ten dollars a gallon is primarily shipping costs." She took another small sip, "Same thing with beef, cows are not very efficient, and take a lot of pasture and a lot of water, so sixty-dollars a pound steak makes sense. Try some of the vegetarian restaurants; they do incredible things with beans."

"And fruit? I love orange juice in the morning."

"Trees aren't mature yet. They'll get there, but we've only had them for a year or two on the stations, and an orange tree takes ten to twenty years to bear fruit." She raised her coffee mug, "Same thing with coffee in the various colonies, the coffee bushes aren't mature yet. I hear a lot of complaining about that," and she grinned. "My point is that there are a lot of exports, and thus a lot of jobs once we re-orient our business models toward an export-friendly economy. That's something that needs to be done locally, in Chicago and Illinois and Michigan and all over."

She motioned with her coffee mug, "Let's go back to those ships. A shipyard is a major driving force in an economy, and we have three major ones, as well as buying supplies for those ships and those yards." Taking a swallow, "Each ship is going to require supplies, not only things like coffee mugs (she raised hers in salute), but glassware, plates, knives, forks, spoons, cooking pots, stoves, orange juice and spaghetti. They're going to need sheets and towels, as well as washers and dryers. Each ship's sickbay will need things like blood, plasma, and bandages. It's not all warp drives and electrical wire that goes into a ship."

The co-host David nodded. "I can see that, from my time in the Navy. You mentioned ships like the Liberty Ships."

"Yes, we're calling this the Freedom Class of ships. We're thinking of several different sized freighters drawn from common plans, personnel transports and tankers."

"Tankers?" Deb asked. "I thought all the starship drives were electric."

"They are, but there are different fluids and gases that have to be shipped. For instance, where did the air we're breathing and the water that made the coffee we're drinking come from? We're on Luna, on the cold, dead moon, and there's no atmosphere." She raised her eyebrow and her mug, waiting.

"I never thought about it," David said with a nod after a few seconds. "For that matter, it's warm here."

"The moon temperature stabilizes underground at about 20C, or 70 Fahrenheit; so you might need a sweater. That and the general radiation shielding is why we are located underground. It's also easier to tunnel than to erect domes and pressurize them." The Tsaritsa took another swallow of coffee, "On Earth, the atmosphere is seventy-eight percent nitrogen, twenty-one percent oxygen, and another one percent minor gases like argon, not to mention various pollutants. We're changing that slightly, to twenty-two percent oxygen and no trace gasses."

"Or pollutants …" Deb put in with a grin.

"Or pollutants," Ms. Wayne agreed. "No technology is a hundred percent efficient, including galactic technology. We need to make up atmosphere from thousands of lock cyclings a day, we need to pressurize ships and habitats, and we have to have reserves for all of that. Believe it or not, it's cheaper to assemble our own atmosphere and water with nitrogen from Titan, hydrogen and helium from Cordelia, and water ice from Miranda and Ceres."

"I've heard of two of those, Ceres and Titan, but not the other two," David said.

"Miranda and Cordelia are moons of Uranus," Ms. Wayne replied. "You remember the old phrase, '_Go west, young man!_' well, it's now '_Go to space!_'. Miranda and Ceres are primarily made of water ice, from which we get water, hydrogen and oxygen. There are small settlements there, and on Cordelia, which is the innermost moon of Uranus, they support the atmosphere miners there. We get hydrogen and helium-3 there for the Canadian-built fusion reactors we are using. In the outer system, those get shipped to Titan station, along with methane and other hydrocarbons which are refined there." She took a swallow of coffee, "All of which is a long answer to '_Why do we need tankers?_'. All of that gets shipped around the system, and to our different colony planets and bases."

"And on that note, we'll take a short break for these commercial messages," Deb said, and smiled for the camera until the red light went out. Assistants scuttled out to refill coffee mugs and touch up makeup, David saying, "Thank you for being here, Your Majesty, but we're going into your government next."

Ms. Wayne tilted her head back so the makeup assistant could work, saying, "Bring it on."

* * *

"We're back with Ms. Wayne, the newly-invested Tsaritsa of the Terran Empire," David said to the camera. "Your Majesty, one concern a lot of people have is the amount of power you have. They're afraid of a dictatorship."

"That's understandable; I've gotten that same question from a lot of shows, and from my own polling. Let me address that," she said. "First, I have a yearly physical, like the President does, and a lot of other heads of state. However, I think I'm unique in that I also have a yearly mental checkup; all of which is publicly released." She took a swallow of coffee, "Historically, a lot of mental illness was the result of inbreeding; the Hapsburgs are the classic example. That's why the Heirs, when I get to the point where I have kids, are required to marry outside the family, to diversify the gene pool." She waved her hand. "That's for then. Now, without going into a lot of political theory, the major check on my power is the Assembly. Since we're at war now with the Republic of Sodolokve, we'll use that as an example." She leaned forward slightly, "We're in a defensive war, _we were attacked_. Under the Imperial Constitution, we can counterattack as self-defense. We can carry the war to the Republic. However, I cannot _initiate_ an aggressive war without the consent of the Assembly; I would need to introduce a war bill in the Assembly, have it survive three readings and gain the consent of the Assembly before it would come back to me for my signature."

She settled back into the sofa. "There are multiple political parties in the Assembly, which means my poor Prime Minister must forge a coalition for every bill. No Empire-wide political parties have emerged yet; each Assembly-person has their own political beliefs and belongs to their own political party. Let me give you an example. In the European Union, there is the 'Green' party, but there are distinct differences between the French, German, and Italian Greens." She took a sip of coffee, "The Empire is not a dictatorship, and while humanoids are the majority, we also have others, like the grasshoppers of O'long'ty, the wookies of Red Dawn, or the mermaids of Metis. We also have trade relations and a few mutual defense treaties with other star nations. The Empire is in actuality more of a federation than a strict empire, and I am a constitutional monarch. I can't point at someone (she pointed at Deb) and shout 'Off with her head!'."

"Thank you, I prefer my head where it is," Deb replied with a grin. "What about abuse of power on the local level?"

"Each of our colony planets has a System Governor," the Tsaritsa replied. "He or she has the power of High Justice, but there is also a planetary assembly in place, they have voted on a planetary constitution, and have a court system with presumption of innocence, a jury system, and representation for the accused. There are also other checks on the local governments; which I won't go into here."

* * *

"And we're back," Deb said to the camera. "Your Majesty, we have a bit of time left, let's talk about the economy and taxes. I've been seeing an Imperial Withholding on my pay stub."

"That's five percent of your gross, Deb," Ms. Wayne replied. "That's applied under the Imperial Act, in which the US joined the Terran Empire. Before, I was paying for it out of my pocket, and I was running out of cash," she smiled. "It's not right to force one group to pay and not another, or go by income. A flat tax is the fairest way to do it, and it hits my paycheck just as much as yours."

"You're a billionaire …" and Ms. Wayne pointed up with a finger. "Trillionaire?" She pointed up again, and then smiled, ""I'm sorry, I don't mean to smirk. However, one thing that most people don't realize is that people that are in the news a lot, like me, have their finances looked at very closely. My taxes are audited every year by three different governments: The US, because I'm an American citizen, the British, because I do a lot of business in London, and the Swiss, because my accounts are there."

"In any case, right now, we have to resort to bonds and deficit spending, which I am NOT happy with. I much prefer cash and carry, and I want those deficit bonds paid off as quickly as possible. I much prefer having cash in the bank, and a surplus on my budget. That is why we're using our Freedom Bond series, to finance the war and our expansion. Our least expensive Freedom Bond is only $25, so young children can afford one, people can buy one through payroll deduction, and you've seen drives for them at work. That's why we're concentrating on expanding the economy, which means hiring lots of people. That not only puts a lot of good people back to work, it increases the cash flow through the economy, which increases tax revenue, which is re-invested in the economy."

"Let's walk through an example, please," David said. "Detroit has the fighter production lines."

"Which had a few teething problems, but I understand those have been ironed out," the Tsaritsa replied. "Remember, those fighters and other small craft are also exported, and the Empire licenses production to other locations. Not only Detroit, but also Atlanta, Denver, and in Europe, Japan and South Korea. Each fighter has a small generator set and batteries, and anti-grav plates built across the border in Windsor, Ontario. Physically, they're sized to fit into a cargo container, the size of a small helicopter without the rotor blades or tail boom, so about a seven or eight foot cube."

She gestured, "Each of them requires computers, wiring, life support, controls, missiles and so forth, so you've got all those sub-assemblies, fuel tanks, and whatnot that need to be built and quality-tested before being shipped. Let's take a flight computer. It has to be manufactured, tested, and packaged before being shipped out. Because we have both an Imperial and an export version of that computer, which is a common practice, different versions of software are loaded. All of which means that the manufacturer of that computer is going to need to add people in order to get it all out the door. That applies to all the components of that fighter, from landing gear to fuel tanks. Then, once those components arrive at Detroit or wherever, they need to be unpacked, checked against the invoice, and put into the inventory system. We need additional space to store these, which means people to lay concrete, build walls and run plumbing and electrical, people to drive forklifts to move things around, people to palletize and package the fighters, to fly check flights, and then finally to accept them into the Fleet inventory system. We then need pilots to fly them and personnel to maintain them. All of which means two things: (she held up a finger) education, and second (another finger) jobs."

She waggled those two fingers, "That's the Imperial side of the deal. Let's look at foreign sales. This ties into our foreign policy, and here I'm taking a page from the Cold War. When the US or Soviet Union would make an arms deal, that also included things like training personnel and spare parts like tires and missiles that you couldn't get anywhere else. This is what's known in business as 'vendor lock-in'; and it's not just the arms trade. Look at software companies. If you've installed their products, you have to keep buying upgrades from them, and upgrading your hardware to run their latest and greatest, because they use a proprietary file format. What does that mean for jobs? We'll need people to both sell and service our products; European figures are for each Euro that Mercedes or Volkswagen gets for a car, they produce seven into the local economy. That means people coming off unemployment, putting money aside for their kids schooling, repairs to the house, maybe buying a new house or car, going out to eat more often, investing in stocks and bonds. However, the local government needs to change a few things to make the economy export-friendly, and that is going to vary. Changing tax rates and so forth."

David looked at the camera, "And on that note, we're going to these commercial messages…" he waited until the red light went off, then said, "Thank you, Your Majesty, that wraps it up. Pity we couldn't get to some other questions." Assistants appeared, ushering Ms. Wayne off-stage.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, May 7, 2003: 14:59:58 (UTC)  
Hour 505.59:58/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Media Centre:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

As she waited in the wings, Mattie heard the announcer say, "And here she is, our new Empress!"

She strolled out, "Good morning, LA!" One of the co-hosts stood, gesturing her to a seat. She checked the coffee mug for the show, '_LA Dawn_'. Because of the time zone difference, this was being broadcast at seven am. She was pleasantly surprised; this mug had coffee, prepared the way she liked it.

* * *

" … well, Danni, it's all about the jobs," she replied to the Asian co-host. "Look at how much traffic the Port of LA handles in just one month, heck, in just a week! Now multiply that times sixty two worlds in the Empire, and those other star nations we have trade agreements with. Yes, this is just getting off the ground, but I can guarantee that the labor unions like the Teamsters and the longshoremen are solidly behind this. In addition, I think it just makes sense for labor to have a management seat, they are one of the stakeholders in any company." She took a swallow of coffee, "That's why I don't have labor problems, the unions know that I'm not placing profits and dividends over worker safety. I've always been a 'slow quarter' instead of a 'fast nickel' type of manager. Slow, steady growth instead of immediate profits. No, I think what we need to do is to re-orient our local economies and our tax bases to be export-friendly. Look at Europe."

Erica, the African-American hostess, put in, "Yet we're in a war, ma'am."

"Yes, we are. We were attacked, and we've fought off the first wave. We're now facing down the Republic's reinforcing fleet, some six times the size of the original fleet, and with half-a-million troops on board determined to enslave and murder us. This is simple self defense," she replied.

"So what's the current status?" Danni asked.

Ms. Wayne replied, "As of this morning, the enemy fleet was in the area of Uranus. They had sent ships to attack our installations in orbit there. Those miners produce the fuel for the Canadian – built fusion plants that we're starting to install. The enemy wants to control all aspects of our lives, our economy, our jobs, who lives or dies." She gestured, "Based on captured enemy data and interrogations, their plans are to collar our girls and young women, Enhance them …"

"Excuse me, 'Enhance them'?"

"A small computer, a little smaller than a deck of cards, is installed in their brains, right here (she tapped the back of her neck). That allows the slave's owner to literally program them for specific behaviors. They can also implant artificial limbs and sensors that connect to the Enhancement, so the slave's owner can record anything she hears or sees." She took another swallow of coffee, "So all the secret police needs to do is start recording at some point, then send out a bunch of slave girls to wander around the market and gossip with the other slave girls. Their girls return at night and they upload the recordings, and the girls may not even be aware they're doing it."

She sipped her coffee again, then cleared her throat. "The menfolk. Their plans are to torture our men to produce an addictive drug, and kill our parents, our mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, anyone over forty."

She smiled grimly, "They're not profitable, you see. They only want the young and healthy, and I don't want to see my mother, my brothers and sisters-in-law or my aunts and uncles dead. I have two brothers, I want them both alive and healthy." She leaned forward, "There's other evidence. Their first fleet achieved orbit, where they managed landings in northern Israel and in Sicily. They were (she smiled thinly) … _encouraged_ … to talk by the locals, and that was published by the local media; before they were … _rescued_ … by the local authorities."

There was a moment of silence from the co-hosts, Ms. Wayne sipped her coffee and waited. Danni shook herself, "That's … rather … brutal," she offered, somewhat lamely.

"Yes, it is," her guest replied. "Let me be brutally frank. We are at war. _We were attacked_. We can try to dance around it, and paint it with pretty colors, but that's the truth. As I said in my investment speech, the Empire is being born into the blood, fire and steel of war. That's not just a turn of phrase, but the absolute, naked truth. _We are in a fight for survival_. This will be a nasty, bloody, war, and it will also be a long one. I would much rather peacefully expand, grow our colonies, grow our exports, our businesses, but the only alternative to war I see is surrender. That is not an option. If you see one, if you see a peaceful alternative to war with the Republic, a dictatorship that wants to crush us, to enslave us, and is not interested in negotiation, then tell me." She leaned forward, "Tell me of an alternative! Tell me of an alternative to total war, or surrender and murder! Tell me!"

Rather shaken, Erica said, "I think we'd better go to commercial."

* * *

"… We're back," Danni said to the camera. She turned, "Your Majesty, there's an … uncomfortable subject that people have been reluctant to talk about. I'm referring to the conscription question …"

"Yes, that's the thousand-kilo gorilla in the corner," Ms. Wayne replied with a small smile. "First of all, there would be religious and medical deferments available, as well as for critical persons in the civilian economy. There would _not_ be deferments just because you're a girl. Those deferments would have the alternative service options, although the best of our benefits package would be for those who volunteer for the combat arms. Our rescued slave girls that decide to join have generally been going into the non-combat areas, such as the shipyards, because they have been so psychologically conditioned that it's difficult for them to pick up a table knife. Conscripted personnel will have a nice, but not the best, benefits package, so it's to your benefit to sign up now."

She smiled. "Once again, it's all about the numbers. Let's do an example. We have two parts to a combat unit's deployment, the actual war-fighters such as armor, artillery, and the infantry, known collectively as the 'teeth' (she waved her empty hand), and the support organization, such as medical, transport, supply and logistics, the 'tail' of the beast." (She waved the hand holding the coffee cup.)

Continuing, she said, "Now our teeth are a combined-arms brigade numbering around 6500. That includes artillery, air support, armor, and the infantry, along with their command section." She paused, and the two co-hosts nodded. "This will of course vary based on the environment and any potential opposing force. A planet that has a lot of swamps and rivers is going to see more PT boats with machine guns than heavy armor." The two nodded again. "Now, we can't have a brigade on continuous duty indefinitely. They have to be rotated out for rest, resupply and training, so we're figuring four brigades per location. This will also vary based on need – some we'll need just a squad for guard forces with an embassy, others we'll need to field multiple divisions. For now, we'll just figure four brigades, that's 6500 times four or 26,000 for the teeth for _one_ location."

Ms. Wayne paused, waiting for a moment. "We next move to the 'tail' of this particular beast, which is the theater of operations. NATO uses the term 'Communications Zone' for this area, which are the support troops for the 'teeth'." (She finger-quoted.) "They're close to, but not in the combat area, and they're people like signals, medical, transport, logistics and supply, mapping, intelligence and civil affairs; what a business would call the 'back room'. We're figuring a five hundred man battalion for each of these sections on average, once again times four, or 14,000. Add them all together, the teeth and the tail, and they come to 40,000 per _one_ location."

The Tsaritsa paused again, sipping her coffee. "Forty thousand for _one_ location on _one_ planet; and that's just the Army guys and girls. We're not discussing Naval or Marine formations, nor are we talking about the merchies, the cargo ships. This is just boots-on-the-ground, the girl in armor carrying a rifle, and the support troops backing her up." She took another sip of coffee. "Now, this is also best-case, peacetime. We can figure this for our sixty-two worlds, so that's two-and-a-half million."

She leaned forward, cradling her mug in her hands. "We add in the support staffs in the various regional headquarters and here, doing things like planning operations; there are staff required for support of our Foreign Ministry, then there's the Navy and Marines aboard ship, the construction crews building the bases and support facilities, and the merchant crews. Let's figure four-point-five to five million, and remember two things:" She held up a finger, "One, this is best-case, and two (a second finger), this does not account for any troops regarding the Republic."

Erica looked at her warily. "The Republic? How so?"

"We're at war with them, they attacked us? Remember? Those Republicans." The Tsaritsa smiled thinly. "Once we defeat their current fleet, we need to take the war to them; remind them there's a price to be paid in any war. We've been very, very lucky so far, but we can't figure on luck. We have to figure worst-case. There are twenty-five worlds in the Republic, and we can't simply leave them alone."

"You're talking about an invasion …" Danni breathed.

"Yes. We're working on a range of plans for each planet, but no matter what, we're still going to need ships and troops even if we do nothing more than capture their space-based facilities and take control of the orbitals." She took another sip of coffee, then sat back, "You thought we could simply ignore the Republicans?"

Danni blinked, "No, but … an invasion? Is that really necessary?"

"And we'll find out the answer after these important messages …" Erica put in, smiling at the camera until the red light went out.

* * *

"We're back …" Erica said, smiling to the camera. "Before the break, Milady, you mentioned a range of plans for each of the Republican planets. Would you expand on that, please?"

"First, I will not confirm or deny any information regarding military or intelligence matters." The Tsaritsa smiled thinly, then continued, speaking carefully. "One of the fundamental principals of tactics and strategy is to command the heights. For us, that means command of the planetary orbitals, which would include satellites in orbit. Communication, power, surveillance and weather satellites. Once we have the orbitals, our commanders have a range of options before and after our first troops hit dirt." She sat back, sipping her coffee. "I'm sure you have military analysts that can expand on that. Factor in the various Republican planets are owned and run by oligarchies. Dictatorships. They care about their own facilities, their own factories and plants. After all, they can always buy new slaves, but their production machinery is what's valuable."

She frowned into her coffee cup, then looked up, "We'll need to land troops eventually, but we can do that along with reforming the civilian government. As I said, I would much rather have peaceful relations, but if we need to land troops, we might as well reform the government into a participatory democracy that can join the Empire."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, May 9, 2003: 02:58 (UTC)  
Hour 541.58/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Customs:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Bellatrix Black sat and waited behind the barrier, cradling a cup of tea. She herself had a later, afternoon flight back to London and Severus, but she could meet her sister and her traveling companions. Her luggage was stored in a locker here, all she needed to do was nip back and pick up her carry-on bag, which she could do as she escorted them. She looked up as a soft 'ding' and the computer announced, "Arriving, flight 959 from GEO Station. Arriving, flight 959 from GEO Station."

* * *

"I never thought I'd be on the Moon. Especially not at my age!"

"Things change, Madame Marchbanks."

"That they do, that they do," the old witch said, turning to eye Bella. "I could say that you're a prime example of that. I remember your OWLs and NEWTs." She examined the younger woman, then said, "You're making up for things, although you still need to put some meat on your bones. Azkaban was not good for you."

"It was not intended to be, Madame Marchbanks," Bella agreed with a tight smile.

Their third traveler, a muggle named Lawrence Beesley, asked, "Azkaban?"

"A wizarding prison," Narcissa 'Cissy' Black replied. "Guarded by dementors," and all three witches shuddered.

"Should I ask?" Mr. Beesley asked.

"They are a form of minor demon," Bella replied. "Leave it at that."

Lawrence's mouth opened, then closed as he reconsidered. "I thought we would be met by Miss Wayne."

"It was felt that in the interests of propriety, there should be no contact with her until her examinations are concluded," Bella explained. "She asks me to extend her welcome to Luna and Port Oldridge, and invites you to take in the sights."

"Yes, one thing I wanted to do was to see the Apollo 11 site; to walk in the footsteps of Armstrong and Aldrin." He shifted the hand towing his suitcase as they started up a ramp. "Did you need a wheelchair, Ms. Marchbanks?"

"I'm old, not feeble," she snapped. "If I need something, I'll ask." She reconsidered, then added, "I'm fine, young man; thank you for asking. How much further is this hotel?"

"Not far, we'll take public transit, the Holiday Inn™ has a stop, although we shall be doing the testing at Ms. Wayne's flat. She has a potions lab there, and she will temporarily relocate to Port Oldridge," Bella said. "Regarding the American and Soviet sites, they are domed, so you cannot walk in their footsteps, Mr. Beesley. However, you can still see them." She turned, "Madame Marchbanks, I notice you seem to have a knack for picking outstanding wizards and witches to examine. Albus Dumbledore …"

"He did things with a wand that I hadn't seen before – or since!"

"Who?" Mr. Beesley asked.

Madame Marchbanks started on a recap of recent wizarding history. "Albus Dumbledore was born …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, May 12, 2003: 09:00 (UTC)  
Hour 619.00/708.00  
Luna, Copernicus Test and Evaluation Center:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

As the previous bidder moved off, Larren vorTrekker slid her DataPak™ into the holo projector's desktop unit. The honey-blonde tossed back her hair, her heels clicking as she strode forward to distribute her information to the committee members. The fact that her generous cleavage shifted in her white blouse was completely incidental, of course. Her slightly dusky skin and the lingering memories of South Africa's isolation during apartheid made her a 'bad girl', and she knew that as a beautiful woman who dealt in arms she was the object of a great many (male) fantasies. As such, she returned the many smiles with winks and minor flirting; she used every tool given her to win contracts.

"Thank you, Ms. vorTrekker," the chairman said as he accepted her envelope with the technical data (and the number of her hotel room). She smiled back, her tongue touching her moist lips, and breathed, "Thank _you_, Mr. Hammersmith …"

"Yes …" he breathed, then cleared his throat, and spoke louder. "Our next bidder is Ms. vorTrekker from Denali of South Africa. Ms. vorTrekker, please tell us about Denali's approach to ammunition …"

She straightened up, "I'd like to thank Mr. Hammersmith and the committee. Let me give you a quick recap of Armscor and Denali's history, and how we can serve the Terran Empire …"

* * *

"… and we offer artillery and mortar shells from forty-six centimeter (18.1") down through fifty-two millimeter (2"), in a variety of fills and fusing." She stopped for a moment when one of the committee raised a hand, "Excuse me, did you say _forty-six_ centimeter?"

"Yes, we're offering a larger version of our best-selling G5 howitzers." She breathed heavily on the word 'howitzer'. "Of course, these are still available in the smaller one-fifty-five size (6"), as are the small arms such as rockets and grenades (more heavy breathing, and she moistened her lips) down through four millimeter." Several of the committeemen shifted uncomfortably.

"We will be discussing field weapons later, Ms. vorTrekker," the committeeman said, and ran a finger around his shirt collar. "I notice that Denali is scheduled for a presentation then, as well as for shipboard weapons and general field equipment. I assume you'll be there?"

"I certainly hope so," she replied. "If I may continue?"

"Certainly," he replied.

"Thank you," she replied. "In regard to artillery and other arms, we're aware that they may be used in vacuum or non-oxygen atmospheres. Also, artillery crews are issued base plus add-on charge packages, not all of which are used. As such, we're providing all of our products with APCP propellant, from small arms through artillery charges. Those add-on charges can also be combined, so three #4 charges have the same energy as the #12 charge."

"How are these packaged?" one of the committeemen asked.

"The artillery charges are poured and molded, and then wrapped in a strong aluminum foil, which serves as additional fuel and is calculated into the external ballistics," Ms. vorTrekker smiled. She _did_ know her business. "The formula is proprietary, of course."

"You are aware that will be released for manufacturing under the Imperial license …"

"Yes. Just as we will release the updated fire control hardware and software controllers, which includes variable gravity settings. As I said (she leaned forward to show her cleavage), Denali offers a _complete_ solution …"

* * *

"Slag. Slut," the IMI representative hissed under her breath as she set up her presentation.

"One-half percent of contract," Ms. vorTrekker whispered in reply.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, May 12, 2003: 20:35 (relative)  
Terran system, _Ca'arn the Cruel_, flag deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Sub-Admiral Is'las ground his teeth as he studied the plot. No matter how many times he ordered the fleet to disperse, the ships would drift back together, huddling in fear as the Terran insect craft overflew them, an odd purple beam coming from them. This no doubt accounted for the interrupted communications and bad links, when a ship broke loose from the group, a few Terran ships would appear, their Source-plagued shuttles would appear, and shortly after, that ship would arc up and over his fleet to fly into the inner system. The original Terran ships would have long since vanished into stealth, they had worked their way over his fleet, initially concentrating on his warships, now on the larger slave ships.

Banging his fist on the command chair's armrest, he snarled, "En'das! Have them disperse!"

His second turned to give the order (again), then moved closer. "I wonder if this is what the Princess B'tan went through on her arrival in this miserable system," he said quietly.

"I wonder myself," Is'las agreed.

* * *

On board the _Albion_'s flag bridge, the comm officer said, "Admiral, Signals Intercept reports the enemy has once again ordered dispersal."

Admiral Herschel nodded, "Acknowledged. We will continue the pruning of the enemy fleet as long as they allow it. How are the assault troops holding up?"

Ensign Zhao cleared her throat, "Ma'am, reports from the _Algiers_ and the other assault carriers still have only one serious injury, and quite a number of scalps collected. Some of the troops are a little trigger-happy; we had to do an early re-supply of ammo. We've been very lucky so far, ma'am."

"That we have. What kind of ships have we collected, and what is their general condition?"

"Ma'am, we've collected primarily the lighter combatants, such as frigates, up through two heavy cruisers. The enemy has one battle-cruiser, their command ship, _Ca'arn the Cruel_. Of these, we have harvested twenty three frigates, sixteen light and eleven heavy cruisers, and fourteen large slave ships. We also have captured a small slave ship, she was a target of opportunity. All of the assault troops have been blooded by participating in at least one assault, some two or three."

"The harvested ships' condition?"

"Ma'am, as of the eighteen-hundred update from Phobos, all the warships require yard time, primarily due to sloppy maintenance. We've been placing the ships' First Girl in temporary command with one of our people to advise her, and providing whatever they needed regarding tools and spare parts. We have also had bankers and rescued slaves stop by to set up bank accounts and discuss the future with the slave crews." The Admiral nodded as her Flag Lieutenant continued, "Ma'am, of those twenty-three frigates, so far three have been used for parts and eleven have been moved to the victualing docks for provisioning and resupply before their trials. After their space trials, they will be recommissioned into our fleet. Those proportions pretty much hold through the other classes; forty-eight to fifty percent are usable with maintenance, while ten percent are parts sources."

The Admiral nodded. "Good. The ships from the previous Republican fleet?"

"The salvageable ships have been moved to Admiral Fletcher's aggressor fleet, ma'am. They are hiding in stealth, and are currently in the vicinity of Neptune, as this fleet is now transiting between Uranus and Saturn. This gives Admiral Fletcher the chance to play goalie on this pitch." Ensign Zhao gave a quick grin. "If the Admiral will forgive the metaphor …"

"The Admiral will."

"Yes, ma'am."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, May 13, 2003: 12:12 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Gryffindor table:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Julie sat down to lunch, pulling her laptop out and booting it as many of the other students were doing. After a few minutes, her email 'binged' and she clicked on one.

_To: Julie Morton (school)  
CC: Bill Morton (school), Tomas Wayne (school), Ami Bones (school)  
From: Mattie Wayne  
Date: 13 May, 2003  
Subject: This summer  
_

_Julie, I hope you can adjust your plans for the summer to stop by and see me here on Luna after classes let out for the summer. Ami, we've finally gotten authorization from our various parents to tell you the full story about the attack on Arthur over this past Christmas break. As you and Bill seem to be An Item now, that includes some other Family Secrets, so welcome to The Clan. Tickets will be available at the Delta courtesy counter at Heathrow. _

_Besides, I need some Family Time to relax in (and for you to properly Deflate my head) … _

_Mattie _

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 15, 2003: 23:42 (UTC)  
Titan orbit, _ITNS Albion_, flag bridge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Admiral Herschel arrived on her flag bridge; "Corinne said the enemy commander wished to speak to me."

"Yes, ma'am," the comm officer replied. "Sorry to wake you. It's been a few minutes, we've been looping a bit of hold music, something our testing found really irritating to the Republicans."

"What is it?" Ensign Zhao asked as she arrived. "Sorry I'm late, ma'am."

Mackensie waved that off as her comm officer replied, "Oldfield's original _Tubular Bells_©." She turned to the Admiral, "The enemy CO, Sub-Admiral Is'las, from what I could hear in the background, sounds irritated, exhausted, and generally pissed-off at the universe in general and us specifically. That means he's going to be making …"

"Poor decisions. Yes …" She walked around her bridge for a minute, then carefully settled herself in her command chair. "I believe we shall appear as unruffled as possible. Ensign Zhao, please fetch tea, and take your time."

* * *

"I believe we are ready to greet our visitors," Mackensie said, as her steward Corinne vanished back into the lift, having touched up her Admiral's appearance. She waved a hand, as a rather irritated officer appeared on the screen. She raised a rather delicate teacup to her lips, taking a genteel sip as the officer frowned at her. "Mr. Is'las, I believe?"

"Sub-Admiral. You are the Terran?"

"I am the commander, yes. Rear Admiral Mackensie Herschel." She took another sip of tea, then settled the delicate cup in its saucer with a small click. She rested it on her knee, "What did you wish to discuss, Mr. Is'las?"

"I told you, my rank is Sub-Admiral! I wish you to surrender this system and your fleet to the Republic!"

"I should do this … why, Mr. Is'las?"

"Why?" He appeared stumped for a moment, "Because I have three hundred ships, the finest ships in space! We are the Republic of Sodolokve!"

"You have a poorly maintained group of ships that are held together with wire and tape, staffed by corrupt officers that wouldn't know what to do with a wrench. Your crews signed up for a pretty uniform and graft, and panic at the sight of blood. The most useful people on your ships are the slaves that actually do the work. We will free them, and then bring all the planets into the Empire. You have the choice of surrendering your ships and living, or refusing your one chance and dying where you stand."

"What of our Princess B'tan's fleet?"

Mackensie turned, "Please transmit the video of Princess B'tan's visit to Cuba."

"Yes, ma'am," the comm officer replied. She played her console, "Sent, ma'am."

"Thank you." The admiral turned back to Is'las, "I'll let you watch it. Comm back with your decision after you've seen it." She picked up her tea cup. "One other thing, Mr. Is'las. Should you be considering taking action against the slaves in your fleet, remember two things."

"What is that?"

"First, they are the ones keeping you breathing." Is'las recoiled at that, as she continued, "Second, Mr. Is'las, should we discover actions taken against the slaves, we will return them against the crew and passengers aboard those ships. Your rank will not protect you." She took a sip of tea, "Mr. Is'las, remember that Ms. B'tan murdered eight million of our citizens, you have not." She gestured, and the comm officer cut the circuit.

* * *

(1): Orange-tip: Different types of ammo are marked by different colored paint or plastic tips. Orange-tip refers to armor-piercing explosive tipped ammo made for the Empire in 5.7x28mm.  
(2): AP: Anti-personnel. In this case a fragmentation grenade with a 5 meter kill and a 15 meter injury radius.


	18. 16 31 May 2003

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
Chapter XVIII: 16 ~ 31 May 2003  
Friday, May 16, 2003: 00:12 (relative)  
Terran system, _Ca'arn the Cruel_, flag deck:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Is'las stared at the viewscreen in shocked horror, while En'das whispered, "They hung her. They _hung_ the _Princess B'tan_ …" He shook himself, "We cannot report this. The King …"

"Yes, the King will be … beyond furious, but we must report it, En'das. We must. However, _we_ need not be the ones to do the reporting."

"Ah, yes. The mail boat's crew will be the ones to face the King's displeasure, not we."

"I will still face some anger, but it will have cooled by the time we hear back. The questions I have are what happened with the Princess A'ya, and what do we do with the ghost fleet we cannot see."

"The Princess A'ya is at home on Aeeloh, in the Palace in Glavni Grad."

"No, En'das. I heard, unofficially, that both the Princess B'tan and the Princess A'ya were together in the first fleet. As they are the succession and the future of the Ruling House, we must make certain they are safe. I am assuming that this transmission is false; the barbarians would never _dare_ touch the Princess B'tan, much less … (he shuddered) … _kill_ her."

En'das swallowed, thinking. "Of certainty this is false, they try to trick us. A ruse of war. But … if it is truth?"

"If it is indeed truth … it would be better to fight to the death than to face the displeasure of the King. In either case we would be dead, but at least this way we die in battle, not at the hands of the Royal Torturers." Is'las sat back, "I will declare this transmission false until I have seen proof of the Princess B'tan's body with my own eyes. I do not believe this barbarian female can produce her body, one that can pass a medical test. I will demand she accompany the body, this way we can capture both to present to the King." He gestured, "Go to Medical yourself, arrange for the ship's Prime Healer to have the testing equipment ready to prove their deception."

* * *

"There you are, Mr. Is'las," Rear Admiral Mackensie Herschel said calmly. "Your answer?"

Is'las shook his head, deciding he could be as annoying as she was. "Barbarian, I declare your transmission false, unless you can produce the body of the Princess B'tan. Even then, I shall not believe it until a medical test proves it."

"We have it with us, we have done nothing to it except seal it in a box with an inert gas to keep it from rotting. Your fleet?"

"Do not lie to me, barbarian! I shall see you collared at my feet!"

"Really?" Mackensie drawled. "I shall speak plainly, then. Mr. Is'las, do you or do you not surrender your fleet?"

"I shall speak as plainly, barbarian. I do not believe anyone would dare touch the Princess B'tan, much less consider her execution. I call you a liar. Even if you can bring me a body, I will not believe it hers unless it is proven by our medical tests. You, personally, barbarian, will bring me that body for our tests. When it is proven false, you will kneel and cross your wrists to me – I will have you as my personal slave!"

"Well, then, I should come with adequate security. When you surrender your fleet to me it will be done personally." She raised an eyebrow, before taking a sip of tea. "Unless you refuse to surrender?"

"We shall fight to the death for the honor and glory of our King and our Republic!"

"Then there's not much point to my bringing the body, is there?"

"And the Princess A'ya?"

"The Princess A'ya is alive and healthy, and is on the Homeworld." She took another sip of tea. "Now, do you surrender your fleet and spare their lives, or do we do this the hard way and take your fleet by force? Any who resist our troops will die." She took another sip, then put the cup in its saucer with a click, and rested it on her knee, "I need a decision from you, Mr. Is'las. Do you and your fleet live or die?"

Is'las regarded the barbarian female on the screen. "How do I know you are even on a warship?"

Admiral Herschel turned slightly, "Drop the _Albion_'s stealth, please." En'das sucked in his breath, "That is … "

"I am aboard the Imperial Terran Navy's BattleStar _Albion_," the barbarian said. "One of a number of large warships facing your fleet. You have so far seen only our lighter combatants, frigates and destroyers." She took a sip of tea, then replaced the cup on its saucer. "Live or die, Mr. Is'las?"

Is'las sat back in his command chair, regarding the barbarian. "You will come. You, yourself, and you will bring this false body with you. I will meet you in the dock, and will determine how much you lie. Once the body is proven false, you will kneel and cross your wrists to me before all."

"And if the body is true, you will surrender your ship and fleet to me."

"That will not happen, barbarian. One standard hour." He waved at the slave, who cut the circuit.

En'das regarded him. "If the body is true?"

"Words given to a barbarian or a slave have no standing in law, En'das; you know that. I have no intention of honoring this bargain; I _will_ have this barbarian in my collar before this day is out."

"Or we shall all be dead," En'das replied quietly.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, May 16, 2003: 00:47 (UTC)  
Terran system, _ITNS Albion_, flag bridge:  
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"Ma'am, you can't be thinking about going! I can go, you can afford to lose me more than we can afford to lose you!"

"Thank you, Ensign Zhao, but I didn't say I was going alone. You will be with me, and we'll have four companies of assault troops with us in the hanger bay, and six more will grapple to the ship and take her from the other flank. Five hundred heavily armed and experienced combat troops should be good enough to get me in and out of my gig. I'm the diversion, not the main event." She waved, "Go down to the ship's morgue and get into your armor. I don't trust them. Then collect the former Princess B'tan's body and meet me at my gig." Mackensie waved her off, "Now then, regarding the rest of the fleet …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, May 16, 2003: 01:25 (relative)  
Terran system, _Ca'arn the Cruel_, dock:  
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"I would never have believed it," En'das said. "At least she's punctual."

"She is a fool," Is'las said as the Terran shuttles docked. Armed and armored troops emerged, overlapping, and he frowned. "What is that wired to the bottom of their shields? And they carry blades? They truly _are_ barbarians!"

"Notice that the troops are all females," En'das commented.

"All the better for our collars! I shall enjoy breaking their commander to hers!" Is'las took a few steps back, as the Terrans were pushing the Republican Guards back with their shields.

Finally, a small white shuttle approached and docked, a tall Terran female in a white uniform stepped out, followed by an aide with the controls to an anti-grav float. The barbarian female strode forward, stopping a few meters away. She waved at the troops, asking, "Mr. Is'las? I have the object you requested. Are you ready to keep your part of the bargain?"

"En'das? Go test the body." He looked nervously at the line of Terran troops, who parted for him and the Prime Healer. This close, he could see faces through their combat armor, as well as decorations on their shields. He could also see the cut-off foreheads, including hair and eyebrows, threaded on wires on their shields. All the Terrans he could see had at least double or triple hands of them. They clearly did not like him, until one with more arm-markings on her armor waved and escorted them to the float. She stepped back, cradling a weapon in one arm as the Healer got to work.

* * *

As the extremely nervous Healer worked, Is'las remarked to the Terran, "Are you prepared to cross your wrists to me? I will enjoy breaking you to your collar."

"Are you prepared to surrender your fleet?" she replied.

"Don't be foolish, the body will be proven false, and I shall hold you to the bargain."

"As I will hold you to yours. The body is genuine."

"Impossible. You cannot have touched the Princess B'tan, much less have … yes, En'das?"

En'das nodded politely to the barbarian, and then motioned to Is'las. "My lord, we must speak!"

"You may say the Terran deception in front of all, En'das."

"My lord … we must speak!"

"What are your findings, Mr. En'das?" the barbarian asked.

"My lord … the body … the body is … it is … the Princess B'tan's!" En'das glanced at Is'las, and then took a few steps back. "We have run the tests three times! There is no question!"

"_**WHAT! RUN THEM AGAIN!**_" Is'las shouted. "Run them as many times as it takes to give the correct results!"

En'das took a few steps back, "My lord, we can run the tests until … until the end of time! There will not be a change! They match our references completely!" He glanced at the barbarian, then sucked in a breath, squared his shoulders, and said, "I shall prepare to surrender the fleet."

"NO! We do not keep trust with barbarians! They have no honor!" Is'las turned, but En'das stepped forward, "These barbarians have kept their word! Their commander has appeared as she has said, producing what she said she had! OUR honor demands we keep trust with them, and … and surrender the fleet!"

"You are a fool, En'das! Barbarians have no honor!"

"I will not stand before the Source without my honor intact!" En'das took a deep breath, "I call honor challenge!"

"You are certainly a fool, En'das! I state again, barbarians have no honor!"

"I do not call it with them, Is'las! I call it with you! I will command this fleet!"

The watching Republican officers started to discuss this among themselves as Is'las turned. "You call honor challenge on me?"

"I do."

"That has not been used in centuries."

"It is still lawful."

"Perhaps. Once I collar this barbarian, I shall deal with you, En'das. The law benefits the strong. You would align yourself with those who would break the Royalty? Who would topple the Republic, and bring rule by the animals? What is next, En'das? Paying slaves for their work? Letting females vote?" He laughed, along with a number of his officers.

"My honor will be intact when I stand before the Source for judgment," En'das said. He turned, "Just as all of you will. Will your honor be intact, or shattered? Will you go down the Spiral, or up?" There were some murmurs of approval. "I do not say to free slaves (he glanced at the Terran commander); they are as the Source wills, to move up the Spiral in their turn. Their suffering is their penance for past errors; they must pay that to the Source and the Spiral."

"I never thought of you as religious, En'das," Is'las said. "That matters not. We have barbarians to defeat and collar!"

"Not until the honor challenge has been dealt with," En'das said. He turned to the barbarian, "I must ask for two of your blades. Neither Is'las or myself can leave this place until this is resolved."

"I see. Lieutenant Fujiyama?"

The Terran officer near him nodded and drew two long daggers from her boots. "These are combat knives; they will cut steel." She flipped them, offering them hilt-first to Is'las and En'das, then stepping back as the two Republican officers accepted them.

"You are aware I am a master of blades, En'das?" Is'las asked, admiring the way the light gleamed on the edge of the matte-black blades. "I will say this, barbarian, I admire your metalworkers. This is a beautiful blade." The barbarian said nothing, simply stepping back with the others. En'das shook out his arms, "The traditional form."

"I thought you would desire that." Is'las shook out his own arms, "Let us resolve this. We have barbarians to collar and this star system to take!"

* * *

As Is'las and En'das started to circle, there was a reduction in the mutual hostility as bets were made. Lieutenant Fujiyama stepped back next to the Admiral, taking up a bodyguard position as they watched. The Lieutenant frowned, flicking her radio to the local channel and snapping, "Pay attention to guard duty, not the fight! They may use this as a distraction!"

"Yes, ma'am," the answers came back. Her troops pushed the over-eager Republican officers back with their shields, but still kept an eye peeled.

"Interesting … both are using the palm grip," the Lieutenant commented.

"You're an experienced knife fighter, Lieutenant? Please write me a report on the differences and similarities between their usage and our own training. I'll forward it to Camp Katherine."

"Yes, ma'am," the Lieutenant replied. The two Republican naval officers had made a few feints, but had yet to make contact. "Based on their stances, they don't use pole weapons, like kendo or escrima. They're both stiff, I don't think they work out regularly, if at all. I would suggest adding dance classes to the curriculum, ma'am. It teaches you how to move with a partner, how to anticipate how and where they'll be."

"Interesting …"

"It's not all dancing backward and in heels, ma'am," the Lieutenant commented with a grin. "We're not all Ginger Rogers."

Is'las became impatient, and lunged at his opponent. En'das danced back, arms up, then managed to trap Is'las' arm. They clenched, each using their blades on their opponent's backs, each screaming in pain. Nerves and spinal cords cut, they collapsed to the deck, their uniforms bloody. En'das managed to hack at the back of Is'las neck, severing it as he panted; the daggers were dropped, the Prime Healer dragging him on top of the Princess B'tan's ClearSteel® coffin. The body inside shifted as the grav plate shifted with the load, the rope that was still on her neck flopping around, her still back-cuffed hands shifting to the right. The Lieutenant stepped forward, collecting her two daggers, cleaning them on an arm of Is'las uniform as the Republican officers started to argue and fight among themselves.

"Ma'am, I want you back on board _Albion_ _**NOW**_," Lieutenant Fujiyama said urgently. "This will be ugly, this was broadcast to the other ships in their fleet. It may turn into a three-way fight aboard this ship and the others in their fleet. Please hurry, ma'am!"

"I'm going, send me a report when you can. Good luck," Admiral Herschel said, turning and pulling the Prime Healer, her slave and the floating coffin with En'das laying on top. They entered her gig, followed by her Flag Lieutenant and her other staffers. The ship's Marines helped her board, then followed her and sealed the hatch. Lieutenant Fujiyama nodded in approval, she had done what she could regarding the Admiral, then turned her attention to the fight aboard ship.

* * *

The Lieutenant had established a temporary command post against the forward bulkhead of this, the port side landing bay. The equipment installed there gave military cover and concealment for her people. "Top, what's the status?"

The Top, or Brigade First Sergeant (E-8), was something of an enigma to the Lieutenant. While the general motives of rejuvs leaked into a unit, Top's had not. She had also accepted a non-com's slot when she could have taken an officer's, again for her own reasons. She was one of the silent, watchful types who rarely spoke, but her combat experience in both World Wars had people pay attention when she did.

In her soft, honeyed voice Top replied, "Various administrative trivia which I will discuss later, _mein frau_. For now, command believes we have the chance to take every remaining warship in this fleet, stripping the enemy of his protection, but only if we hurry. I believe we can detach _Kompanies_ D through K from this ship safely, while the ship's company _und_ their … _passengers_ (contempt showed in her voice) … are fighting among themselves."

"Sparks, your report?"

It took a second or two for their Enhanced data slicer to reply from where she sat in lotus against the bulkhead, two large datapadds running on her legs, connected by orange fiber cables to her wrists (which rested palm up on her knees), a data jack on the wall, and various holo projectors. "My former owner is not aboard. I will have no problems starting the capture gas. They have tried to disable controls, but done so through the computer, not physically. I have already changed command codes. You need only give the command."

"The command is given. Top, deploy our people as you think best."

"_Jawohl, mein frau_." She turned away, activating her radio. "_Actung_! _Kompanies_ A through K, hold in place and consolidate your positions, capture gas will start shortly. After they are all sleeping, _Kompany_ A, First Platoon is responsible for the port side landing bay, Second _und_ Third Platoons are designated reserve. _Kompany_ B, First Platoon will take _und_ hold the starboard landing bay, Second Platoon _Kommand_ bridge, _und_ Third Platoon will take Engineering _und_ the associated Secondary Bridge. Kompany C will start aft _und_ work forward, one platoon per deck, strip _und_ secure these people, while sweeping for stragglers _und_ resistance. _Kompanies_, acknowledge."

Lieutenant Fujiyama watched the shipboard holo as various blue lights blinked in acknowledgement. She nodded as Top continued, "_Gut_. When relieved, _Kompanies_ D through K will reform at their original deployment points for pickup. _Mein Damen und Herren_, we can capture the other warships in this sorry excuse for a fleet if we hurry. Let us not delay."

Their Healer came out of her improvised sickbay to watch, unlike the others, she wore only her skin-suit, not combat armor. She adjusted her magenta Healer's vest. The LT turned, "Doc, your report?"

"We are ready and waiting, but have been fortunate in having no business."

"Good," and they watched the unprotected Republicans fall to their own capture gas.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, May 16, 2003: 07:00 (UTC)  
Hour 011.00/708.00  
Luna, Copernicus Test and Evaluation Center:  
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"Good morning, everyone," Mr. Hammersmith, the chairperson of this evaluation committee said, tapping his gavel. "Today, we start the various ground combat vehicles. These will have a diesel-electric power sources, preferably using biodiesel. Please remember we are orienting toward urban combat and deployment from orbit, which limits dimensions. Therefore, we have a maximum dimension of two wide by four high by eight meters long. We are including the infantry combat service vehicles in this category." He took a sip of water.

"On Monday, we'll go over non-combat vehicles, such as trucks, bridging, medical and so forth with the same power sources and dimensions. On Wednesday through Friday, we will cover the individual soldier's equipment and supplies, such as rations, uniforms, body armor, and shelters. For now, we'd like to hear from the first presentation, from Almaz-Antey of Moscow."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, May 16, 2003: 08:48 (UTC)  
Terran orbit, _HIMSS Hexagon_, Imperial Army section:  
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Major General Curtiss, the new two-star head of C-3 after the promotion of General von Hesse to Generalleutnant (three stars) and CMO, passed through security on the way to his office. Operations and Plans was a 'joint' command, having officers and staff from the Imperial Army, Marines, and Navy. While there was still a friendly rivalry between the different services and nationalities (especially with sports wagers), things were still new enough that they hadn't ossified. He planned to rotate staff, both to keep fresh thinking, and for the respective officers' careers. Today, he was due to receive a briefing on the status of Soba White; the preliminary plans for the attack on each of the Republic's systems.

* * *

"Let's start out with the overview, Commodore Ypres. Soba White Zero."

"Oui, mon General," the French one-star replied. He was in charge of the overall Soba White planning; and rose, putting his data chip in the holo projector. From the podium, he dimmed the briefing room's lights. "Mesdames et Messieurs, we have several common points to Soba White. First, the Navy and Marine or Army troops attack and secure control points and ze warehouses in ze outer systems. Second, ze Navy establishes ze blockade inside ze warp limit. Zird, ze Navy and ze troops take control of ze orbitals, including ze stations, ze satellites, and any installations on ze moons. Fourth, ze assault of ze landing zones occur, taking and holding ze on-planet space-heads. Laztly, ze buildup of ze landing zones, wiz ze C-130 equivalent cargo planes from orbit to ze landing zones, wiz ze additional troops, ze artillery and ze light armored vehicles."

"I understood there was a Special Forces component."

"Oui, mon General. Zey are deployed wiz ze Su-80 STOL equivalent tranzport to ze operational areas for ze insurgency. Zeze are ze common points. Of ze twelve Republican systems, we have determined zree are strategically vital. They are in red, and one, Aeeloh, is ringed in green. Zat is the Republic's capital planet, while ze other two are ze binary system of Charis, which supplies most of the Republic's foodstuffs, and ze Republic's heavy industry system of Taasbah. Taasbah has four industrialized worlds in ze binary system." He took a sip of water, and then changed the holo display. "Ze Republic, as is typical with star nations, including our own, is not neatly arranged in a local area, but scattered about through multiple sub-sectors and clusters. They will therefore have made local trade arrangements with neighboring systems, and quite possibly mutual security arrangements, although captured information does not reveal zis."

"Why not?" General Curtiss asked.

"Mon General, ze Republic is one in name only," Commodore Ypres replied. "On ze national level ze Republic is ze hereditary dictatorship, and mutual assistance agreements would have been arranged by ze Republic's Foreign Ministry, but zis does not preclude informal and local arrangements. We must zerefore anticipate ze local counter-attacks." He took a sip of water, "In addition, mon General, ze stated plans of ze Empress to free ze slaves and allow zem participation as anyzing ozzer zan animals in ze market will not go over well, and will spread to a wider war. Zere are other zocial zystems, zey do not allow ze slaves to vote. Would you allow un chat (the cat) to vote?" He shook his head, "Non. Our plans allow some autonomy for ze slaves where zey do not already have zis, for instance paying zem for ze labor, allowing zem some rights, but zey regard _zemselves_ as ze slaves, to be bought and sold in ze public market. Zere will be more flexibility with ze captured girls zan the bred slaves, but ze slavery, it is been in place for millions of years, and is considered ze natural order of ze universe. Changing zuch a mindset cannot be done quickly. With zese plans, we will have ze power of ze Republic integrated into ze Empire, and ze desired changes can then start small, on ze local level. We can point to ze more liberal local zystems as examples, non?"

"The Empress will not be happy with this."

"Zen ze Empress can provide the ships and ze manpower to fight a war across ze galactic arm, mon General," the Commodore replied. "We can only do what we can do. She has said she is the 'slow franc' type of manager. She must therefore restrain her impatience." He gave a Gallic shrug, as 'what can you do'? "We can provide un rapide way for ze slave girl to improve her life, for instance by joining ze Imperial Army, but first we must take ze planet and change ze laws to provide zat chance. Some will take it, some will not." Another shrug. "We must tell ze Empress 'one step at ze time'. May I continue, mon General?"

"Yes, please do."

"Merci." He adjusted controls, and the holo changed, expanding to cover more of the galactic arm. "Sol is in blue, wiz ze green ring, and ze systems of ze Empire are also in blue. Allied systems and ze protectorates are in green, ze Republic is in red, with zier capital planet Aeeloh, is ringed in green. Zere allied systems are in pink, and neutral systems are in orange. Oa, home of ze Guardians and zere Lanterns, is ze orange system toward ze centre, wiz ze triple bands of green." He manipulated the holo, and some systems disappeared. He enlarged the display. "Known star nations, mes amis." The star map was now a riot of overlapping blotches. Several of the neutral orange systems had colored bands, including a few with both red and blue bands. The Commodore used a control to indicate these systems, "Trade systems, mon amis. Should we wish to talk to ze Republic, we can do so through these systems. Even in ze World Wars, ze two sides talked through Switzerland. In addition, each of our fleets will have accredited diplomats and trade representatives." He looked around, "Are zere any questions? Non? Bon. We go to ze individual systems, and we shall start with ze smaller ones. Ze Argusian System. Mon Colonel Fuller?"

"Yes, sir," the officer said, standing and inserting a data chip into the holo projector as the Commodore ejected his chip and sat down. He adjusted the image from the podium, saying, "The Argusian system. The star is a F5, so it is quite a bit larger than Sol, with a larger habitable zone. The FTL limit is 24 light minutes, and it has two habitable planets, Argusia and Dias. Argusia is the fifth planet out, a fertile planet of islands in relatively shallow seas, 1.5 times the landmass of Earth though only 1.09 times as heavy, with an average temperature of 23 Celsius. Their exports are electronics and the produce from their large fish farms."

Colonel Fuller cleared his throat and paged forward from the planetary map. "The planetary governor is Alrik Corase. Argusia is considered the most liberal planet in the Republic, and Corase is liberal for his society. There is hereditary nobility, compromising five percent of the population, nine percent free, which are the middle managers and entrepreneurial class, fifty-seven percent slave, all female, and an unusual thirty-two percent 'serf' class (he finger-quoted), who are exclusively male, and are not all slaves, but are more akin to indentured servants and debt bondage. However, this status can be passed down through the generations, with the sons inheriting the father's debt. A political faction considers slavery of males against the Source, which is one reason why the serfs are not called slaves. Argusia has the largest population of non-slaves, if you include the serfs in that category."

He paged forward, "Due to the warm temperatures and planetary law, all slaves are Enhanced as well as kept naked, with the exception of necessary protective clothing. One other social factor is the inclusion of 'mermaids' (he finger-quoted again), who are genetically engineered slaves, imported from Eta Orionis, the homeworld of WorkForce and used to maintain the fish farms' tanks. Those tanks are extensive, being placed between islands and kilometers on a side." He changed to an orbital map, "The capital city and primary star port is here, Port Sunshine, on the largest island, Bourne. While there are roads on the islands with electric vehicles, inter-island transportation infrastructure is generally electrically powered small boats and freighters between the various islands. Each island also has STOL or VTOL airports. This island (one blinked in a red circle) is the planetary prison, Saltaire, where prison labor is used to mine sea salt used in fish preservation. Economically, the planet imports the slave gruel used by the majority of the population, as well as the foodstuffs consumed by the serfs, free and the aristocracy. While there are some food reserves, they are strictly short-term, designed for disaster relief. Hurricanes and the like."

The LTC continued, "We believe we can use Vietnam-style Swift boats and a brown-water type maritime force along with helicopters landing airmobile forces. However, with the nets for the fish farms buoyed at or just under the surface, we'd have to design for a shallow draft and pump-jets to avoid fouling. The Israelis among others have their Dvora class boats."

"You mentioned the fish farms," General Curtiss said. "How big are these fish, and I assume there are predators, like sharks."

"Yes, sir. The fish can grow up to thirty meters, although most are harvested when they're only ten meters. As far as predators, that's one reason for the surface-mooring of the nets. There is a large predator that has been hunted for sport that's up to a hundred meters long, like a very large shark."

The General nodded, and he continued. "Dias. Dias is a colony planet of Argusia, and is just inside the habitable zone and eighty percent the size of Earth. It was colonized twenty-one hundred years ago while the Argusians were still non-FTL. It is an arid planet, with an average temperature of 32 Celsius, so it is a bit like Mars, only considerably warmer. They still consider themselves a colony planet, and are even more liberal than Argusia, with up to sixty-five percent free population, although still an aristocracy in the star port and capital city of Bredda. Exports are electronics, fungal-based wines and spirits and pharmaceuticals, although their primary industry is conventions and tourism for the local sub-sector. Think Las Vegas or Monte Carlo." He changed slides, "Roughly 1900 years ago, the Argusian system was attacked and occupied by the Republic. Their existing Royals were tortured to death, their young girls and women were publically enslaved as a celebration of their first victory over another system."

He changed slides again. "Our current assault plan is to implement the blockade inside the FTL limit, while also seizing the two planets' orbitals and the satellites there. The Argusia system is not on a primary trade route, and has a small out-system station for traffic control and system guard." He changed slides again, "This is our proposed TO & E. Argusia is vulnerable because of their reliance on imported foods, and they have primary reliance on beamed power from satellites. Being an island planet, they've never implemented a true electric grid, although there is some underwater power cables. Water supply is from desalinization, which is energy-intensive. Their particular system relies on reverse-osmosis, which uses replacable, disposable filters. _Imported_ filters. They have a customs station in orbit, as does Dias. However, Dias is more concentrated, only a few hundred kilometers across for the city of Bredda."

"Our plan requires a company of infantry for taking and occupation of the out-system station, with a carrier for system command and control, reinforced by a total of eight squadrons of frigates for implementing the blockade on both planets. Heavier reaction forces are a squadron of heavy cruisers commanded by a battlecruiser. Intelligence support is provided by our using blockade runners (he finger-quoted) in small civilian starships."

"Once we enter the system, we will confront any local system defense forces and impose the blockade as well as taking control of the planets' orbitals. We are planning an infantry company with naval support for taking control of the customs stations, local traffic and the orbiting satellites. Once this is achieved, it can be maintained for extended periods to break the leadership and the aristocracy's resistance until we are ready to take the planets."

General Curtiss leaned forward, "What is required for taking the planets?"

"Sir, we have several options there. We can do orbital drops, to sieze key points on-planet such as government facilities, communication, power and desalinization plants or the star ports. Now, due to personnel constraints, we are planning on inserting Special Forces units by the blockade-runners along with mechanized infantry brigades to seize the star ports in Bredda and Port Sunshine. We can then reinforce as needed until we're ready to implement a coup or other form of regime change. A demonstration firing of artillery and air-ground firepower should be instructive, especially since the Republic ordered the majority of the Planetary Guard off-planet to attack us. We are planning a system of Forward Operating Bases, each within mutual supporting artillery range of each other."

The General nodded. "Good. Thank you, Colonel. Major Peters, you have the system and planet of Altrith, I believe."

"Yes, sir," the Imperial Marine stood, smoothing her black uniform's hem and moving toward the lectern. She inserted her data chip into the holo, and paged to the correct slide. "The system of Altrith, planet and capital city of the same name. Altrith is the second-most recently conquered system by the Republic, seven hundred years ago. The planet and system is owned by, and is the home of the Altrith Trading Company, and the Republic used more of a corporate leveraging, buyout tactic than a military assault to seize control. As the owner of the planet and system, ATC has a half-percent aristocracy, nine-and-a-half percent free and managers, and the other ninety percent slave. They are particularly noted for Enhancing all slaves when they reach their physical majority, and because of the overwhelming majority of slaves, the sadism of the controlling ten percent. They have also sent the least number they could of their Planetary Guard and their naval forces to the Republic for inclusion in the reinforcing fleet." She cleared her throat, "I really should emphasize the brutal nature of the controlling aristocracy. They have contests and competitions for slave torture."

She continued, "The planet is nine times Earth's surface area, with a gravity of .92 standard, two asteroid belts in the system and an even dozen moons. It is an agrarian planet, with a slave population of 17.1 billion." Someone whispered "Holy shit!" and the Major nodded. "Twenty-four years ago there was a slave rebellion; they killed nine point five million slaves putting it down, which is the primary reason for their harsh control and the Enhancement of every salable slave on planet. Unlike some planets where slaves have some form of civil rights, on Alrith slaves are totally animals – the Planetary Guard can kill them on suspicion."

"So how do we take Alrith, Major?"

"This will primarily be a Naval and Marine operation, as the basis of the system economy is trade. Alrith is a major transshipment point in the sector trade routes. Aside from the planetary blockade, we need to intercept cargo ships and the occupation of the warehouses in system. There is a fork in planning. Option Alpha is to allow free trade through the warehouses, just interdicting planetary traffic and slaves. Option Beta is to monitor and tightly control all traffic. As the out-system warehouses and facilities are essentially a free-trade zone, Alrith makes money by brokering and managing financing and various deals with no one actually setting foot on planet."

"We will need political direction on that. However, the Queen and others have stated repeatedly that the Empire does not deal in slaves, so assume we will be confiscating all slaves passing through."

"Yes, sir. In that case, we will need to deal with a decline in the system Gross Product, as that will redirect almost all commercial traffic away from Alrith. If we confiscate all slaves, that will also include slaves on board commercial ships. That policy will also cause a system deficit, as all of those seventeen billion slaves still need to be fed."

"Understood, and we shall explain this to our political superiors. Please continue."

"Yes, sir. With this policy, we shall need to at least quadruple Naval and Marine forces in this system, as ship owners and crews will not be happy with our taking their slaves. Regarding the planet, once we have seized the orbital assets, my planning group believes we can take it by instituting an insurrection and guerrilla war. We will have the data from the slaves' collar transceivers, the slaves' owners will not. However, their owners can simply question their slaves, as Enhanced slaves cannot lie. Signals is working on a rootkit virus for the collars' operating system to disable various functions. The objective is to disable everything except the programmed collar lights and a modified first level pain function. This will allow the slaves to present to their owners the appearance of being owned, and being affected by slave barriers, but will not actually impede them."

General Curtiss nodded. "They would still be wearing lit collars, though."

"Yes, sir. They would be participating in a guerrilla war, and we would be recruiting for the Imperial forces as well as supplying them. Once we have seized the farms and outlying provinces, it provides the basis of the guerrilla economy and deprives the owners of that revenue. We can at that point bring in Terran-owned corporations for hostile buyouts or do land redistribution. However, a guerrilla war and slave revolt is news, and it will filter out to the trade routes, impacting the system economy as a whole."

"How long do you anticipate this taking?"

"Assuming the Navy and Marines hold the outer system, and we support the insurgents through a system of local bases in their rear, we think thirty to thirty-six Terran months. If we have ground troops actually engaging the Planetary Guard, we could plan and drop in a coup within four weeks, however that would paint us as a foreign occupier. Using our forces as support and advisers to Alrith would be less disruptive to the local economy and have us in a better political light." She ejected her data chip, "Sir, our understanding is that the Queen desires to integrate the planets of the Republic into the Empire as functional units. If we use a coup, we'll simply be replacing one mortal enemy with a different enemy – us."

The General nodded. "Understood, and I will emphasize that point in my own briefings. Let's move on – Commander Hill, you've got the Des system."

"Yes, sir," the tall, white uniformed naval officer said, adjusting his own uniform's hem as he stood. He passed Major Peters her data chip as he inserted his own. "Ladies and gentlemen, the binary system of Des. The alpha star is an F8, with an FTL limit of 22.8 light minutes, and the planet and capital city is also known as Des. Beta star is a K5, with an FTL limit of 15.4 light minutes, the second planet is known as Ewan …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, May 16, 2003: 17:30 (UTC)  
Hour 021.30/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Holiday Inn:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Lawrence Beesley exited the lift and slowly walked through the lobby of the hotel. Ms. Wayne had finished her examinations today; he had packed up those materials, and now found himself at somewhat loose ends. His flight back was not until Sunday evening, and he was not expected back at the Ministry of Education until Wednesday morning. He strolled to the hotel's teashop, buying a small cuppa take-away, and then took a small table to regard the lobby.

The hotel had been excavated from the lunar basalt, and while some of the service areas showed the rougher cuts of rock, the public areas did not. The basalt itself was a medium-dark grey, with streaks of lighter and darker rock running through it. The walls themselves were smoothed but still slightly rough, with smooth, flowing lines. Some areas were mirror-polished and displayed engraved lettering. From where he sat on the left side of the lobby outside the teashop, a wide area had glass-enclosed docking slots for the personal transit cars (three cars took up some of the eight slots), angled at a forty-five degree angle, while the concierge's desk was occupied by a young blonde woman. Her desk was angled opposite, she had looked up when he arrived, smiled at him, and then returned to her duties. Near to her, and indeed ubiquitous to the hotel, were vines climbing the rougher walls from small pools and fountains. He didn't recognize the unusual white-yellow flowers, but they certainly freshened the air. They were lit by small spotlights, both in the ceiling and submerged in the water. Indeed, the entire lobby was somewhat dim, lit only with area lighting and two skylights high above.

'_Well, that only makes sense, we're underground_,' he told himself. Indeed, when he had learned he would be traveling to Luna, he had done a bit of research. For temperature stabilization and radiation protection, the towns, shops and so forth of Luna had been tunneled into the surrounding mountains, which ranged from one to twenty kilometers high and thick, and several hundred to several thousand kilometers in length. '_Plenty of room to grow_,' he thought.

Lawrence watched as a personal transport car arrived, the glass doors opened and three small persons on personal anti-grav floats exited. He blinked, shook his head, and looked again. They really were only a few inches high! The two older men and an older woman floated for a minute in confusion, about shoulder-high, then steered toward the young woman. She seemed completely unfazed by their lilliputian height, speaking softly to them, and then pointing them toward the check-in desk. They headed toward the young man in his dark green jacket and corporate silver-striped tie, who was equally unfazed, checking them in with a smile as he placed a paper sleeve on the countertop, drawing on it with a pen, and then inserting their key cards. Finishing their check-in, he pointed them toward the lifts, and then picked up his telephone handset. The young concierge picked up her telephone when it rang, speaking into it, and then using her computer. She looked across the lobby at her colleague, and then nodded once.

Both somewhat bored and intrigued, Lawrence stood, finishing his tea and left the ceramic cup on the table. He approached her, and she looked up, "Good evening, Mister … (she went through a mental search) … Beesley, isn't it? How may I help you?"

She was an attractive young woman, slightly dark skin contrasting pleasantly with her slightly dark-blonde hair. Her nametag read 'Mary – Pretoria', and he smiled, "That's right. I'm rather intrigued by the people that just checked in."

"I'm sorry; Mr. Beesley, but I can't release any details about our clients." She smiled again, "Aside from that, how may I help you?"

"I was just curious – I've never seen a Lilliputian before." He waved that off. "I've done my duty for Crown and Empire, and now I seem to be at loose ends. I was thinking of some souvenirs; the usual 'Someone went to Luna' type mugs and shirts, that type of thing."

"That's not a problem, Mr. Beesley," she said with a smile. She drew out a map, unfolding it and clicking her pen. "We're here. The closest shopping mall is here (she circled a point) and the largest one is here. All you need do is swipe your room's card for the transport, your fare will be billed to your room. Then either key in the stop number or choose it from the touch-screen."

"Thank you," he said. "What about seeing the Apollo 11 site?"

"That's a weekend trip, sir. (Another map appeared.) It is about one hundred fifty kilometers south, and there's a small hotel there. I can set that up for you if you'd like."

"Umm," he temporized. "Could you get a price quote, please? I'm on government business, and the agency auditors have been cracking down on misuse of government credit cards. That's what my room and whatnot are billed to …"

"I understand, Mr. Beesley," Mary said with a smile. "Prices are in Euros, and you're converting to … American dollars?"

"Sterling, please."

"Ah." She worked her computer, "Current rates are 0.6935 to the Euro. I'll have your quote calculated when you get back from your shopping trip."

"Then I need to change my shoes. Thank you, Mary."

"You're welcome, Mr. Beesley."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, May 17, 2003: 09:20 (UTC)  
Terran system, _ITNS Albion_, sickbay:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The former slave and one of the _Albion_'s healers pulled the restraining net aside. "Five minutes, no more."

Mackensie nodded. "You asked to see me, Mr. En'das?"

The Republican officer nodded, and then waved his free hand at his restrained left arm with the IV drip. "I thank you for the medical treatment. What is the status of my fleet?"

Admiral Herschel smoothed her white form-fitting uniform, and then pulled a visitor's chair close to his inset bed. "You entered the system with three hundred twelve ships, of which one-sixth, or fifty two, were what we would call warships; primarily the lighter combatants such as frigates and destroyers." He nodded, as she sat, "Of those, four frigates tried to run, they did not make it out of the system."

En'das closed his eyes, and then took a deep breath. "The troop transports? The slave ships?"

"Intact, for now, as are the cargo ships. They are more useful to us that way." She regarded him, "I meant what I said about your ships and crews and as for the Planetary Guard troops; they are not what I would regard as combat troops." She quirked an eyebrow, "Would you like to see some encounters our troops have had with them on board the warships?"

"I am almost afraid to," he admitted. "What will happen after our torture and interrogation?"

"First, we do not torture." En'das snorted in disbelief, and she shook her head. "It is not efficient, and does not produce reliable information. That is the goal of an interrogation, of course – information. While we can use drugs, it is generally frowned upon; we prefer to gain the subject's cooperation."

En'das snorted again in disbelief. "I wonder what drugs you are using upon me now."

"Let's find out," and she leaned away, "Doctor? A moment?"

A Terran male in a white coat, with a magenta Healer's vest underneath came over. "Yes, Admiral?"

"What drugs is Mr. En'das on right now?"

He consulted his PADD. "Blood replenishment, mild painkillers and tranquilizers, ma'am."

"No interrogation drugs? Truth serum, that kind of thing? Anything that would affect his thinking?"

"No, ma'am. His biochemistry is wrong; he has a strange protein in his blood. Truth drugs would kill him." He bent over, waving a scanner. "One more minute, ma'am."

"Thank you, doctor," and he grunted and moved away. She continued, "Technically, your leadership is guilty of piracy, as there was no formal declaration of war." He sucked in a breath, knowing the traditional penalties, and she raised a hand. "You yourself were third-in-command, so don't worry. The ones responsible are dead. No, we have different plans, although I am curious. What would you do in our place?"

"After torture and execution of the leaders, we would bio-sculpt, Enhance and collar the enemy troops, then sell them as slaves," he said instantly. "It is the traditional method of disposing of an enemy."

"The Terran Empire does not deal in slaves," she replied as she stood. She tugged her hem straight, then nodded to him. "I'll have my Flag Lieutenant come by with those videos." She pulled the light netting back across his bunk and left him to think.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, May 18, 2003: 04:17 (UTC)  
Hour 056.17/708.00  
Luna, Copernicus Holiday Inn, Room 844:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

As her … not lover, but … target slept the sleep of the satiated (and drugged) male, Larren vorTrekker quietly copied his laptop's hard drive. That only took a few minutes, while she went through his papers, and he snored. '_Thank God I don't have to wake up next to him for the rest of my life_,' she thought. '_Maybe I am a whore, but for what I'm making … thank God for biosculpt. What's this, tape recordings? Excellent_!' She looked over at Mr. Hammersmith, who continued to snore as he sprawled, taking up the entire bed, with the covers wrapped around him, his left foot sticking out. As the data copied, she stretched and twisted in front of the room's mirror, cupping her breasts with her hands. Frowning, she stepped back into yesterday's panties and clipped her tiny black bra back on, her breasts barely restrained by it.

Her micro-recorder gave a soft beep, and she replaced everything of his exactly as she had been trained. She threw the recorder back in her bag, quietly pulling her stockings and clothing back on, she was only a lift ride back to her own room and her shower. Checking her makeup, she refreshed her lipstick, penning a quick note on the hotel's stationary and sealing it with a lipstick kiss:

_Darling ~ _

_I loved our night of passionate sex; I screamed your name as I came over and over! Lover, you make me feel like a woman! I want more!  
I'll call you! I want to see you again!  
~Larren~ _

She photographed this note, she had noted the tan line where he had removed his wedding ring, and had found it in his pants pocket. '_A little blackmail never hurts_,' she thought with a smile, and slipped out the door.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, May 19, 2003: 07:43 (UTC)  
Hour 82.43/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The intercom buzzed, "Ma'am, do you have time for General von Hesse?"

Mattie walked over from starting her first cup of coffee, "Yes, I've got something like ten minutes or so until my first appointment. Send her in." She released the button, turning as the inner door opened, and waved, "Good morning! Can I offer you a cup of coffee?"

"_Danke_, that would be appreciated," Heinrike replied, folding her beret and placing it under her left shoulder strap. The two busied themselves fixing their coffee; Heinrike tapped the device, "A well-regarded German brand of machine."

"And Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. I figure I can splurge on one thing."

"Indeed," the general replied, folding a paper towel as a coaster before putting down her mug. She smoothed her grey uniform's hem before taking a seat before the Empress' desk. "A few things have come up before my formal report on Wednesday. First, there was a problem in a group of trainees going through the med-tanks in Camp Katherine. They were all bio-sculpted to a similar appearance, a _female_ appearance."

The Empress frowned, holding her liter-sized mug in both hands. "That's the new base in Australia, isn't it? Northern Territories?"

"_Ja_. The machines were reset to a test pattern, a life-size version of the Barbie™ doll. This was discovered after the fact; the brigade in question is currently aboard the assault carrier _Abraham_." She took a swallow of coffee, "General Shimesa, the base commanding officer points out several things in his report. He informed the media through a press release according to Imperial guidelines; his logistics were eased by only having to supply one sizing of uniform and equipment, and that we are covered legally by the contract stipulating the Empire will correct medical problems and implant such devices as required for duty with the Empire. He attached his legal officer's research to his report." She took another swallow of coffee. "He also points out the psychological impact of this upon both enemy-held slaves and their troops. By having aggressive _female_ combat troops, it provides both a positive, achievable role model for the enemy-held slaves and psychological upset to the misogynist enemy males."

The Empress sat back, as her General took a swallow from her own mug. She was silent for a minute or two, as she thought, then put her mug on a well-used paper towel coaster on her glass desktop. "Can they be returned to male?"

"From what I understand, no. Medical and technical issues primarily; that is also appended to Shimesa's report." Heinrike sipped again, "I must say that General Shimesa makes some very good points."

"Unfortunately, there are political factors that he's not incorporating in his equations," the Empress replied, picking up her mug and sipping again. "Not that he should include them, they are not part of his duty, but he should be aware of them. How did this error happen?"

"The machines were apparently late in arriving on site, and there was some confusion in the setup and programming, enough that they had to connect to the manufacturer in Japan for remote computer work. They also apparently require very smooth power of a specific voltage and frequency, and the appropriate equipment arrived in different shipments. They were therefore required to install them in groups. The first group was the smallest, and had the least problems. The second and third groups were finished quickly, slightly after deadline and long, error-filled days. He said it was like pouring concrete in the back while the ribbon-cutting ceremony is going on in front."

"Ah. Unfortunately a product of all the rushing we have to do; and it's only going to get worse before it gets better." The Empress took a sip of coffee. "In a few days, we're going to have a signing ceremony for the Sodolokve Emergency Act. That bill has three different parts, all of which are unpopular." She raised her left hand, three fingers out. Closing her middle finger, she said, "The first authorizes a state of war against the Republic. That is the legal basis for various other things. Second (her index finger closed), bumping up the tax rate to six-and-a-half percent. A lot of that money is going into infrastructure, including Camp Katherine. Third (her thumb closed), and probably the most unpopular, is conscription. This sets up the mechanism. We anticipate greater volunteerism with better benefits, but not to the required levels we need."

"_Ja_. We discussed this. Fifteen million at a minimum for the Army's commitments."

The Empress nodded. "Conscription gets us the personnel, although they are not as motivated as the volunteers. Now, I fully expect riots and draft evasion, I expect to be burned and hung in effigy. I expect to be called 'Slaver Wayne' and the draft to be equated to slavery. However, we are simply not getting the personnel by volunteering so we do not have much choice." She gestured with her coffee mug, "While Shimesa makes some good points, we are selling this as personal choice, fighting for freedom, liberty, the shining golden city on the hill lit by the sunrise, all threatened by the evil Republic. When, not if, the press finds out that we're taking our combat troops and doing irreversible and involuntary gender changes, and their son James goes off for his Imperial duty only to come home as Janice, that's not going to fly, no matter what the lawyers say. That may be enough to break apart the Imperial coalition." She shook her head, "No. No, if Lois Lane asks me what happened, what went wrong, and what we're doing to fix it, I tell her … what?"

"_Ach_," the General replied. She had survived a few experiences with the infamous _Daily Planet_ reporter, who fully deserved her reputation. "They must have full consent."

"Precisely. Like the agents we have covered as slave girls, they go through multiple levels of positive agreement. No, when the new recruit, either a volunteer or a draftee, does their initial paperwork, they can tick a check-box to allow it. They get to Camp Katherine, they initial next to that tick-box, and they can design their bio-sculpt, within limits, over and above their regular bio-sculpt, and take a combat arms bonus. Finally, when they're lying in the tank, they flip a switch or something as a third and final authorization." She looked in her large mug and stood, gesturing at Heinrike's mug. "How you doing?"

"_Bitte_," she replied, handing it over. "So when Frau Lane asks, we can admit to the initial error, chide her for missing the press release, and explain that a new recruit must authorize that gender-changing bio-sculpt. They have given that authorization three separate times; so if James, now Janice has problems with her family, they are not the Empire's fault."

"Precisely." She handed Heinrike her mug, and started to refill hers. "For the new girls, I would possibly extend Basic Training a week so they can get adjusted to their new bodies, perhaps have gender-segregated training companies."

"_Ja_," the General agreed as she fixed her coffee. "My balance and stride required adjustment, as did personal issues. There will be some common feeling there, especially if we encourage healthy competition between the companies. I would also implement a general order, they may not be forced into discussions of their past."

"What the US military has for gays and lesbians, called Don't Ask, Don't Tell." The Empress nodded. "We may need to put in a modifier for background checks, and I think we're going to get a number of people on the run for whatever reason."

The General waved that off. "Any psychological issues can be adjusted during intake into Basic Training."

The Empress sat back, sipping from her own mug; "How so?"

Her general smiled back, "Armies have been breaking civilians and reworking them into soldiers for thousands of years. This is no different than building fighting spirit. Initially, the first few weeks of Basic, we may need to incorporate a pharmaceutical, but this can easily be done in the mess…"

Ms. Wayne raised a hand, "Wait, please go into that. How would that work?"

"I will be meeting with the medical and the psychological people later today. In general, Basic Training is divided into phases, each a few weeks long. They would simply graduate from Phase One messing with the drug into Phase Two, and then Three and Four, with the consequent improvements in their food. They would not notice the addition and withdrawal of the particular pharmaceutical, attributing it to the taste of 'Army chow' (she finger-quoted) and their progress from one mess building to another." The general took another swallow of her coffee, "Once the new recruit awakens, he or she will not have the time or the energy to sit about and contemplate this – they will be kept too busy and too exhausted. Once they graduate from Basic into Advanced training, they will wonder why they were so upset."

"Drug use?"

"Armies, especially in the combat arms, have used pharmaceuticals for centuries. Initially they were to give exhausted troops a berserker rage, later it was much stronger painkillers, stimulants, tranquilizers, and steroids than were commonly available in civilian pharmacies." She waved her coffee cup, "When you are carrying seventy kilos of equipment on your back during a fifty kilometer march before you go into combat, you will need them." She tapped her folded beret, "Remember, I am not only Infantry, I am _Fallschirmjäger_ (1).

"True, and your being an experienced combat officer offsets my inexperience … _Feldwebel_ (2)." She smiled. "However, I need to factor in politics and PR in order to get you those troops and that funding."

"We can include the resisters in the Pioneers," Heinrike mentioned, cradling her coffee mug in her hands. "Military engineers, who would not only be building bases and defensive works, but also the combat engineering companies. They have all come under fire. If they assume rear area service is completely safe, they have not done their homework, and are sadly mistaken. However, we are not liable for their assumptions." She waved this off. "Driving a bulldozer in the Pioneers will satisfy their Imperial service requirements, but they will not get the benefits of combat duty, or of volunteering."

"They might regard that as our lying …" the Empress mused. "We may need to leak the gender change problem in order to control the spin. Not through one of my normal press briefings … someone in Camp Katherine, I think. For now, I think that's handled, but I want you to bring this up at the Wednesday meeting." She tented her fingers in thought as she held her coffee mug. "Conscription. With the med-tanks, we can have an age range of fifteen to forty five. The PR department is thinking of having this like a lottery draw, with air-blown ping-pong balls. We can kick this around on Wednesday, but if we wanted to draw my birthday, we could draw 1988, then May, then 31. We do that on live television, and worldwide, the population was …" she turned and riffled through file folders, then pulled one out. "Worldwide, population growth was 74 million a year," she read off her notes. "Divide by three hundred sixty six days, that's 202,186 a day. Figure ten percent for deferrals and exclusions like death and accidents, that would be 181,967."

"One hundred eighty two thousand, in round numbers," the General mused. "Camp Katherine is currently designed for intake of a brigade of sixty-five hundred a month. A twenty-eight fold increase. Until the new construction is finished, we can take them in based on the time of their birth, in six hour increments, once a week."

"So those born between midnight and six am would be in the first week, six-oh-one through twelve noon the second week …"

"_Ja_. This is still…"

The Empress worked a calculator, "Forty-five thousand, five hundred a week." She gave a low whistle, "That's a small city once a week. Seven brigades or three hundred fifty-five companies. We're going to need time to get the land bought, buildings built, transport arranged …"

"_Ja_," the General agreed. "This will take time to do properly, both for new building and reworking existing facilities. I have some good engineering staff, I will put them on the problem. Until then, we can defer the actual conscription."

"That allows Matt and I time to sell it, and hopefully get volunteers to beat out the possibility of their drafting. It's also going to be good for the economy."

"If the locals know you are looking to increase the size of Camp Katherine, they will increase the price of their land," Heinrike warned.

"Ah, there are ways around that, and of local property taxes, and so forth. Disney did that when they bought up central Florida."

"Once we are prepared, we could do a monthly drawing on television…" General von Hesse replied. "One day, one year …" the intercom buzzed, "Ma'am, your eight o'clock is here."

"Thank you, Ellen," she replied. She released the button and stood. "Let's go over this on Wednesday. For now, we've got something to think about." The Empress walked the General to the door, opening it, "Fleur! How are things in the Assembly?"

"_Bien_," she replied. "General, how are you?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, May 20, 2003: 14:32 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Columbus, Southeast Industrial Park:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Misty pulled into an open parking space and turned off her car. While she brushed her hair and checked her makeup in the mirror, she regarded her destination. This was two low buildings, with two larger buildings merged into one, and a covered vehicle park, secured by a high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. She took a deep breath, then opened the door.

* * *

"Misty!" Teena, her sister-in-law called. "How are you?"

"I'm getting by," she replied. "So what's this big career thing you have for me?"

"Subtle, girl. Real subtle. Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee."

* * *

"So what we're doing is holographic training for the Empire. The Army and Navy. Right now this is primarily maintenance work, but when purchasing starts for things like armored vehicles, their troops are going to need to know how to fix things. Sugar?"

Shaking her head, Misty pointed. "Sweet'n'Low™, please." She stirred and sighed, "Ah. That hits the spot." She followed Teena down the hall, past a cube farm marked 'Translation'. Inside, there were people reading text off screen and speaking into headsets. Teena waited at a crossing, "We're also doing translation services, with all the foreign students at OSU, they can make some nice coin and still fit it into their class schedules."

"Makes sense, but I don't speak anything besides English."

"That's not what we're thinking about. You saw the fenced-in parking lot?" Misty nodded as she took one of Teena's visitor's chairs, and her hostess closed her office door. "Well, once we're building vehicles, they need maintenance. Part of their bids are modular construction, so when something happens, they simply swap out the busted part for another and send the old one off for depot maintenance. So we have contracts with the Big Three in Detroit to do those maintenance holos." Misty nodded again, her sister-in-law continued. "The neat thing with the WayneTech equipment is that you _become_ that person. What you would be doing is simply wearing a very tight blue skinsuit and doing the maintenance. The recording equipment is much more complex than the playback gear, which is installed on the Navy's carriers. We're already doing their maintenance holos, which gave us a leg up on bidding for the Army contracts."

"Seems simple enough, and it gives me some ready cash so I don't have to touch my mining investments." She took a swallow of coffee, "HOW tight is this skin-suit?"

"Enough that you agree, as part of the contract, to maintain certain body dimensions, plus or minus an inch and five pounds. Think of blue body paint – that tight. When you clock in, you're laser measured in the locker room, so you need to keep your figure."

"We all try to."

"You'll have to. So once a maintenance tech logs in to the holo, she _becomes_ you. She'll feel the tools in her hands, she'll be able to see the tiny dings and scratches on the equipment. She'll be able to look around the maintenance bay and see others at work, she'll fill out the reports and stick the printouts in the plastic sleeves on the vehicles."

"You said 'she'. No guys?"

Teena shifted in her chair, leaning forward to cup her coffee mug. "Something like ninety-eight percent of these techs are bred slave girls. They can't handle using a weapon, even a fighting knife, but this kind of thing they're really good at. What we have to do is to model you to them, as you're going to be creating their muscle memory of how to do things. That includes ALL their sensations, and one of them is their collar. It's on their neck, they feel it, they _know_ it's there. They become you, but if they don't feel that collar, it's enough to break that close association."

Misty frowned, "You're going to collar me?"

Her sister-in-law shook her head, waving a hand. "No, no. There's a fake collar, it's not permanent. We tested without a collar, and with men, and the association wasn't there. This model has to be female, and collared. Preferably, we'd have you wearing just blue body paint and the recording gear. The recording personnel work the holo cameras remotely."

Still frowning, Misty asked, "Body paint, and a fake collar?"

"Yeah. It runs off batteries, and you take it off and leave it in your locker at the end of the day." Teela took a swallow of coffee. "The techs are used to wearing the bare minimum of clothing, if anything, to work. Protective clothing, like for welding, is another matter, but most of the time, they're topless and just wearing their collar, with a short skirt and sandals. However, we are used to being fully covered, so the body suit is a compromise."

Misty sat back, "A short skirt and sandals."

"Yeah. More of a wide belt than a skirt. Very minimal coverage. We wouldn't consider it street legal, but then again, these girls are used to wearing a slave belt under it. Generally, we can get that off, and give them their control chips, but we can't remove their slave collars." Teena took another swallow of coffee, "Their whole self-image right now is 'I am a bred, collared slave girl.' You take the collar out of that, they lose their anchor; at least that's what the psychologists are saying. Right now, the bred girls are more along the lines of 'I have a crazy new master,' than 'I'm free.' We have a lot of conditioning to overcome." She took another swallow of coffee. "Anything a deal-breaker so far?"

"Hmm… These recording techs – what about them?"

"Three cameras on various remote platforms, a sound engineer, and a guy operating a mixer board. They don't know who you are, you walk in with the recording equipment on. They're very professional, the most I've ever seen out of them is a raised eyebrow, so I doubt very much that anything with you is going to end up on the Internet. Once the recordings are mixed, an Army officer and a contractor's rep review and sign off on them." Teela took another swallow of coffee, "Since this does direct muscle-memory training, after a few of these sessions, the tech _knows_ how to do this, she tests and certifies for it, and moves on. A week, maybe, instead of six months. Furthermore, it builds on other training, so we don't have to re-record certain things, like taking armor plating off."

"What about goofs, mistakes?"

"If she does something wrong, that's part of the training too. That means that if you cut yourself, or get a shock, that's recorded and the tech will as well. Now, we've got a good medical bay, and those cuts and burns are healed like _that_." (She snapped her fingers.)

Misty sat back and sipped her coffee. "What would happen in a typical session?"

"We email you the details and schedule the job. You check in through security, your clock starts then. By the way, once we get Army vehicles in here, security is going to be REALLY tight. Before, with the Navy's vehicles, they had armed guards posted, but those came and went with the boats. These guys will stay, so you'd be grandfathered in. Our relations with our favorite Empress don't mean diddly to these guys." Misty nodded and Teela continued, "You go into the women's locker room and strip to skin, then glue your collar on. The glue comes off with hot water, so you simply take a shower with it at the end of the day. You're laser measured, then get some talcum powder, you work your bodysuit on. You go to the holo recording bay for that job, put on the recording helmet and gloves, and start. We've got all the same equipment like hoists that's in a maintenance bay. Once the recording's done, you go back to the locker room, throw your bodysuit into the recycling, and grab a shower. Dress and check out, we'll direct-deposit every other Friday. Any questions?"

"What kind of money are we talking about?"

"First, sections have to be captured in one continuous take. That means we do it until it's done right, not like Hollywood does. If that takes one hour, or twelve, or thirty, that's what it takes. So taking the armor off a part of a tank's hull would be one section's take, pulling the equipment out would be another, bench work another, and so forth." Misty nodded. "We'll start you with some simple ones, fueling, linking and loading all types of ammo, bore-sighting a weapon …" Misty raised an eyebrow, and Teela grinned. "It's amazing the stuff you learn here. There's a little yellow gizmo that goes in the firing chamber of a gun. We want the bullets to hit where the sight is aimed, so you look through this gizmo and adjust the sight until both point at the cross hairs. Using a screwdriver – up, down, left, right. Once it's correct, you put a drop of glue to hold it."

"Seems simple enough, and I can put 'Lead Actress' on my resume." They both grinned. "What about a paint bonus? Let's talk numbers."

"Fifty bucks for paint and five hundred a job before withholding."

"Two hundred and twelve hundred."

"Fifty and six hundred."

"A grand. C'mon, you're getting Imperial financing."

"And we have to pay lease on the WayneTech gear. That ain't cheap. Eight hundred."

"Seven fifty and a hundred for paint."

"Done." They both stood to shake hands. Teela gestured, "C'mon, we'll get the paperwork started."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, May 21, 2003: 08:47 (UTC)  
Hour 130.47/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Tell me I didn't just hear what I just heard." Matt Hagan, the director of the Ministry of Information, massaged his temples. "We're doing involuntary sex changes on our inductees …"

"There are good reasons …"

He waved his hand, "Yeah, yeah, confusion to the French," he replied. "Your pardon, Ms. Delacour."

"Eh," she waved it away. "Eet has been released to the media, no?"

"_Ja_," Heinrike nodded.

"Zen it ees not our fault zat ze press haz not peeked up on eet," she said. "Furzermore, ze fact zat ze med-tanks can do ze change has been well publizized."

"But that was by accident, or by the enlistee being tricked by the recruiter," Mattie said.

Matt waved his hand, "We're talking about drafting thousands of people into the Army every week, there's already going to be draft evasion, riots, bad press …" He sighed, "What do we do about those who have been changed, involuntarily?" Matt asked. "Yes, they may have signed a contract, and buried in the fine print, in two-point type, was the disclaimer. That contract will cover us in a court of law, but not in the court of public opinion." He sat back, "That's just one problem. What about drugging the draftees? That brings up images of a … a zombie army marching on a city."

"It is hardly like that!" Heinrike protested. "The military has used drugs for centuries…"

"It's the public perception we need to worry about," Matt replied. "Let's take this point by point. We have valid psywar reasons to have this." He rubbed his chin, "How about … we're already offering better benefits for volunteers and combat service than for draftees and behind-the-lines service. In addition, the conscientious objectors and noncombatants have an Imperial Service option for things like construction work. However, that's intended for the rescued slaves and the Peace churches." He looked around, the others nodding. "What we need is combat troops, though."

"A bonus for volunteers for combatant service, with the understanding that there will be that change," Mr. Kim, the Minister of Commerce suggested. "A nice enough bonus to be very tempting, enough for a sports car or the down-payment on a small house."

"Ze draftee would not qualify for ze bonuz," Fleur said. "Zis will give ze onez who are open-minded enouze ze benefits."

"They would also be better combat troops," Heinrike said. "More flexible, able to think on their feet and react to the changing tactical situation." She looked at the Prime Minister, "How close are we to passing the Sodolokve Emergency Act?"

"Eet has passed ze Second Reading, ze Zird Reading und ze vote iz scheduled for zis Friday. Eet would not be pozzible to change eet to add ze bonus," Fleur replied. "Eet would be bezzer to change ze line itemz in ze budget."

"Do it as a bond," Mr. Griplink suggested. "Payable at the conclusion of their term of service, it can be redeemed for cash or rolled over as part of their investments during their military service. Payable as a death benefit as well. That reduces the immediate cash demand." He took a sip of his own tea, "For the existing troops, offer it retroactive to their joining up. If someone wants to revert to male, we'll do that, but we really want to retain trained combat troops."

"There is a problem with that," Heinrike said. "For various technical and medical reasons, they cannot revert."

"Ah. What is their duration of service?" Mattie asked.

"For the volunteers, fifteen years, rotating from front-line to training posts in the rear," Heinrike said. "For the inductees, I am tempted to say duration plus six months, but that will not go."

"We'll stay with fifteen years for now, subject to change. For the conscription, we draw one day; on the first of the month for now, until our infrastructure is built up to handle the volume of a quarter-million inductees. Eventually, we'll have at least fifteen million in Army uniform." The Empress looked around, "Any other issues for this subject?" She checked that off her copy of the agenda. "Okay, the drug issue. Heinrike?"

"There are several drugs we can use to make our new inductees more pliable, they also have the benefit of being painkillers. There will be aches and pains, we can add this to the new inductees food as well as having some available in the barracks. Once they have 'toughened up' (she finger-quoted) and moved on in training, this can be reduced or eliminated." She took a swallow of coffee herself, then gestured at Mr. Kim. "I was reviewing the plans for the penal colony at Foley. I was thinking we can have some military equipment manufacturing for export. We can also offer to our System Governors the option of penal exile instead of the death penalty."

"I suggest we send the _Charles Albanel_ survey ship there," Mr. Kim said. "It will provide a good shakedown cruise for her, and give us information on the existing population and industry." He sipped his tea, "I agree they need an export industry for them beyond simple farming. Some sort of metalworking … perhaps making the various medals we award as well as the berets."

"_Ja_, I agree. That's a good idea for the medals, as well as the berets and other uniform accessories as well as various other militaria," the CMO suggested. She extracted her beret from under her shoulder strap and displayed the front. "The branch color backings, as well as ribbons, awards, challenge coins, display cases and so forth. Nothing they can use against us, but still valuable for our troop's morale."

Fleur took the beret, "Why ze color backingz, and what is a challenge coin?"

Heinrike gestured at the beret as it went around. "I was initially trained as Infantry, then specialized as _Fallschirmjäger_. That is the outer, light blue color. The inner disk is command yellow for the General Staff, the medallion in the middle is the Empire's shield. That would be substituted for the individual soldiers' metallic unit shield for their particular unit. This is awarded by the commander, this also builds esprit de corps; it is tangible proof that they have succeeded, they are a valued member of their unit." She accepted the beret back, reached inside and unclipped the medallion. "While I would still centralize training, I would keep the brigades together as much as possible, as a partial regimental model. Once again, necessary for the esprit de corps. The new soldier would graduate from Camp Katherine with a black beret, a single branch disk, and the Imperial shield." She removed the yellow disk, and re-attached the shield. "Once they have arrived at their new brigade, they are welcomed by the commander, assigned to a battalion, and issued the brigade's shield. Their new battalion commander would issue the battalion and company disk." She re-attached the command gold disk, threading the two pins of the shield through the disks' matching holes, then clamping the disk firmly.

"Yes, it is overly complex, but it is necessary, as are the challenge coins." She pulled one out. "This is one I had designed for my office and staff." She passed it around; "The story goes back to the First Great War. Fighter pilots on all sides were generally from wealthy noble families, the legend has it that _der Rote Baron_ (the Red Baron) started the custom."

"I heard it was a British flyer," Lady Sarah commented.

Heinrike waved her hand, "I have heard British, French, American as well as German," she replied. "In any case, he had minted coins for his pilot comrades as mementoes of their service together. One day one of those comrades was shot down and captured by the enemy. They searched him, of course, and confiscated things like his identification, but they missed the coin, which was in a leather bag around his neck. He was being led away when there was an artillery strike, and he managed to escape. He needed to return to his own lines, but was recaptured, this time by partisans. The enemy was infiltrating spies, clothed in the enemy's uniforms, and they were about to execute him as one of those spies. He had no identification, and could not prove his identity, until he remembered his coin. That had his squadron's insignia, which one of the partisans recognized. They helped him return to his lines, and he survived the war. Since then, it has become a tradition for unit commanders to award coins for merit that do not rate a formal medal; such as passing training. I have handed these out to my staffers, traditionally in a handshake, the higher the rank of the coin, the better." She smiled, "A coin from the CMO's office ranks many free drinks."

"But one must have it on you at all times," Lady Sarah added.

"Of course. Otherwise you would lose a challenge, and have to buy drinks for those who remembered theirs." She recovered her coin, tucking it away in its bag. "I would suggest you design and order some for your staffers, they are valuable keepsakes, even if they are made with brass or pewter. I will send you my information if you wish. This brings up another matter – medals and awards, the formal ones. We need to implement a range of awards for valor, the highest being equal to the Iron Cross, the Blue Max, the American Medal of Honor or the Victoria Cross."

"Is all this necessary?" Mr. Kim asked.

"Not only necessary, but vital," General von Hesse replied. "We start not only an Empire, but the military forces to defend it. A vital part of that military is _esprit de corps_. That keeps forces on the battle line when their individual, optimal survival strategy would be to run. They do not because of what their comrades would think of them, what their friends would go through were they to run." She leaned forward, "Mr. Kim, a nation is not only built on trade, on commerce, but on force of arms. We must not only be respected, but feared as a nation that will not take such as the Republic of Sodolokve lying down. We can and will strike back, hard, to defend ourselves and to take the fight to the enemy. We must be aggressive, not only in business, but so that no one trifles with us." She sat back, "Yes, a bit of enameled pewter is not worth much in one sense. In another sense, people have died for it, it is therefore priceless. If these are not manufactured here, they should still be constructed in a government factory, with strict accounting." She tapped the bag with her coin, "I ordered **fifty** of these, and have given out eighteen. They are numbered, and have my signature embossed on them. This adds value to them; a recipient is not likely to sell it on eBay™."

"Get me that information, please," Mattie asked. She checked her agenda, "What do we do with the POWs we've taken?"

"Strictly speaking, they are irregular military, not POWs," General von Hesse replied. "The Planetary Guard and their naval personnel have been classified as subject to the Geneva Conventions, even though neither the Empire or the Republic have signed those treaties. It is best for us to adhere to those guidelines, and while the Conventions and their supplements do not address specifics, it is understood we shall emplace various security measures."

She looked around, people nodded. "We shall place tracking collars on them, for security, but once the war concludes they will presumably be repatriated. However, the slavers are civilians, and have no such rights. There are also fewer of them, and I propose doing to them what they planned to do to us: biosculpt, collar and Enhance them. While they will not be slaves, as we shall pay them one gram of tungsten per day for their labor, they will certainly _look_ like slaves. This way we may retain control of them, and we have the labor force for our government medal factory."

"Not revenge. Not at all," Matt said. "Simply giving captured enemy personnel medical treatment, and then putting them to work, for pay, as is permitted by various treaties. We may need to pay them more than that, or lease them out, but that's certainly legal, and we can have the Red Cross inspect to their heart's content." He morphed into a slave girl, and smiled, then morphed back. "I think that's workable. I had a question …"

Warning, suicides

Wednesday, May 21, 2003: 11:13 (relative)  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Awaken, slave," and Ashley Nicheyev, once the slave named Frax woke suddenly (and painfully) by her collar. She shook her head to clear it, becoming aware of the heavy slave hood and gag she wore. She groaned, and the master chuckled. "You went where you shouldn't, slave. I shall interrogate you, the first Terran spy we have caught. This will allow me to collect the rest of the spies. For now, we may have a little fun." He kicked her in the ribs, and she folded over with the pain, her hands cuffed behind her.

He pulled her to her knees by her collar, and she shrieked into her gag. "That is only the first taste of your pain, slave 94383. Once we capture your shipmates, they will join you. For now, I want you to taste pain. Level Five, pain …" and her collar lit in fire.

'_They don't have the others_,' she thought. '_Time for me to end this before I break. I can't get to my poison tooth, so I have to use the backup; I hope it still works. Papa, I love you and miss you. I'm sorry for what I've put you through. Mama and I will wait for you in Heaven_.' She waited until she was lying on her side, her back away from her captor, then twisted her wrists as they were cuffed behind her, pressing two specific points on each palm with her fingers.

The interrogator looked down at the hooded blonde slave lying on her side in the small concrete cell, and almost didn't hear the small pop. She groaned into her gag and collapsed onto her back, head back, legs splayed, and he cursed violently as a small reddish-brown stain spread from her nose, and the lights of her collar went out.

* * *

In a small cottage in south London, a lonely old man regarded photographs on his mantle. They showed a mother and daughter, both platinum-blonde, laughing and hugging him. His weary eyes turned to a black-framed portrait of his daughter, who smiled at him from the photo. He took a few steps, regarded the note and the sealed letter on the small table where he had taken his last meals, then took a deep breath, walked to his favorite chair, and arranged a small towel behind him. It wouldn't do to create too much of a mess for whoever found him. August Nicheyev had been the soul of courtesy his entire life. Comfortable, he reached over to turn out the table lamp, and then lifted the old Webley. Pulling back the hammer, he placed it between his teeth, pointing up and back, and awkwardly holding it, his thumb went inside the trigger guard…

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, May 21, 2003: 20:53 (UTC)  
Hour 142.53/708.00  
Luna, Copernicus Holiday Inn:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Sorry I'm late," Larren murmured as she turned at the last second so his kiss landed on her cheek. She took his arm as the maître d'hôtel showed them to a booth; Mr. Hammersmith seated her, and then took his own seat. "We'd like a few minutes. We'll signal," he said, and gestured to the booth's small console. He shook the man's hand, palming a bill, who smiled and said, "Of course."

She leaned forward, showing her cleavage as she extracted a small scrambler from her purse as she activated the table's privacy field. "I'm not happy with you, darling," she murmured. "I expected Denali would get more of the combat vehicle contracts."

"The Germans and Russians put forward some very strong entries," he replied, trying to capture her hand. "Denali didn't even enter a vacuum-proofed entry, like the Americans. At least you get one of the license manufacturing contracts." She moved her hand away from his, smiling as she replied, "The real money is with the source contracts … darling. I expect better from the engineering and support vehicles."

"I'm only one vote on the board, I was able to get you the artillery contracts …" he offered.

"And the ammunition contracts," she conceded. "Work hard, darling, on the other vehicles. I'll do the same on your colleagues."

"You mean that you're having … relations …"

"Darling, you really think …" she laughed. "Darling, these contracts are worth hundreds of billions, trillions, even. Only the Americans are fool enough NOT to have girls, or boys, like me. They may be excellent engineers, but that doesn't get the contract. No, their foolish ethics hobble them." She took a menu from the table's rack. "The fish looks good …"

"But … you said … I was…"

She looked at him over the menu. "Darling, this is a business. While you're not an Englishman, you need to lose twenty kilos and start working out. I would also suggest shaving with a blade instead of an electric, it gives a better result. No, I have to defend you now against the Russians, they're trying to convert you to their stable. I must admit they are some of the world's best in human intelligence. I think the asparagus…"

He said in a strangled voice, "… their _stable_?"

"Of course, darling. Surely you've heard of the KGB?" She eyed him over the menu, then gave a delighted giggle. "Oh, my darling … you thought I was _genuine_? You poor, silly dear." She passed him a menu, "The chicken looks delicious, we could share." She eyed him again, "The world's oldest profession, darling. Intelligence. You thought different? Order a Glenfidditch, while I'll have a glass of white to go along with the chicken."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, May 23, 2003: 01:16 (UTC)  
Terran system, _ITNS Albion_, sickbay:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Good morning, Sub-Admiral En'das," Mackenzie greeted the captured enemy officer. She gestured, "May I?" He gestured in return, and said, "I look forward to each day's visit."

"As do I," she replied. "You are the closest I have to an equal aboard ship. I can discuss things with you that I cannot with others." She smoothed her hem as she sat. "May I do anything for you?"

"Give me my fleet back?" he asked with a small smile. She replied with a smile of her own, "I don't think that will work. However, I bring news: under our laws, the Empress has agreed that your naval staff, as well as your Guard forces, will be accorded the status of Prisoner of War, and will be sent to a prison colony." She fussed with her hem, "Despite the fact that there was no declaration of war, those persons qualify, as you were government-sponsored and government paid, you cannot be pirates. In theory, once the conflict is concluded and we have control of the planets of the former Republic, you will be returned and released."

"I see. You believe you will defeat the Republic?"

"Easily. The only delay is to build up the appropriate forces. The last war the Republic fought was the conquest of Alizon, five hundred years ago. We have twenty or so wars ongoing between ourselves as I speak." She arranged a fold of her uniform, "You viewed the scenes between your troops and ours?"

"Yes; I recognized several of my people as they were killed. Why the …" (He gestured at his forehead.)

"Psychological war," she replied. "To terrify your people and encourage ours."

"It works," he agreed. "I would not want to confront your combat troops." He waved his free hand, "What of me?"

"You are the senior captive taken. As such, you will be placed in command of Republican forces in that penal colony." She settled back, "You will not be in charge of the… slavers (her tone was contemptuous) we have taken. We shall do to them what they planned to do to us: biosculpt, collar and Enhance them. We shall not sell them as slaves, they shall be paid, but they will work for us."

"You do not like slavers, but they provide the labor of the interstellar economy. A vital part of that economy." She waved this off, and he continued, "Where will you found this colony?"

"A water-world moon in the system of Foley." She looked at him, "Do you know anything about it?"

He looked away, thinking. "It is not front-of-mind. I believe … I believe it is a pirate haven, but inquire of my astrogator, she can give you the crystal, rod, and ring of it."

"She, unfortunately, resisted our forces and died trying to delete the navigational database. Foolish of her, we simply read the automated backup, which matched our other captured databases. Still, she did her duty, so we preserved her body intact. (She gestured at her own forehead.) We do not know your funeral customs; we are prepared to give her, and others, honorable burials. We have mapping data; we were looking for someone that had been there." She flipped a hand, "We are sending a survey cruiser, we shall get that information."

"I see, he said. I shall confer with your young officer regarding that." He fussed with his IV line; "If I am to command that colony, I shall need more information, I shall need to start planning."

"I shall ask Ensign Zhao to provide what we have."

"A pleasant change to her constant victories in checkmate."

Mackenzie raised an eyebrow. "The game is called chess, and Zhao is the ship's reigning champion. The best I have done is four moves before she defeated me. When your doctors permit, I will ask her to bring you to the ship's recreation deck. However, there is one rule there: there is no rank on the rec deck. This means the lowliest of the ship's Marines can toss me, the Admiral, around the exercise mat. It would not be honorable for me to retaliate. I am there to learn, to exercise, and to have fun."

"You Terrans are strange indeed."

"Indeed," Mackenzie smiled, stood, and stowed the visitor's chair.

* * *

After his captor left, En'das settled back in his bunk, fussing briefly with the medical tubes inserted into his left arm. He once again considered removing them, and leaving the medical bay, and once again decided against it. Not only would it bleed profusely, which he would have no way to stop, but he wore lightweight pink 'scrubs' of a very unusual cloth, did not have shoes, and did not know the ship or where the ship might be in the system. He was still weak, although his wounds had healed; he was in no condition for physical struggle with the black-uniformed ship's 'Marines' he had observed.

No, his best course of action at the time was to simply rest, build his strength, and hope the two hastily-assembled drones had launched from _Ca'arn the Cruel_ with information for the Republic.

* * *

"Good morning, Sub-Admiral," the visitor said, and En'das looked up. "Good morning, Major," and he gestured. "Please, join me for tea."

"Thank you," Major von Weisen replied, giving a stiff bow, then unstowing a visitor's chair. "I have a few questions, if you don't mind."

"Allow me to check my social calendar," En'das joked, and the Intelligence major frowned, stroking his Bismarck mustache. "Ah, I have a moment of time available for you before I am taken off for torture."

"Please do not joke about that," von Weisen asked. "We are simply talking and drinking tea. I have said that I have no interest in your operations, or the functions of your ships. Nor do I have interest in torturing you. It is not only distasteful, but it does not produce good data, as the subject will say what is necessary to stop the torture. For the similar reason, we will not drug you. You have undergone a preventive therapy, and I have no interest in seeing you die in agony. No, what I am interested in is the social and political structure of the Republic and their military; especially the upper ranks and the King."

"You have the Princess A'ya, and you must have received information from the Princess B'tan before she was … she was … "

"Killed? Yes, but their perspectives would be different from someone outside the royal family. What I am looking for is not only the official view, but the unofficial view as well. The King, for instance. Does he have a name?"

"Not officially, he is known by his ruling name by the Ministry of Correct Thought." He took a sip of tea, "In the fleet, he is known as the Mad Prince …"

* * *

En'das was once again bored after the Major had left. He had completed what planning he could, and was not in the mood to return to sleep. He pushed back the retaining mesh on his sleeping cubicle and watched the passing Terrans. This was a large ship, and he idly watched its crew come through with a variety of minor complaints. He started as two of the dreaded Lanterns floated in, one tall with skin the color of a Healer's vest (magenta) assisted the other. She was shorter, with short-cut yellow hair and pointed ears, saying "I'll be good, Katma. It's just a break in my leg …"

A Healer bustled up, this one a collared female with pale green skin, wearing her Healer's vest under one of the white coats the Terran Healers preferred. "Good day, Honored Lanterns," then she turned, "Arisa, what have we said about protective wear? At least use your Ring!"

"Thank you, honored Healer, maybe she'll listen to you," the one called Katma replied.

"But it slows me down!" Arisa replied as the Healer assisted her into a float-chair. She went off for treatment, still arguing, while the one called Katma sighed, unstowed a chair, and sat down to wait.

"Your pardon, Lantern, but what is Arisa playing that injures her?" En'das asked. Katma turned, regarding him and his pale red (pink) 'scrubs' that he wore. En'das gestured, "I am bored, and looking for something to engage my mind."

"She plays a sport the Terrans call 'grav-ball'," and used her ring to show a three-dimensional illustration. "A spherical court, with variable gravity. One uses a band over the palm to hit a small ball back and forth. The ball can return from multiple angles and at a high velocity. The Terrans have a number of such games for individuals and groups, as well as competitions in them."

"Ah, I see. Gratitude."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, May 24, 2003: 17:56 (UTC)  
Hour 210.56/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Press briefing room A:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"You weren't able to get anything out of her?" Lois asked her husband (and competitor).

Clark shook his head, "No, you?"

"Bupkis. Shh, here she is," and she took her seat as her Empress (and niece) came from a concealed door behind a curtain. She put down some papers, and then tapped on the microphone. "Good afternoon, everyone. If we can all find our seats, please?" She waited, hands behind her as the various newsies settled, cameras and microphones were positioned, and photographers took their places in front.

"Thank you. I'd like to present to you the first law enacted by the Imperial Assembly." She lifted the centimeter-thick bound volume; "It is the Sodolokve Emergency Act, having passed all three Readings and it now comes to me for signature. It will then become law, although some portions must be renewed on variable timetables. You may of course find the complete text and supporting documentation on the Imperial Assembly's web site."

She waited out the shouted questions, "We'll have a press conference after the ceremony. Please hold your questions until then." She took a sip of water, "This Act has three primary provisions. First, it authorizes a military response to aggressive actions by the Republic of Sodolokve. It is an authorization for war."

She waited out the camera flashes, "Second, and expiring after fifteen years, is an increase in the tax rate to six-point-five percent. This is to fund primarily infrastructure improvements, such as property, buildings, as well as equipment and ships, both civilian and military." She waited out the camera flashes again.

Newsies were out of their seats, shouting questions, and she let it go on for a minute, and then tapped the microphone again. She waited, then said, "People, please! I will not answer questions until later! Please take your seats." She waited until the newsies slowly settled back, then continued, "Third, in order to provide the ships and troops and cargo lift necessary to bring the war to a successful conclusion, this Act authorizes conscription …" The newsies were out of their seats again, and she took a step back, waiting again. The Imperial Guard moved forward, toward some of the more physically aggressive reporters, and people settled back.

"Thank you. As I was saying, this Act authorizes conscription …" she waited until the shouted questions stopped, and then continued. "This is subject to exemptions and deferrals for conscientious objectors, and for those who are in reserved occupations, such as firefighters and police officers. It also offers a considerably sweeter deal, including some very nice bonuses, for both volunteers and those going into the combat arms, which _does_ include clandestine intelligence work." She waited again through shouted questions, "This does NOT exclude females. Indeed, over forty percent of volunteers are female and going into the combat arms."

"How much are the bonuses?" someone shouted.

The Empress smiled, "Enough for either a down payment on a house, or to buy a nice car for cash." There was a loud whistle, and she smiled again. "Nice way to set your retirement up. We also have a number of investment plans, stock and bond options, as well as a series of our Freedom Bonds that pay more and are only available to our military personnel." She waved her hand, "I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's get our business done, and then I'll answer questions." She held up the printed copy of the Act, then a smaller booklet. "I sign this statement, which is attached to the Act, then witnessed and sealed, and then the Act becomes law." She took a quill from a holder, dipping it in ink, then signing:

_Martha I __R. I._** (3)**

She stepped back, the other two signing as witnesses. She then took a ball chain, threading it through two grommets in the cover of the Act, then through two matching holes (although she struggled with getting the chain through one) in the top of the statement. With a small knife, she put a few drops of blood on her signature, then sealed the ball chain with some purple sealing wax.

Taking a small wooden box from her pocket, she accepted a jeweled seal, clipping one of her own into it, and impressing the wax. She separated the two seals, holding the document up and blowing on it, then turning it around. "Here we are, the first Act, now law."

"Why did you blow on it?" someone called.

"Ink's still wet," she replied. She passed it to Fleur, leaning over to murmur something in her ear. She shook both of their hands, and they left. Taking a breath, she smiled, "Well, any questions?"

"What is involved in this conscription?" someone called.

"First, all dates and times are Coordinated Universal Time in London, like everything else in the Empire, so you'll need to figure time zones. As I said, part of this Act is to pay for infrastructure improvements. Our Basic Training facility is Camp Katherine in Australia. That is already being expanded for the expected influx of personnel. Other facilities such as Corfu are being remodeled for our initial military college, like Sandhurst or West Point, as well as Special Forces training."

She took another sip of water, "Let's talk numbers. Last year, worldwide population growth was 74 million. If we divide by three hundred sixty five days, that's a little over two-hundred-two thousand. We figured ten percent for deferrals, deaths and exclusions, which makes it one-hundred-eighty-two thousand; and if we figure in volunteers, that puts us back at two-hundred thousand. Camp Katherine is currently taking in a brigade of sixty-five hundred at a time, so that's a thirty-fold increase. That will take a bit of time to be built up, so right now, we're going to choose the first lucky winners, and then call you up." She smiled, "One of the status codes is 'existing government service', so if you're drawn, you've got some time to volunteer and get those bonuses."

"How does it work?"

"Let's take my birthday, May 31, 1988, and yes, I do fall into the thirty-year date range. According to my birth certificate, I was born at 10:48 pm in Gotham General Hospital. Gotham City is five hours behind London, so that would have been 3:48 am on June first. Therefore, if June first is drawn, I go, if May 31 is drawn, I don't." Someone called, "No, it would be 2:48 am."

"Daylight savings time," she replied. "I checked a couple web pages to be sure." There was a nervous chuckle, and she continued, "Make sure you know the correct time, because that's important. We've also arranged with the networks for five minutes at high noon, London time, the first of every month. That's when we'll do the drawing, using the ping-pong ball machines like the lotteries use. You'll then get a letter in the mail advising you what to, and what _not_ to bring and when, along with your first set of orders and a ticket. Once you arrive at Camp Katherine, everyone goes through the med-tanks, which take care of physical problems and conditions. You won't come out a supermodel, but you will be physically fit." She smiled at that, "We build on that. Let's go to questions – yes, Ms. al-Jaffar?"

"If a day like February 31 is drawn, what then?"

"First we do the years, 1988 through 1958, then the month. Three of the five machines have the date balls, which we're getting along with the machines from a state-certified company in Nevada. There are three chances for a correct date, if none of the three come up a winner, we cancel that month's drawing and try again next month." She took a swallow of water. "Remember the time? We'll say we draw my corrected birthday of June first. Times of midnight to six am report the first week, six-oh-one to noon the second week, and so forth. You then go down to the friendly folks at the local Imperial recruiting office and get your paperwork started."

Someone else popped up, "You said reserved occupations earlier. What are some of them?"

"Critical occupations that can't easily be performed by others, such as farmers, emergency services, religious workers, and so forth. Journalist is another, but we do encourage you to volunteer for embedding into a unit. The list isn't cast in stone, however. Construction or shipwrights might be reserved now, but may not be later. The current list is on the web site. Yes, Mr. Ullage?"

"What are the plans regarding captured enemy personnel?"

"One difficulty is that there has been no formal declaration of war by the Republic; and I have just signed ours. On the other hand, they are in government uniform, carrying weapons and under a chain of command. Until the courts rule, we are treating their naval personnel and their Planetary Guards as POWs under the Geneva Conventions." She waited out a murmur. "We have a prison colony we are establishing for them, and for any of our colony Governors who wish to use exile as a legal punishment instead of the death penalty."

"Follow-up, what about the slavers?"

"The slavers are civilians. Profiteers and thieves." She gave a tight smile, "Pirates." She pointed, "Yes, Ms. Lane?"

"Pirates?"

"Upon conviction in a court of law, with defense counsel, the traditional penalty may be chosen by the court. Their ships are prizes to be awarded. Ms. Sambrucca? Nice blouse, by the way."

"Thank you, ma'am. The prison colony – what are the details?"

"It is a habitable moon, about four times the size of ours, and orbiting a gas giant. The initial population of this colony may be higher than others we've started, we're already doing planning for it. One of our survey cruisers, the _Charles Albanel_ will be visiting the system to flesh out our information. For now, I can say that there's a central island of about twelve thousand square kilometers in the middle of a bay, with a temperate wetland climate. It already has some industry and manufacturing. More than that, we'll have to wait for the ship's report. Yes, Mr. Kent?"

"The people that claim non-combatant or conscientious objector status – what about them?"

"I'm glad you asked," the Empress replied. "While we recognize those beliefs, there is still a citizenship requirement to be fulfilled, just like jury duty. First, those persons will be examined by an inter-faith board in their community…"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, May 25, 2003: 07:42 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Chagrin Falls, Ohio:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"You get started, dear, I want a word with the kids before we leave for church," Mark Higginbotham told his wife, Irene. She nodded, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek while Josh and Kathy were at the table. After she left, he gestured with his half-filled coffee cup at the scattered pages of the _Cleveland Plain Dealer_©. "I'm sure there's going to be conversations like this one all over the planet," he started.

"Yeah, Dad. We're officially at war," Josh said.

"I can remember when you asked Miss Wayne where you signed up to be a storm trooper," his sister said. "Now's your chance." She picked out the newspaper's magazine section, which had extensive coverage, adding, "All four of us are eligible for the draft. I wonder if there's a safe area in the military."

"Your mother works for the State of Ohio and is therefore exempt as a government employee," their dad commented. "I, on the other hand, am a civil engineer, and would be receiving some of those bonuses, should I choose to enlist. You two, on the other hand..."

"Yeah, high school," Josh said. "Just like the t-shirt: Visit exotic new planets, meet new species …"

"… and kill them," Kathy finished. "I don't think it's all like that, but there are those combat bonuses." She tapped the magazine, and said, "I'm going to have to think about it. Anything else, Dad?"

* * *

The congregation rustled as they resumed their seats, and the pastor stepped up to the pulpit. He took a sip of water from the concealed glass, then cleared his throat. "Good morning, everyone." There was a murmured reply, and he nodded. "I presume everyone has either seen the television news, or read today's newspaper. My friends, we are now, unfortunately, formally at war." He paused for a minute, "I must presume that our new Empress, Miss Wayne, is now at her own local church. She is known to attend the services at the new St. Matthew's Catholic church on Luna, and right now, her soul must be troubled. My friends, from my own service in Vietnam, ministering to an infantry unit, the most troubled are the commanders. They must lead and support their men, hearing their own troubles, supporting and sustaining their morale, while knowing they are sending them out to combat; knowing some will not return."

He took a swallow of water, "This is troubling, my friends, because who among us does not have self-doubt? I do. As individuals we must decide what to do if we are called to duty. We can decide not to answer the call, letting others shoulder the burden. Our burden, because I have examined the method of drawing, as well as the list of deferrals, and I can find no faults with it. In Vietnam, many said that it was a 'rich man's war, fought by the poor' as there was a college deferment. In this, we have no control over our date of birth; rich or poor, it is all the same procedure." He smiled slightly, and there was a small ripple of laughter. "No, my friends, I can see no discrimination, so we must, if we are to be honest with ourselves, admit to ourselves that living here, on this little green planet called Earth, requires a duty to this wider community. In this, it is no different than voting, or serving on a jury."

He took another swallow of water, leaning forward to survey his flock. "My friends, citizenship, membership in a wider community, carries with it both privileges and responsibilities. Living in a free society such as we do requires some self-sacrifice. We must obey laws, even if we do not particularly like them. That is part of the price we pay for that freedom. Now, we have the chance … no, the duty to step up and pay that price in a more physical way than waiting at a stop light or obeying the speed limit. We have the chance to extend to others that freedom, to offer them a helping hand, when others have simply ground them down for their own enrichment." He looked around, looking at the silent congregation, "Yes, my friends, I am speaking of the collared girls. Even if we were to be completely selfish, the enemy has said they want the death of our men and our elders, and the enslavement of our young women. Look around you, my friends. Look to your left and your right, and take their hands. Go ahead."

He took a step back from the pulpit, taking another swallow of ice-cold water. He stepped down, working down the first pew, shaking their hands. After a minute, he resumed the pulpit, "What did you see, what did you feel, my friends? I looked into the eyes of my friends and neighbors, some blue, some brown. I shook the hands of white and black and asian, of soft hands and rough. In short, I shook the hands, and looked in the eyes of my neighbors. My friends."

Pausing, he said, "Now, some will say that 'I am too old' or 'I'm not in shape'. Well, my friends, I refer you to history. Some will remember the last time we organized for total war, for that is what this is; total war. I refer to the second Great War, World War Two. I know we have veterans of that war among us, and those who served on the Home Front of that war. Please stand if you are a veteran of that war." A number of older people stood, and he continued, "Thank you, please be seated. Those people remember their own elders finding useful work, even if it was cooking, watching the children or working in a factory. My friends, my neighbors, this is what we find ourselves at the beginning of, another Great War; the World War Three that has been forecast, only this time it is not against someone who lives on the other side of the ocean. This is not the widely-feared Armageddon, death by nuclear bomb, but between our troops, our infantry and our fleets of warships and cargo vessels on distant worlds." He paused, then shook a finger, "Just because we do not have foreign occupation troops kicking in our front doors does not mean this is a war we can ignore. No, we are in a new Home Front, where we must build those ships and those rifles and equip those soldiers. Now, with the advances in manufacturing, even those in their later years can watch a computer screen and push buttons."

"Some will also claim 'I'm not in shape'. Miss Wayne has said that unless you are missing limbs, they can accept you, they can treat that. I myself wouldn't mind having the body I had in 1969." There was a ripple of laughter. "No, even if you're unfortunate enough to be paralysed, there is useful work for you in orbit, where you simply float in front of your console."

"The last objection is one that bears great thinking. The Sixth Commandment, 'Thou shalt not kill'." He looked around, "To be precise, in Exodus 20:13 and Deuteronomy 5:17 it is 'You shall not _murder_'. Some have used this to preclude any sort of military service, even though the Commandment is against _unlawful_ killing. Strictly speaking, a total ban on killing would prohibit the harvesting of grains, fruits, and vegetables, and the butchering of livestock. No, the Bible allows for justifiable death in the contexts of war, capital punishment, and self-defense." He paused, "Still, there are those who feel they cannot harm another sentient being. They are non-violent; they will not raise a hand against another. This is allowed for, as it was in the previous Great War's conscription, by examination of those people by a council of ministers. Their service obligations would be met either as non-combatants or as total conscientious objectors, by service as medical assistants, in processing the military mail, in the fields, or other duty." He looked around, "My personal honor requires me, as a member of the clergy, to attest to only those persons that I know well, who have deeply held and sincere beliefs of a long-standing, multi-year nature. Not someone who is simply trying to shirk their civic duty."

He paused again, "So, my friends, the drawing occurs, and your birthday was drawn. Odds of ten thousand, nine hundred fifty eight to one. Aside from buying a lottery ticket (there was a chuckle), what do you do? Do you decide to step up, to answer the call to duty? It is our choice, my friends, and I shall pray for guidance …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, May 25, 2003: 10:43 (UTC)  
Hour 226.43/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, St. Matthew Catholic Church:  
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She addressed the man's question. "Not at all. The deployments would overlap by two to three months, to allow the new brigade to get fully up to speed before the old troops rotate home for rest. We can't have them on duty for untold years on end, but the new guys have to get to know the power players and who and what's where." Mattie adjusted her purse strap, "We learned from the US Army, you rotate troops as a unit. The only time you'd send individual soldiers would be to fill urgent, critical needs." She turned as a throat cleared, cocking her head as the small Asian man gave a slight bow. "Empress Wayne? I am Master Chiun."

She blinked for a few seconds as she brought up the relevant memories. "Forgive me, Master Chiun, you have me at a bit of a disadvantage. I was expecting you tomorrow at nine am, I wanted to discuss a retainer."

"Ah, yes. I wanted to observe you in a social situation. You are not simply commanding."

"While they call me Tsaritsa, I am not an absolute monarch, but a constitutional one. Indeed, I would have been happier with a trade federation, but that…"

"WAYNE!" A tall, dark haired woman in a star-spangled outfit was charging toward them. "How dare you institute this farce of a draft …"

"Wonder Woman," the Empress sighed, and Master Chiun shifted slightly. "Shall I kill this tart for you to begin our negotiations? I have heard several complaints about her."

"I am not happy with her, but the moon has different gravity, your terminal ballistics will be off." She looked to the side, drawing her wand. "No, I have a plan for her. _STUPEFY_!"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, May 26, 2003: 07:28 (UTC)  
Phobos, _ITSV Charles Albanel_:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Captain Issac White strode into his briefing room, and the assembled officers snapped to attention. He took his seat at the head of the table, adjusted it, then said, "Please be seated." His officers took their seats, and he said, "Well, we have orders for our cherry mission, Rotini Blue. First things first, though. Exec, what shape are we in?"

"Pretty good, sir," Commander Melanie Kidd replied. A rejuv, she was a long-service US Navy vet, recruited by the Empire from her VA hospital room. "Another few days loading provisions and supplies, we should be able to leave dock by Saturday. I would feel better if we had more experience with the new engines, but we have the older jump drives as backup." She took a swallow of her coffee, "I want to do a long loop through the outer system as the first part of our shakedown. Then we're off to Foley, where we do a spiral in-system."

"If we're allowed to," Farak al-Azzad said. A large man with a neat beard, he was the Foreign Ministry representative; and the only civilian in the room. He smiled, "Dealing with pirates should be interesting. There are three major towns and a number of smaller settlements on the island of Phips." He took a swallow from his own tea mug as the Captain looked across the table to the slim young man. "Major Jarrot, your people?"

Still not comfortable with the 'courtesy promotion' from Captain to Major (as there could be only one Captain on a ship), he replied, "They are on leave at the moment, sir. We'll be aboard, ready to reinforce your ship's Marines as necessary. Assuming Mr. al-Azzad (he nodded at him) gets us enough space, we'll be ready to secure it."

"Good," the Captain said. "Exec, let's see what we know about the island of Phips."

"Yes, sir," Commander Kidd replied. She activated the holo and dimmed the lights. "There is a very small ice cap at the northern pole …"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, May 26, 2003: 10:28 (UTC)  
Terran orbit, _HIMSS Hexagon_, Operations & Plans:  
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Commander Hill, the head of planning for Soba White Zero-Ten for the system of Des, stood, collecting his coffee cup and various paperwork along with his DataPadd, locked his terminal, and walked the few meters down the section of cubicals the planners of Soba White 'owned'. He turned into the conference cubicle and raised his eyebrows. Lt. M'ress, a felinoid, former naval officer for her home system and once-captured slave girl was at the small sink, scratching her head. She raised her head, sniffing the air, then turned and gave a quick smile. "I think I have this device figured out, sirr," she said, rolling her 'r's. Her tail flicked once, the stainless steel teeth and claws she had implanted to replace her removed natural ones flashing in the overhead lights.

"Use the bottled water instead of the tap, it tastes better," 1LT. Kelly Chase advised as he entered the conference cube. The former Israeli Army officer wore the red disk of artillery under the command yellow of the general staff on his black beret, and the blood stripe of a combat veteran down the outside of his uniform's grey leggings. He folded his beret, placing it on the table above his own notes and DataPadd, as 1LT. David Sanford came in.

Sanford was their representative from the Engineers, wearing their scarlet-and-white disk under his own gold disk. "I hear we're getting G-5's, Kelly. Should make you happy."

"Seventy klick range, I know where to put them," He replied. "Where's Sergei?"

"I am behind you," the small Russian said. "Two more island planets, no real place to use armor." He put down his own large glass tea mug. "I have revised my plans for personnel. Less armor, more mechanized forces. Armored cars, BMP and infantry," he said as he sat down. He slurped from his mug, then banged it on the desk. "Not real armor, although what we are getting is decent German equipment. Leopard Vs and BMPs, for urban warfare. In the Great Patriotic War …"

"Oh, please, Sergei. Give that war a rest," Sanford said. "You're starting to sound like a French General, always refighting Verdun…" He poured a cup of coffee, "Talking with some of the other groups, we were going over the various coups required." He gestured with his coffee as Lt. M'ress asked, "What is a 'coup'?"

"An overthrow of an existing government by military force, usually a small force," Commander Hill replied. "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"The way I see it, with our limited manpower, the structure of the opposition forces, and the fact that we will hold the system and the orbitals, there are three options for Des." He took a slurp of coffee, then put it down. "Option A, would be to have our existing troops on the ground perform the coup themselves. I don't give this a high success rate, these are Recon and Intelligence troops. While they're used to living off the land, behind enemy lines, they aren't trained or equipped for coups. Besides, they're covered as tramp merchants and slave girls." Lt. Sanford took a noisy slurp of coffee. "Option B. We start at each star's outer limits, seize the outer works and just keep going until we have our own troops on the ground." He gestured, holding his cupped hands wide, and swooping them in toward the holotank displaying the system in the center of the table. "Start and don't stop until boots hit dirt. Maximum surprise, but if the enemy has a nasty surprise …"

"Trrruth," Lt. M'ress agreed. "We pounce, rrrun down and make the kill. What is wrrrong with that?"

"Several things," Sergei replied. "We could be enveloped, trapped against the planet by a superior fleet. We can be harassed by local forces. We can be thrown off our landing zones, unable to build up our space-head sufficiently. What is the next option?"

"Option C has the highest chances for success. It also allows us to play with the opposition's minds and gear up for an overthrow of both of the sisters and their boy-toy husbands."

Commander Hill grunted. There were two habitable planets in the binary system of Des. Alpha was a F8, with an FTL limit of 22.8 light minutes, and the planet and capital city was also known as Des. Beta was a K5, with an FTL limit of 15.4 light minutes, the second planet was known as Ewan. Both were ruled by a pair of bloody-minded sisters, who were the powers-behind-the-thrones of their attractive but figurehead husbands. Sanford continued, "Alpha is entering a flare phase, which means with a F8 more electromagnetic interference. Less radios, more microwave and cable links. That also means the usual crap the Republic orbits for comm and nav satellites is going to be spotty. Beta, and Ewan on the other hand is a cooler, temperate world orbiting a K5, and currently in its winter season. The cold season," he reminded M'ress. "Here, we wear much warmer clothing, and have to worry about clearing the roads of snow and ice, delays, and broken power lines. Harbors and ports would be ice-clogged or closed, so we need to think about clearing those."

"Mortars," Chase suggested.

"Which may go off target and take out infrastructure," Sanford replied. "Ewan also has fewer, larger islands, which are connected by bridges or small ports and electric and data grids. However, Sergei, they're generally pontoon bridges, which may be weight-limited for your armor."

The Russian grunted, "BMPs do not weigh what a Leopard does. They can control a bridgehead until a bridge can be constructed or reinforced. Continue with your Option C, please."

Sanford nodded. "Both planets are similar in they have a single main continent and chains of islands. The powersats are primarily for the continents, the island chains run generators based on compressed natural gas. Those are supplied by a single refinery on each planet, so those are secondary targets. Option C involves our attack pausing at low orbit, consolidating our gains over various space-based targets while the blockade is put into place. This allows time for our assault forces to be built up, the enemy finds out they can't get above low orbit, and we ignore any communications on their part."

"We play with their minds, and take out any ground-to-space they might have," Lt. Chase nodded. "We can orbit our own satellites, as well as read their mapping through their orbital data-links, revise our own maps and target criteria, and generally let them sweat." He cradled his own coffee mug, "The only problem is that it gives them time as well. Time to prepare defenses for our landing."

"This is why you employ deception, a maskirovka," Sergei replied. "You do preliminary planning as well as bombardments on several targets as well as your primary landing site. The complaint I have regarding this is the inaccuracy of orbital bombardment."

"I agree," Lt. Chase said. "I prefer precise targeting myself, but we can reach back to the First Great War and creeping barrages, followed up by troops inserted from orbit. The objective is not only to destroy the enemy, but also to shock and demoralize him."

"Moving on," Commander Hill said. "Those archipelagos."

"Arrch … what is that?" M'ress asked.

"It means a chain or group of islands, some widely scattered," the Commander explained. "The Republic, and for that matter, the Empire, could be considered an archipelago of planets or star systems. They're not all grouped together." She gave a rumbling purr that indicated satisfaction, and he continued. "For the islands we're going to have to take each island in turn. On the positive side, we're talking fishermen and their families, so they're not likely to be heavily armed. On the negative, each island generally has a ruler that backs, and is backed by the sisters, who are firm supporters of the King. They also keep the Planetary Guard and their secret police active. Most probable counter-actions are going to come from them."

Lt. Sanford added, "We've put together an ad-hoc working group regarding boats, since most of the Republic's twenty-five planets are island planets, and the others have extensive islands. We're looking at basing and infrastructure for a brown-water navy." He took a swallow of coffee, "We want to make it official, to have a set of boats, which can support insurgents and guerrilla missions, because we have to think the existing power structure isn't going to take our intervention lying down. Like the swift boats in Vietnam, and the old PT boats, although a bit bigger than those, more along the lines of the S-Boot **(4)** the Kriegsmarine used. We're looking at a range of boats, from command, repair and supply barges for various bases in the island chains to river patrol boats like the swifts and open-ocean like the S-Boots and corvette classes." He fingered his coffee mug, "Sir, in Vietnam the US used six hundred Pibbers **(5)** in a small country, we're looking at planet-wide operations; I would at least double or triple that per planet. We don't need battleships or carriers, sir. Small, fast, and well armed with machine guns and grenades. All of them also have to be modular, so we can transport them and drop them on planet, with a shallow draft and smooth hull, so they won't get props or rudders fouled."

"Add flamethrowers," Sergei said. "They are terrifying. You want enough engine power to counter and move upriver in a fast current." He smiled, "I spent some leave-time at my brother-in-law's dacha on the Black Sea." He turned, "Sir, I will endorse this. If I cannot have heavy armored divisions, a river war is suitable."

Commander Hill nodded, "I'll endorse it also. What about the infrastructure? Fuels?"

"Sir, both planets are using compressed natural gas for fuel, each with a refinery. Special Forces Intel troops say that small tankers go around the islands, switching out mobile tanks at the various island fueling depots with cranes, admittedly not the way we'd do it. Takes them much longer, and they don't have offshore loading and unloading buoys, or even on piers with pipes to storage tanks. Admittedly, their usage isn't that heavy, primarily domestic cooking and heating, with power generating equipment co-located with the CNG. When I found this out, I asked about our getting multi-fuel vehicles or kits to convert from our diesel engines, but haven't received an answer yet." He took a swallow of coffee, "I've got some contacts in Brazil and in Malaysia, if necessary we'll bang something together. Hate to pass up a potentially useful source of fuels. On each of these islands, we take those depots, we take the islands." He brought up a sketch on the holo, "Typical installation. The island's chief will have a nice home upwind of the port and out of sight. His office will be co-located with the port's, so the peasants are reminded of who holds the whip."

"They shall die!" M'ress said.

"Er, maybe. The chiefs run things like the local markets, and take a percentage for themselves, and a healthy profit on the CNG. They use that to pay off the local enforcers. As far as the peasants, they're primarily local fishermen and their families. If they have slaves, they're family slaves. They get out on the boats and work with the sons and daughters, but they're wearing collars and were bought in the market." He took a swallow of coffee, "Sir, these islands have basic facilities: dirt roads, wooden piers, no centralized comms, power, sewer or water. When we take those islands, we ought to extend roads and utilities out to the rest of the island."

"Two reasons, sir," Lt. Chase put in. "Public Health, and therefore the health of our own troops, and Hearts and Minds. We should charge for them, but at just a little above cost." He took a swallow of tea, as Lt. Sanford added, "Concrete is cheap. I don't think we have to worry about minefields, but we can trench and lay down PSP **(6)** to improve the roads. Secondly, the presence of natural gas is a good indicator of a petroleum field."

"I'm sure the oil companies will be interested in that," Commander Hill said dryly. There were chuckles, and he continued, "I agree about the boats, in fact, it's now official. Sanford, we'll even have a floating dry dock we can use. I want you to pick out the best of the islands on each planet for a central base."

"Yes, sir," Lt. Sanford replied, making notes. "The dry dock?"

"Hundred meters by fifteen meters, so we can take up to corvette classes. We'll have a couple of those for our heavy marine ships, the rest will be gunboats. I don't think we'll have to worry about hostile air, so light guns should be sufficient. Quad-fifties mounted in the back of trucks to back up the SAMs **(7)**, and those quad-fifties."

"Nasty, but effective," Commander Hill agreed. "Anything else?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, May 27, 2003: 17:42 (UTC)  
Hour 281.42/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM offices:  
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"_ENERVATE_!" The Empress cast on the concrete block, which twitched. "We could have transfigured you into a footstool or a chamber pot, Diana," the Empress said. "Or one of those kick-stools like you see in the libraries. For that matter, we didn't even have to wake you up, just cemented you into some new construction with other concrete blocks, in a basement corner somewhere. You're a child of gods, you're effectively immortal." The block twitched again. "Why don't I? There are times, I admit, when its tempting. You'd go insane as part of that wall, but a regular person, no, it would be murder, and believe it or not, Diana, I do try to observe the law." She draped a blanket over the concrete block, "Crystal, would you change her back?"

A twitch of a wand, and a statuesque nude woman, bound by steel cables lay on the floor. Crystal tucked in the blanket, commenting, "The floor can be cold. Comfy?"

She ignored this, turning an icy glare on Miss Wayne. "What now? Will you enslave me, collar me? Is that why I was stripped? Who was that small man you were meeting today at church?"

"Who he is, or what business I have with him is none of _your_ business," she replied. "No, we searched you for concealed weapons, which unfortunately meant the destruction of your costume. Also, that was Sunday, this is Tuesday evening." She twitched a smile, "No, you're AWOL from work. Shame, Ms. Prince. Shame." She twitched a wand, "You saw how quickly time passes when you're both unconscious and transfigured. Shall I return you to that state, leave a note for my great-granddaughter to transfigure you back four hundred years from now?"

"So what is it you want of me?" Wonder Woman spat. "I'll turn you upside my knee, you little brat."

"Threat of physical violence against a head-of-state. Should I make her a brick again?" Crystal commented dryly. "It would give her time to think."

"What I want of you is your cooperation, and several of your eggs. My physician (she nodded at Narcissa) will extract them." She raised a thin golden rope, "Please note that your Lasso of Truth is wrapped around both your ankles and my wrist. Therefore, neither one of us can lie."

Diana blinked. "That isn't what I was expecting," she admitted. "But won't Wonder Woman be missed?"

"She was seen boarding the equatorial train, and getting off at the JLA's terminal," Crystal replied. "Glamour charm."

"But … ARRGH!" Diana struggled in frustration.

"If you're wondering why you can't break those steel cables, it's because they're made of asteroid iron," Miss Wayne commented. "You have the strength of a normal adult human female, instead of an Amazon. Aunt Lois went to your apartment in New York City and collected some clothing for you …"

"And looked through my things," Diana spat.

"I wouldn't know, I didn't ask. By the way, we also have your other little tricks, like your tiara and your bracelets. I want to see if my wizarding R&D shop can duplicate them. We've got non-functional duplicates for Wonder Woman, who's going to take a leave of absence. Diana Prince, on the other hand, will finish out this school term, offering her students the chance to work for me this summer as Imperial Pages."

"But … why? Why do you want my eggs?"

Narcissa spoke up from where she sat (elegantly) in one of the Empress' guest chairs. "All three of us have lost loved ones. My son Draco was killed by my husband. Both Ms. Evans and Ms. Wayne have lost their fiancé. While we have their genetic material, we can merge that with your eggs. Admittedly, you have excellent genetics, but we are not above doing some genetic engineering." She twirled her own wand, "A combination of wizarding and muggle science."

"Let me ask you," Crystal leaned forward. "If you lost your own fiancé, wouldn't you do anything to get Steven back?"

"But … but it's not natural, it's not right …"

"We'll do what we have to for our men," Narcissa replied, crossing her arms. "Admittedly, your genotype makes it likely they will be female, not male, but that is up to God."

"But … you wouldn't see any results for years!"

"Temporal acceleration spell," Mattie replied. "With the genetic modifications, we're still looking at a year or two at least."

"And then you produce your clone army!"

"What a great idea! Thanks, Diana!" Mattie snarked, and Diana paled. "No, Diana. We need troops now, not in fifteen or twenty years. Since you've got all the answers, how do we solve our manpower shortage? Hmm?" She raised her end of the lasso, "Got an answer that no one else has come up with? Figuring best case, we'll need at least fifteen million just for the Army, not counting the Navy, Marines, planetary militia or the merchant spacers. The Paris Atrocity got us a few million volunteers, but that's old news." She shook the lasso. "What's your answer? Hmm?"

"We also do not have the biological resources for that clone army," Narcissa added. "While it is an interesting line of research, it is not possible at this time."

"I want control of my eggs. If I want something destroyed, it will be," Diana demanded.

"No! Never! No way!" the other three said instantly. "I will not sacrifice my Draco to your whims," Narcissa said. "You want control of them? No. I will agree to consultation, but not control. You are not the only one with a stake in this."

"But you want my eggs. That gives me veto power," Diana replied.

"You are preferred, but are not the only female on our list," Crystal said. "I say we stun her and make her a brick. After a few hundred years to think she may be more reasonable."

"We can take her material, then destroy her magical core and wipe her memory. That would make her a normal muggle female," Narcissa suggested.

"No, I think not," Mattie decided. "There are a number of memory spells in the Slytherin library," and she tossed her end of the lasso onto Diana's blanket-wrapped form. "She can disappear and reappear in one of our research labs." She leaned forward, over the bound woman. "Diana, I would prefer to have your cooperation. You get a vote, not control. You want something killed, you need to convince us."

Diana growled and struggled again as they watched and waited. "How … how would this work?"

"You would drink a potion," Narcissa replied. "That would stimulate the production of your eggs, and would also produce severe effects of your monthly period." The others winced in sympathy; Narcissa continued, "Depending on how cooperative you are, the potion we choose would either render you sterile or you would remain fertile. While it is in effect, the effects would be … uncomfortable. Unfortunately, analgesics and pallitives would not be effective, even muggle aspirin. We can stun you once you have ingested the potion, which I would suggest. We collect the eggs, treat any side effects, and enervate you. You would dress and leave, just another muggle woman."

Diana struggled again, "And getting back to New York? My job?"

"I am willing to call the school and say something in your favor," the Empress said. "I had a little research on your employment records done; you're way over the allocated sick time and vacation time. I hope the JLA pays well. (She knew it didn't pay at all.) That's why I said you were AWOL; even if I sing your praises, your job is still at risk, and therefore your apartment in Queens. I was impressed with your class, you've done well with them, so the offer to them is genuine. The local comprehensive school is hiring, though, if you don't mind relocating to Luna."

"I still think she makes an attractive brick," Crystal said. "Enough shilly-shallying. Your decision?"

* * *

"I'm still not happy with this," Mattie said. "It comes too close to … I don't know, theft. Armed robbery. I don't know, but I'd rather have her consent."

"I doubt she'd give it now," Crystal replied.

"You are having a Gryffindor-type moment. Reclaim your Slytherin practicality. She is the optimal candidate for our experiments," Narcissa commented. "She will not remember this, and she is not only a powerful, if untrained, witch, but supposedly the offspring of gods." She patted the small ceramic brick. "I will keep her eggs separate, should we decide otherwise. For now, I had best get started on sequencing her DNA, and deciding what we can modify or eliminate. We will not only be using her DNA, but others if we are to build the troops the Empire needs."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, May 28, 2003: 07:28 (UTC -5)  
Terra, Chagrin Falls High School:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Know what this is about?" Josh Higginbotham asked his sister Kathy. She was much more plugged into the school's gossip networks than he was.

"Not a clue," she replied as they found seats in the auditorium. She looked around, "Wow, the whole school…"

"Right after homeroom, too," her brother replied. "We luck out and miss that math exam."

"We could never be that lucky," she commented. "Shh, here we go."

"Good morning," Mr. Ball, the principal said, stepping up to the podium. "I'm glad to see everyone here. I am sure by now everyone has heard the news and seen the information on the Terran Empire's labor shortage. What you may have missed is the new program called ICC, which is the Imperial Cadet Corps, that will be starting next year and replacing the PE program. Here to give us a briefing on it is Sergeant Eaton. Sergeant?"

"Thank you, Mr. Ball," the very fit, attractive young woman said as she accepted the microphone. "First off, I am what is known as a 'rejuv', which means I have spent some time in a med-tank, getting various bits and pieces regrown and reworked. What Ms. Wayne has said before is true, unless you are missing arms or legs, we can and will accept you for Imperial service, so physical ailments such as diabetes and high cholesterol is not a factor." She let them consider this, "Second point. I am a combat veteran, as you can tell by the blood stripe on my leggings and the service marks on my sleeve. My fruit salad (she pointed to those two areas on her uniform) should give you a clue as to which war I served in. Any guesses?"

"Panama!"

"Gulf War!"

"Vietnam!"

"Three strikes, folks. I was one of the Rangers assaulting Pointe du Hoc in the Normandy landings. I don't look seventy, do I?" She took a stroll around the stage, "I've seen the elephant. You go into the service; a combat vet will be your sergeant."

"No way, I call bullshit! There wasn't any girls at Normandy!"

Sgt. Eaton jumped off the stage, striding toward the heckler. "Come out here, son. Call me a liar to my face." There were laughs, and a young man was pushed toward the aisle. He stood, somewhat nervously, and Sgt. Eaton leaned forward so their faces were inches apart. She raised the microphone and asked softly, "You calling me a liar, son? What's your name?"

"Dale Cobb," someone shouted when he didn't answer.

"Well, Mr. Cobb, I'm looking forward to having you in my classes …" Sgt. Eaton said quietly, and Cobb wilted. "I haven't released you, Mr. Cobb," the Sergeant said. She pointed to a ribbon on her 'fruit salad'. "Describe that for me."

"It … it's purple, with silver ends, and two silver stars."

"It's a Purple Heart, with two additional award stars, making three awards. What's this one?"

"It's red, with a blue stripe in the middle with a small 'v'."

"A bronze star with the 'Valor' clasp. Only earned in combat. In point of fact, there were women, Army and Navy nurses, in the Normandy landings. I wasn't one of them. Go sit down, Mr. Cobb." The teenager staggered away, and Sgt. Eaton stood up. "Pointe du Hoc, for those of you that aren't up on your history, was a thirty-meter high promontory between Utah and Omaha beaches. The Germans had a one-fifty-five artillery battery there. Three companies of the Second Rangers were ordered to take that battery out." She paused, lost in thought, and then shook herself. "Field artillery is the most lethal form of land-based armament. Stalin called it 'The god of war' for a reason." She held up her left hand, "I lost my ring and little finger in combat. The Empire regrew them when I went through the med-tank. I've also stepped on a mine, a 'Bouncing Betty'. While anti-personnel mines will kill, they're also effective if they just wound the enemy. A bounding mine like I stepped on springs up two or three feet, then explodes – right at waist level. Remember, in World War Two, the infantry didn't have body armor. That mine cost my 'family jewels' and I've been sitting down to pee ever since. When the Empire offered me a nice bonus for going the rest of the way to female, I figured 'why not'?"

Kathy elbowed her brother, "If a macho guy like that …," she whispered.

"What kind of bonus?" Josh called out.

"Let's talk about that," Sgt. Eaton said. "First, there's not only a bonus for volunteering, but also for choosing one of the combat arms like Infantry or Intelligence, and another for accepting the offer to go female." She walked around, "People, our enemy thinks of females as semi-intelligent animals, fit only for a slave collar." There was a feminine growl, and the sergeant continued. "I've seen combat camera footage. The enemy expects our people to not only disarm, but submit as slaves and be bound for 'discipline' (she finger-quoted). By that I mean torture. They're honestly surprised when we decline; they expect a female to obey. Now, by fielding not only combat troops, but attractive _female_ combat troops, we use psychological warfare against them, _and_ their slave girls."

Kathy raised her hand, "Why not use some of those slave girls we have?"

"Good question. We are, to an extent," Sgt. Eaton replied. "However, those girls, primarily the bred girls, have been conditioned to such an extent that they are afraid to pick up anything close to a weapon. They're afraid to touch a table knife. However, they're good on below-decks work and behind-the-lines like maintenance and logistics. The captured girls are having an easier time breaking their conditioning. We're also reserving those jobs for people that are conciencious objectors, but I'll warn you, there are no perfectly safe, behind the lines jobs in the military." The sergeant took a few steps, "One of the optimal strategies, if you can do it, is to attack the enemy's lines of supply, their logistics. After all, they can't shoot at you if they don't have ammo." There was a scattered series of chuckles, and Sgt. Eaton continued, "Bonuses. A volunteer not only has a choice of which branch to go into, but preferred investments and bonuses. The last one I mentioned is enough to buy a Porsche for cash."

She paused, "We're getting off track. This next school year we will be instituting the ICC, which is the Imperial Cadet Corps, here to substitute for your PE requirement, and your foreign language requirement. You will become fluent in Trade, written and spoken, as well as getting into physical shape. You will also be competing against other schools' companies in timed competitions as well as sharpshooting, both rifle and pistol. This is for both men and women."

"I'm not gonna go!"

"Too bad," Sgt. Eaton replied. "There's no running to Canada on this one, they will just arrest you and send you back. On conviction you'd go to prison." She took a few steps, "People, let me put it to you bluntly. We are at war. This is a total war, just like World War Two. We're in a fight for survival, because the enemy wants not only to enslave our women, but to torture our men to produce a very profitable drug, and to kill off our people over forty. That means your parents, aunts, and uncles. They have a history of attacking planets, but they miscalculated with us. They thought we had a stone-age tech level." She smiled coldly. "We don't. However, the Empire needs to provide garrison troops for our seventy-some colony worlds to train their planetary militias, but we also need to take the war to the enemy. Figuring _best case_, we will need fifteen million, minimum, in the Army alone to honor all our commitments. Where do we get them?" She crossed her arms, waiting.

"Volunteers!"

"That is still an option, and one I'd suggest you take. You will get a much better deal out of it," she agreed. "However, after the Paris Atrocity it only got us about eight million. Where's the other eight million, and remember, that fifteen million figure is _best case_, assuming everything, and I do mean everything, goes our way. Anyone ever have that happen?"

"Pull back. Abandon some of our worlds," someone called.

"Not going to happen," Sgt. Eaton replied. "Planets are incredibly valuable, and a lot of people have put a lot of time, energy, not to mention money into them. They're _homes_. If you lose your home to a fire, that's one thing. But having to leave your home, nothing but the clothes on your back, just because someone orders you to? No, that's not going to happen. They're our people, and we need to help them and protect them, which means Army garrisons and Navy ships and bases in orbit. Anyone else?"

"Clone army!" Josh called. There was scattered laughter.

"The bred girls are close enough to clones, and the ones I've met are definitely individuals. They just look alike, like identical twins or triplets. No, we're giving them the option, their choice, like we are you. Aside from that, I don't think we have the tech yet. However, even if we enlisted every one of them, it wouldn't get us to our target. What's left?" She waited, bouncing on her toes. "Come on, people, see if you can come up with a solution that's escaped a lot of other people." Sgt. Eaton waited, then said, "The only other solution we've been able to come up with is conscription. However, you do have some time to decide on volunteering. Basic training is at Camp Katherine, south of Darwin. They were designed for a brigade of sixty five hundred once a month. In order to make our goals, we'll have to take in two hundred thousand a month, so they're going through a massive expansion."

Kathy raised her hand, "Sergeant, if I wanted to go, to volunteer, what would happen?" Her brother looked at her, and she said (somewhat loudly), "Nobody's putting a collar on me."

"Good question. You would go to the local recruiting office and take care of your paperwork, including bringing along a voided check. You're paid direct deposit, twice a month on the first and the sixteenth. The default currency is the Euro. If you want to be paid in dollars, it will be converted. At that time, you'll tell the recruiter about anything illegal you might have done, even if you haven't been arrested for it." Sgt. Eaton looked around, "You'll have one more chance to confess when you get to Camp Katherine, along with giving up anything illegal you're carrying: porn, weapons, drugs, including prescription and over-the-counter, and so forth. If you don't, and a background check turns it up, you'll be arrested for giving false information and sent to a military prison. People, if you think a civilian prison is bad, a military jail is hell. That can be avoided by simply confessing to the sergeant. They've heard it all, so you won't shock them."

She took a few steps. "If you're not certain which branch, you can be tested, but we're assuming Infantry, the largest and oldest of the combat arms. You receive a copy of your contract and a set of orders, along with a ticket to Darwin, in Australia. There's a train that runs between Darwin and Katherine, which is being expanded. You'll have a list of what to bring, two days' change of clothes, including socks and underwear, a couple pens and stationary to write home, all in a small duffel bag. We provide postage. You do _not_ bring makeup, computers, cameras, radios, cell phones, and of course weapons and drugs." She paced a bit, "Katherine has what's known as a tropical savannah climate. There's a wet and a dry season, summers get into the twenty to forty degree range. For us in the US, that's eighty to a hundred five, and it's also the rainy season. Floods, lightning, even hail." The sergeant smiled, "Why build there? Originally, it was a station on the overland telegraph line, which the railroad followed when it was built. After that, gold." There was a stir at that.

"So, you've checked in at Darwin. You get on board the train, it's a four hour trip. Take a nap if you can. In the military, you eat, sleep, and pee when you can. At Katherine, the train pulls off into a siding, you get off and check in the processing station. Strip and go into the med-tanks, you'll be unconscious for that while they get your gear together. You'll wake up in your barracks bunk."

She regarded the high school students. "Your company, and by extension, your battalion and your brigade, are extended families. We make a significant effort to keep you together as much as possible. Yes, you may squabble with them, like you do your natural brothers and sisters, but when the chips are down, you pull together. You have their back, they have yours. You train, deploy, and take leave as a unit." She studied the students; "Now, most places we will deploy at least one brigade, sector headquarters will determine if it is a light, medium, or heavy brigade."

Someone raised their hand, "Excuse me, but what's the difference?"

"It depends on the amount of armor and aviation support. Each company has five platoons of twenty five. There are three squads of eight, plus a platoon sergeant; so your company might be infantry, supported by a mortar platoon. Higher up, you'll have attached units, for instance a maintenance platoon will be attached to service your company's vehicles. The battalion or brigade might have a support platoon or company for chow, water, sewer and power. A maritime unit for boats or mule skinners for mountain logistics, plus medical, intel and other units." The sergeant walked about a bit, "Remember, we're orienting toward urban combat, or as the Brits call it, 'FISH'. That stands for 'Fighting In Someone's House'." There was a small chuckle, and she continued, "We're going for the 'Hearts and Minds', so we're trying very hard _not_ to destroy things. We're also operating against the established planetary government, who are generally corrupt and keeping their populations repressed. That means you will probably be doing both guard duty as well as civil affairs work."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, May 28, 2003: 08:51 (UTC +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, City of Katherine:  
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The Captain tapped on the door's frame, and then entered at the officer's wave. He saluted, "Captain Andrew Scott, ma'am. Welcome aboard!"

The Major stood, returning the salute, and then motioned to a seat. "Toni Jay, Captain. Do you prefer Andrew or Andy? Have a seat and brief me in. I'm US Army Reserve, called up for the Empire. Left a nice job on Madison Avenue and now I'm in a half-finished building in a small town in the Outback. Don't pull punches." She turned, reaching behind herself to fish out a bottle of water from her fridge and tossing it across.

"Andy, ma'am." He cracked the chilled bottle open and took a swallow as he considered. "You might notice that our building is not on post, and we don't have the priority on construction. For instance, the refurbishing work could have been finished a week ago, but the general contractor had other work …"

Toni grunted. She was an attractive brunette, who had been rushed in and out to meet General Shimesa, barely having time to give and receive a salute. "I noticed the General was extremely busy, I had maybe thirty seconds with him. I get the impression that he doesn't have much time for us in Public Affairs, which is unfortunate, as he's sitting on a hand grenade with this involuntary gender-swap of the new recruits."

"This means we have to go back-channel, while still keeping in mind OPSEC (8)." Andy replied. "With all due respect, the General's background is logistics. Doing more with less, making things run like the proverbial Swiss watch. I've heard he has thrown a fit when he has inspected some of the construction sites and seen some of the waste. Things like most of a reel of electrical wire thrown in the dumpster. I can't blame him for that, but his public reaming of the contractor wasn't well received." He gestured at the door, and the rest of the building. "Camp Katherine is what the US Army would consider at least a corps strength post, if not an army level post; we're supposed to build up to three hundred thousand or so troops. Commonwealth practice is to group personnel according to function; according to that we're part of the II Corps (Training). I Corps is the Home System, or the Sol system." He waved his hand, "Anyway, ma'am, according to the TO & E I've seen, we're supposed to have a full battalion's strength for Public Affairs, five hundred, we have thirty-one. Thirty-two with you, ma'am. With your consent, I'm going to shove off the daily pool briefings on you. There's a reason talking heads are generally female, and we need every advantage we can get."

Toni nodded, "True. How many newsies do we have accredited?"

"Not many yet, ma'am, about thirty in town, roughly three hundred registered with us. We are the largest Army post in the world, while the largest military base is Edwards in Nevada. Unfortunately, the briefing room on the second floor still has light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. The contractor hasn't come back yet, so we've been doing the briefings in the tent in the parking lot, wearing fatigues." He gestured at his own black and grey camouflage uniform, and grinned, "Gives a more 'Army' feel to them. Still, we do have a couple of new training facilities finished on base. They're what we'll be putting up on other planets, so civilian regs don't apply."

"How so?" Toni asked.

"The main operating bases will have a compact nuclear generator; the Aussies weren't going to give us a license for an actual one without about fifteen years of studies and other paperwork bullshit. Therefore, our training base has a fake, which we can use for training, and a power substation. What people see here is the blue-painted fake reactor, which is a simulator for training. That base is used for logistics, aviation, armor and personnel training, while the other base is a tactical forward base, so it's got artillery and mortar pits, trenches with overhead cover between positions, infantry fighting positions, defenses and command facilities built into refurbished steel shipping containers."

"All for training," Toni said.

"Yes, ma'am. The tactical base is down and dirty, while the main base is lots prettier. Still, a howitzer makes a good background for a reporter's stand-up, if she's wearing a helmet and flak jacket."

"I want to see these. Do we have a jeep available?"

"We've got two choices in organic vehicles, ma'am. We have an Aussie Ute that's a battered pickup with half a million klicks on it. We also have a Volkswagen Kombi that's a nine-seat minivan. Both are diesel, but the 'ute' needs a fill up, which we're supposed to do on base."

"I'm a bit of a tomboy; I drive a Ford pickup at home, so scoot." She waved him off, "Go on, shoo. I need to get into my fatigues if I'm going to see these places," Toni said, gesturing at her Class A skirted uniform. "Give me ten minutes."

"Yes, ma'am. By the way, the radio said it's supposed to hit 35 today. That's 95 for us Yanks."

* * *

"So if I'm going to be doing the daily briefs, tell me about some of our reporters, especially the ones I should be wary of," Major Jay asked as they waited in line to drive through the main vehicle gate.

"One springs immediately to mind, ma'am," Captain Scott replied. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Chris Thorne. Androgynous, looks like either a slender, beardless guy or flat-chested girl. Blue eyes and blond, same type of long unisex hairstyle, only his, or her, doctor knows what she actually is. Really good investigative reporter from the _Canberra Times_, writes an column called 'Thorn in the side'." He looked at his new CO, "Pulitzer quality reporting, ma'am. I'm surprised she hasn't been all over this gender screw-up. We've been really lucky about that. So far."

"We can't depend on luck, though," she replied as the line started moving again.

* * *

"So that's a nuclear reactor," Toni said, stepping close to the opened-up demo unit. "The yellow rods are the uranium?"

"In an actual reactor, yes, ma'am," the Engineer officer said. "This is a simulator, the training students would be in a separate building with the condensers and so forth." He gestured, and Toni stepped back across the small bridge. "Thank you, Lieutenant Shaw. You've been most informative."

* * *

"This is the tactical base," Toni said as they pulled into the vehicle park.

"Yes, ma'am," Lieutenant Shaw replied. "The idea is to show the trainees not only how to do it, and with what, but what it's supposed to look like on-planet when they're finished." He gestured, "We have Hesco™ barriers here to create walls for temporary visitors. This is supplied by both land vehicles and helicopters, the gatehouse (he gestured) supports this end of a drawbridge over a moat."

"That seems rather … medieval," Toni commented.

"According to threat intel, ma'am, this is a low-intensity conflict, so walls, moats and cannon, or in our case, recoilless rifles and machine guns work just fine. The enemy is not reported to have artillery, tanks or armor, or warplanes – fighters or bombers. They are oriented toward suppressing rebellion of their population and their slaves – you don't need tanks for that. That's a job for secret police and head-breakers. For us, the threat appreciation is three primary categories to our bases on Republican planets. First, an incited mob, which we counter with wire obstacles, beehive and chemical rounds for our mortars and land mines. The enemy can try to incite mob violence, but when the civilians run into tear gas and wire, and start to bleed, they'll disperse. The other possibility is a suicide bomber, and we have mantraps with chemical sniffers in Faraday cages, so radio signals won't reach the bomber. We can then arrest and disarm him or her."

The major nodded, and the engineer continued, "Second, ground vehicle attacks. Intel says they don't have armored vehicles, again, they haven't had a need, so we're looking at improvised vehicle bombs as threats. We have vehicle checkpoints, isolation and search of suspect vehicles."

"Most of these planets have islands," Captain Scott asked.

"Yes, sir, and we do the same thing with boats: isolation and search. We resupply with trucks and cargo containers that are loaded in sterile environments, transported in convoy, and unloaded inside the base."

"What about snipers and RPG threats?"

"The walls are rated to stop 40mm grenades, RPGs and 30mm auto-cannon rounds. We don't have reports of the enemy having those, but they might have for popular suppression." He cleared his throat, "Last category of threat would be improvised aircraft, kamikaze. The enemy is known to have counter-grav air cars, low-flying civilian cars. For that we have radar and AA guns and missiles. The plans are to site both types of bases in parks, airports or seaports, and for that we have construction equipment used to dig in. Once we're finished, our camouflage will make it look like the park was never disturbed, we have grass growing over our bunkers. The enemy won't know where to target us." He cleared his throat, "Ma'am, we'll walk the rest of the way."

"Not a problem, lieutenant," Major Jay replied as a semi with a Army-grey container pulled into the inspection lane. She followed him to the personnel gate.

* * *

"How much weight will this bridge take?" Captain Scott asked as he crossed the vibrating steel bridge.

"This particular bridge is rated at 80/110, sir. Eighty tons tracked, one-hundred-ten wheeled. It will take light tanks, so infantry vehicles, prime movers for howitzers, heavy trucks, they're all good. The moat can be filled with water, depending on location, or more wire obstacles." He grinned, "Barbed wire is cheap." He gestured them to the side, pointing to a sign with a 'You are here' red dot. "This is our 'four-leaf-clover' design; four by six hundred meters. We have others depending on terrain: riverside, mountain, island, ridgeline and so forth. We're here, at the base of the clover, at the top of the stem. The drawbridge and gatehouse with the approach road are the stem. Artillery and mortar pits are the left and right 'leaves' of the clover, with observation points between. Mechanized infantry is at the front leaf, supply, the helipad, messing, commo, the CP (9) and utilities at the rear 'leaf'." He gestured at an MP standing sentry; "Let's go see what's inside."

* * *

Lieutenant Shaw gestured them to one side of the entry. "One of the things we're doing is standardizing the layout of things like fire direction centers, command posts, and barracks bunkers. We do that by building them into twenty and forty foot containers, then trenching and burying them. There's also a difference between our PSP and the World War Two Marsden Matting. Ours is two by three meters, with a mesh surface, the older stuff was ten feet by fifteen inches, with large oval holes." He tapped the side of the trench, "This allows us to use it to shore up the sides of a trench, and (he pointed up) roof the trench. This uses a lot less wood, we put a layer of sandbags with gravel on top, and the sod we've removed to build the base goes on top of the sandbags. A sprinkler system with recycled waste water and we've not only made the place cooler, the grass serves as camouflage and to disguise the thermal signature from IR seekers."

"Clever," Major Jay said as thunder boomed, signaling the start of the day's thunderstorm. She held out her tall, black rough-out combat boot. "My boots aren't even muddy."

"Not unless you step in a puddle, ma'am," Lt. Shaw replied. "We put used pallets down as flooring over a gravel bed. There's sufficient overhang and slope that rain won't come into the tunnels. The camo netting over the artillery pits helps them, but those places, the helipad, and the motor pool get wet." He shrugged. "Still a lot nicer than places I've been." He took a step and knocked his ring on a section of PSP.

"West Point?" Toni asked.

"Yes, ma'am, class of 2000. The Empire was a good career move for me."

"Madison Avenue and the Army Reserves for me," Toni replied. "Let's go see some of that artillery."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, May 28, 2003: 12:06 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Gryffindor table:  
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Sprink's laptop 'binged' with new mail, and she paused, turning it around while she finished chewing and swallowed. "Oi, you lot! Email from Mattie! She'll be getting in Saturday, she'll call my mobile when she gets into town. She also offers her apartment in Grimaldi for both Nymphie and my honeymoons."

"Instead of Vegas?" Charlie asked. "I'd like to go and all, but that's where I thought you wanted to go."

"I do, I've heard about it, but still …" She chewed her lip, then said, "Let me give Nymphie a call and let her know. Maybe do both."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 29, 2003: 12:25 (UTC +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine:  
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Major Jay braced to attention, "Major Toni Jay, sir, reporting as ordered."

"Stand easy and close the door, Major," General Shimesa said, pointing. "Have a seat. This conversation never happened."

"Yes, sir," Toni said, taking the indicated seat. "What can I do for you?"

"I realize you're still new to this post, but you have a few staffers that have been doing excellent work. I would assume that you've been briefed on the local newsies. We need a very discreet leak on this involuntary gender-change mess, so higher-ups can defuse it by saying, 'What, you didn't know? It's been out for a while now.'. As was explained to me, publication in the _South Silesia Swineherd's Monthly_ doesn't cut it." He winced. "A local paper, with a local fuss, and then it dies away, so if someone like Lois Lane gets her teeth into it…"

"Yes, sir," Toni nodded, and accepted a file folder. "While I have some ideas on who to leak it to, I want to bounce it off a few of my officers. What actually happened, sir?"

"First, there are several procedural steps that have been implemented to prevent it from happening again. The inductee will need to give three separate and active permission steps, if that creates problems for them later with their families, too bad. We asked them three times, they agreed three times." Toni nodded. "That is part of why we're putting in the new machines in that new railroad siding complex, as part of their check-in process they do the second authorization, and once in the tank, they push a button while turning a key. They're in the tank anywhere from six hours to forty-two, depending on what's being done. While they're in the tank, Supply puts their kit together, Medical fishes them out, does their part of the process, and then we ship them over to their barracks along with their equipment where they wake up."

"Yes, sir. How close are we to being ready for two hundred thousand new people a month?"

"That's what I've been concentrating on. Worst case is another month, which means the contractors don't get their bonuses. They really, really want those completion bonuses. I'm told Ms. Wayne will be doing a dress rehearsal for the drawing, which people do not have to obey, although I'm sure some will." The general tossed down a pen he had been playing with. "In any case, what happened I don't think will happen again. The equipment arrived late, or damaged, or incorrect. Power for the units has to be within very tight limits, and each machine takes a lot of power. I wish we could get authorization from the Aussies into a nuclear generator…" he waved that off. "We're working on that. So, if you feel it necessary, call my office for approval to run one of the reporters through the process, although it's not reversible."

"The previous, um, changees, sir?"

"Offered an apology and compensation for the screw-up. Eighteen to twenty hour days getting those people ready, and then that happened. You know the term 'Charlie Fox'?"

"Yes sir. I can also invoke the great god Murphy."

"Good. I'll let you get to it." They stood, she saluted and left.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Thursday, May 29, 2003: 13:52 (UTC)  
Hour 310.52/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, Press briefing room A:  
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Emerging from the corridor, Mattie looked around and saw just a few technicians setting up their equipment. "Where is everyone?" she asked.

One of the TV recording techs replied, "Still at lunch, ma'am. We're not due to start until two o'clock."

"Oh. But I…" One of the staffers, an older lady with a frazzled look and several pens and pencils stuck through her hair bun, looked her over and asked, "Dear, when's the last time you took a day off? You don't have to be Queen, or Empress, or whatever, twenty-four seven. We all need some down time; when's the last time you were just a teenage girl?"

Mattie blew her bangs up, thinking. "Oh … gawd, it must have been (she took a deep breath) … since before Arthur …"

"Five months, almost six. At least." She folded her arms, "Once we get this recorded, I want you to take a long weekend. Have some fun, do some shopping, go to the beach, flirt with some cute guys as Martha. No, better your first name."

"Helena?"

"Helen. You're not the Tsaritsa, she's on Luna. Yes, you look a bit like her, amazing, isn't it? Who knows, maybe you can make some money off it. For now, let a cute guy take you out to a movie and a pizza afterwards."

Ms. Wayne blinked, then smiled. "That does sound like fun; but I have stuff to go over…"

"Which will wait on your desk," Crystal said, her arms crossed. "I'll let Ellen know, your birthday we should all have a long weekend. I'm glad to see someone else recognizes reality, even if you don't. Will you behave or do I have to shadow you on your date?"

"But … there are those death warrants and …"

"And Ellen will email those governors that there's a delay. Weren't you planning on commuting most of those?"

"Well, yes, but …"

Crystal snorted, then looked at the matronly producer. "See why I haven't had a day off since I hooked up with her? She's a workaholic." She took Mattie by the shoulders, "Be a teenager. Go to your double-wedding on Sunday, then take some time off. Go visit your family in that insane asylum of a hometown."

"Insane asylum?"

"Gotham City. They're all starkers. Raving loonies, they are; that's where she grew up." Crystal shook her head. "See your various aunts and uncles there, like your Uncle Oswalt."

"Uncle Oswalt?"

"Look up the Penguin," Crystal replied. "Gotham is the most crime-ridden city in the world, but she claims the various gangsters as relatives, and they wouldn't harm a hair on her head. They _protect_ her…" She shook her head again. "Let's get this thing going. I see a makeup girl wants to work you over."

* * *

"Hello, everyone! My name is Mattie Wayne, and I have the honor to be your Empress. In a few moments, we'll be drawing the first date for conscription. This drawing is a practice, what's known as a dress rehearsal. You do not need to report if your birthday is drawn. I repeat, you do not need to report if your birthday is drawn today. Normally, however, you would synchronize your time of birth with the Universal Coordinated Time in London."

She moved to the first machine, flipping a switch, and the balls started to tumble. "In this machine we draw the year, from the range 1958 through 1988, inclusive." She moved a plastic shield, and a ball popped up. "1969! Let's move to the month machine," and flipped a switch again. The balls tumbled, and after a few minutes, she moved the red plastic shield. "July! Now to the day. We have three machines for this in case we get a date like February thirty-first. Since that's not going to happen today, I'll just start one machine." The balls started to tumble, and she moved the red plastic shield. A ball popped up, and she rotated it so it could be read easily. "The twentieth! So our day would be July 20, 1969! Once again, this is a practice drawing, so you do not need to report for conscription. Should you choose to do so, we will assume you are volunteering. You have a month to settle things at home, the first real drawing will be on July first. Have a great day!"

"And … Cut!" The producer held his hand next to his earphone, "Sounds good, ma'am. Let's review the tape, and we can wrap things up." He concentrated on his earphone, then asked, "Why the month's delay?"

"They're not ready at Camp Katherine in Australia," the Empress replied. "Worst case I heard was a month, when the contractors don't get one red cent in bonuses. They really want those bonuses for early completion and coming in under budget, so they're working around the clock." She went off with the makeup girl, as the director nodded to himself, "Makes sense."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, May 31, 2003: 08:51 (relative)  
Aeeloh, Glavni Grad, Palace briefing room:  
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"Leave me," the King demanded. The courtiers left him alone, the door closing quietly. Finally alone, he took a deep breath, then regarded the improvised interstellar probe. It still radiated heat; he found the data hatch and pressed his thumb into the slot. It popped open, and he ejected a data cartridge.

* * *

In his private office, he regarded the data cartridge, then inserted it into his office computer. Working his way through the security, he saw the face of … not the General he had left in command. Another officer.

"My King," the officer started. "I report progress of your fleet. I am Sub-Admiral Is'las, second in command, aboard the battle cruiser _Ca'arn the Cruel_. I regret to report our commander and the BattleStar _Ba'an the Bold_ are lost, no survivors, causes unknown." He swallowed nervously. "The target system is not, I repeat _not_, a class thirty-one system. We have as yet been unable to penetrate to the inner system, but based on their outer system works, this system is at least a class fourteen. We have observed atmospheric mining of gas giants, in-system transports and freighters, and asteroid mining. We have found no trace of the Princess B'tan or of the Princess A'ya."

The King took a deep breath as Is'las continued, "My King, what we have encountered is a war fleet from the Terran Empire, of which we have _no_ information. They have minefields around the perimeter of the system, more and much larger warships than we do, including two hands of BattleStars that are each the size of a small moon, and two of carriers, better stealth and defensive shields, a gamma-particle beam that ignores our defenses, and … (Is'las swallowed nervously) … antimatter, my King."

"This opposing fleet, my King, we estimate is at least eighty hands of warships of all classes. We have observed at least twenty hands, but recorded emission signatures of only five hands of ships, all of the smaller classes. Their tactics … (he shuddered) … evoke the fears of the Riders of the Dead, my King. We have tried to maintain dispersal according to defensive doctrine, but when that occurs, the Terran ships appear from nothing, small shuttles launch from a carrier, and the Terran ships disappear again. After several minutes, the targeted ships leave our fleet, accompanied by the Terran carrier. We suspect they are sending troops to capture our ships. Fleet Communications has been uneven, we suspect Terran influence, but are not able to detect their method. However, our communications with our targeted ships break completely before the Terran ships appear, so we are unable to warn them. As a result, our ships have been grouping together in fear. When we have fired upon the Terrans, their shields ignore our fire; all it does is draw the Terran's attention, and the ships disappear shortly after. As a result, my King, we entered the system with sixty-two hands of ships, including ten hands of warships as escort. We now have slightly more than forty-two hands of cargo and troop ships, but just more than _one_ hand of warships, and we are still in the outer system. Furthermore, we estimate thirty hands of ships block our sending courier or mail ships from leaving the system, some of those ships' emission signatures match those assigned to the Princess B'tan's fleet. This is why I have ordered the preparation and launch of these two probes. They have limited data storage, most of their computer systems are dedicated to their stealth systems."

'_What happened to the other probe_?' the King wondered. Is'las continued, "My King, I request orders. I cannot adequately protect the cargo or troop ships with my own battle cruiser and six other ships. I do not think I can penetrate to the inner system, nor escape the system completely, and my supplies are limited. I have attached such information as will fit, more complete information is on the second probe." Is'las bowed, "Long live the Republic, my King," and the report cut off. A directory of additional information appeared, and the King shoved back from his computer, giving a huff of displeasure. "I provide the finest ships in space, and this is what happens!" he said to himself, slapping the desk in irritation.

* * *

(1): Fallschirmjäger: German Paratroops (elite unit)  
(2): Feldwebel: German: Sergeant (OR-6), a non-com, here used to 'instruct' a young officer.  
(3): Martha I R.I.: Martha the first, (her regnal name), then Regina and Imperatrix (Empress)  
(4): S-Boot: WWII German fast attack craft 'schnellboot' larger and heavier armed than the PT boat.  
(5): Pibber: Patrol Boat, River. US Army/Navy boat used in Vietnam.  
(6): PSP: Pierced Steel Planking. Also known as Marsden Matting.  
(7): SAM: Surface to Air Missile.  
(8): OPSEC: OPerational SECurity.  
(9): CP: Command Post.

~30~


End file.
